#and actually could be longer. i tried to be brief (failed)

[scopostims]

a "my nonhumanity" stimboard, a horrifying, many-eyed and gorey, entity-thing who lives in decrepit buildings and rotted forests and has a puppy dog hearttype (+ related things) :•]

[ID: A 3x3 stimboard of 9 GIFs.

GIF 1: First person POV of walking along the patio of a decrepit house at night, lit only by a flashlight.

GIF 2: A pan-over of a brown shelf with various deer bones and antlers.

GIF 3: Glitchy footage of a moss-covered stone wall.

GIF 4: An animation of a fleshy blob covered in many moving eyes.

GIF 5 (center): A small brown dog getting a bubble bath.

GIF 6: An actor wearing a fleshy skintight suit covered in veins sitting up from hunched over, slime stretching between the surface they were leaning on and them.

GIF 7: A red arrow blinking and pointing towards a spot at the end of a path on a pulsating landscape.

GIF 8: Someone wearing clawed werewolf gloves, shakily examing their hands.

GIF 9: A view down an empty school hall at night as the lights rapidly flicker out of sync.

End ID]

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’ve never had a particularly strong desire to get high. Altered mind states have always been somewhat unappealing to me. The only drug I’ve ever enjoyed taking was a prescription strength muscle relaxant that loosened all my knots at once and sent me into the boneless slumber of jello. Top marks.

But I have dabbled with pot. As I’m wildly sensitive to smoke my only recourse was to try edibles and anyone could’ve predicted this was a recipe for disaster. So here’s the story of the first time I got high.

Connor was a major stoner. He was a high energy guy who loved hiking, had his shit together, and absolutely loved getting high and relaxing. One day he decided to make pot brownies. Connor was an amazing cook in his own right but he came into my life at a time when I was eating mayonnaise sandwiches and started giving me real food so I viewed him as a paragon of cookery. He made amazing desserts. And he didn’t make a batch of no pot brownies.

I’d never had one of Connor’s brownies, before, but dear god I wanted one when they came out of the oven in a waft of rich chocolatey smells. They were fudgey and perfect and all that I wanted in the world was to eat one. I watched him take a bite, burning with envy and desire.

Being high seemed like a small price to pay if only I could sink my teeth into the warm splendor of brownie. I came up to where he was sitting on the couch, slightly behind his left shoulder. “Hey. I want to try a bite,” I told him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” I was sure as fuck that I wanted that brownie in my mouth.

Connor was sat facing the tv and held up his hand without looking so I could take a bite. I am not a creature of modest bites. And I wanted that brownie. I took a huge bite, carving into the interior of the brownie, leaving Connor with a only a rim.

He pulled his hand back and saw the brownie crime I had committed and gave a resigned chuckle. “Well this is going to be fun.”

On one other occasion in my life I’ve tried an edible and there was a brief relaxed period before things went horribly wrong that made me think, this is probably where most people stop and enjoy themselves.

But on this occasion, the massive bite of brownie didn’t drift me slowly up through layers of being high. It skyrocketed me into high space with great prejudice. I have no memory of a middle point, I wasn’t high and then I was suddenly so high I couldn’t function.

I’ve heard people talk about paranoia. I didn’t have that. Some people mention nervousness, no, none of that for me. My mind was simply gone. A thought would blip to life on one side of my brain and fail to travel through the fog to find its conclusion. I couldn’t think. I wasn’t really experiencing sensation. I was nothing in the void.

When Connor realized I’d been staring wall eyed at nothing for too long he said, “How are you doing?”

It took a long time to process the words and even longer to slur out, “I can see everything.”

I don’t remember him getting up and leaving, or waiting, or anything really. Thoughts flickered and died in my mindscape, meaningless and alone.

Then Connor put headphones on me.

I was unable to conceive of anything as wonderful as music surrounding me, and thus began the only nice part of the trip. I might have experienced ego death but at least I had the ethereal sounds of Pure Reason Revolution to wrap myself in.

I’m not sure how long the nice phase lasted. But eventually something started going wrong in my mouth. My throat became uncomfortable enough to pierce the haze I was in. It was almost numb, and impossibly dry. I drank water to no avail. Finally I conceived of the solution. “Ice cream!” I demanded of Connor.

He went to grab some and I was dismayed that when I took a bite the sensation in my throat intensified. “It made it worse,” I complained.

“Made what worse?” Connor asked, because of course I hadn’t actually told him why I’d wanted ice cream.

When I told him what was happening he said, “Oh, of course ice cream is going to make cotton mouth worse.”

“Well then why did you give it to me!” I complained. He smiled fondly at my irrational grumping and got me more water.

Finally I’d had enough. Music couldn’t erase my discomfort, I was getting frustrated I couldn’t think but I was still high as balls and I wanted the night to be over. Connor suggested I go to bed so I climbed up into my bed and lay there, uncomfortably high.

I couldn’t sleep. My throat was so cottony, a side effect I hadn’t known existed and I thoroughly loathed.

Then I thought: I could masturbate! Connor had talked about enjoying that while high. I’d give it a shot. My body however was wiser than my head and was having none of this plan. It refused to respond, stubbornly insisting that now was not the time.

I doubled down, refusing to give up on this horrible idea and in a bitter struggle, and against my body’s own wishes, I produced an orgasm that rated a 0 on the pleasure scale. Something happened but it was like a resentful flex of muscles that stopped immediately.

Furious with the overall experience of being high I buried my head in pillows and finally slept. I told Connor the next day about my attempt and he facepalmed so hard. “Why didn’t you just go to sleep! You were way too high to enjoy that.”

I grumbled and agreed that it was very stupid. I tried to weigh the single bite of brownie I had with the absolutely wretched hours of discomfort and while it didn’t quite balance it was still pretty close. It was a really good brownie.

[lordprettyflackotara]

if looks could kill || Colby Brock

smut, 18+, minors dni. tw: hate fucking? very angsty smut? some gagging shit too. ngl i got mad angsty towards the end so my bad guys💀

You had some fucking nerve.

As soon as Colby made out your small figure in the sea of everlasting dancing bodies, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

He hated the effect you had on him, your smile practically illuminating the room.

It had been four months since you both had broken up, your relationship ending in pure hatred for one another.

He had cheated on you. You cheated on him.

Sam constantly referred to you both as the match from hell.

Colby had purposefully ignored all of that, avoiding you like you were the black plague.

Yet here you stood, boldly and proudly standing at his and Sam’s celebration party.

You were most certainly not invited. As Colby eyed you over his red solo cup, he wondered if he should publicly humiliate you by having security escort you out.

He glanced over at his best friend, Sam, who was laughing at a joke someone was telling him.

Colby sighed as he realized he couldn’t make this about him or you. Sam deserved a celebration.

He couldn’t allow either of you to be the center of attention. And you were wearing such a short dress Colby almost caught a glimpse of your panties.

The brunette excused himself, throwing his empty red solo cup in a random direction. The taste of straight liquor burned his throat, but the flames of his distaste for you were far more engulfing than alcohol could ever be.

You were at the drink table, pouring yourself a shot. Colby towered over you as he forced himself by your side, leaning down to talk in your ear.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” He hissed. You shrugged nonchalantly, setting the bottle of alcohol back down on the table.

“This is supposed to be the party of the year, you’d be stupid to think I wouldn’t come,” You replied. You tried to play it cool as you downed the shot, Colby’s hardened gaze not leaving your face. “Besides, I still support Sammy. He deserves all of this and more,” You say. Colby annoyedly looks around, ensuring that Sam’s attention was still on the group he was talking to previously.

“If you actually cared about Sam you wouldn’t be here. We’re a package deal, you know that,” Colby argued. You crossed your arms, staring up at your ex lover. His brunette hair had grown out just a little bit more, his jawline just a tad more defined than the last time you had really looked at him.

“You’re not one in the bedroom,” You replied, causing Colby to snap. You knew the mere thought got under Colby’s skin, every single time. He took a step towards you, staring down at you. “He would never fuck you, get that sick thought out of your head,” Colby growled.

You giggled playfully as you leaned forward, twirling his black tie around in your hand. “You didn’t have a problem with the idea when we were together. What was that you wanted to try? Him fucking me and you watching?” You asked innocently.

That was it.

Colby hastily grabbed your wrist, leading you through the endless waves of people. His grip was harsh and his pace was fast, causing you to almost stumble behind him in your heels. He led you to the closest bathroom, practically throwing you inside. The brunette locked the door behind the both of you, before shoving you against the bathroom door.

“Get it through your thick skull. You’re not welcome here. Sam’s not going to fuck you. Whatever stunt you’re trying to pull isn’t going to work,” Colby said firmly. You never failed to frustrate him, your eyes looking up into his curiously. He took the brief moment to study your face in the odd yellow lighting. Your eyelashes were longer, your lips slightly more plump.

Why were you so difficult?

Colby stepped away hesitantly, allowing you to stand up straight. You brushed off your dress, standing still.

“Why are you still here? Didnt you hear me? Sam’s not going to fuck you-” Colby snarled. You took a step closer to him, yanking him towards you by grabbing his tie. You wrapped your hand in the lacey material, causing Colby’s breath to hitch. Your faces were an inch apart at most, Colby’s cheeks turning the lightest shade of pink.

“You never said you wouldn’t fuck me though,” You purred. Colby eyed you carefully, searching your face for any signs of sarcasm or future torment. You were serious, your grip on Colby’s tie not loosening. Colby stood up straight for a moment, forcing himself away from you.

You were so tempting. His eyes scanned your body, soaking in every curve and inch of your soft skin. Truth was, as much as Colby hated you, he couldn’t find it within himself to get over you. You were like a drug addiction. He found himself trying other drugs to soothe over his lust for you, but those women never satisfied him the way you could.

The way you challenged him. The way you would eventually crumble and fully submit to him. You willingly became his fuck doll in the end, your cunt taking his cock better than any other woman could. Colby licked his lips, unsure if he should take a bite of the forbidden fruit.

“Thats what you came here for, wasn’t it?” He asked you. Your innocent act faded, your eyes darkening as you placed your hands on Colby’s shoulders. “I would’ve taken Sam, but no one is as good as you,” You confessed. Colby bit the inside of his cheek, before his resistance finally faded.

Fuck it.

His lips found yours before you could take another breath. Colby’s lips were as needy as yours, his large hands slithering down your body. Your body was pushed back on the bathroom door, a gasp escaping your lips as Colby devoured the sound. “You’re so filthy. Coming here dressed like that for everyone to see,” Colby panted. His nimble fingers found the zipper to your dress, yanking it down as his tongue found its way into your mouth.

You groaned as his hands grabbed the flesh of your ass, his grip almost bruising. “Says the one dressed in a suit and tie. Did you honestly believe you’d take another bitch home? Some blonde girl that would let you put your tie in her mouth as a gag?” You replied mockingly. Colby smacked your ass, your arguing lighting a fire under him.

This.

This right here is what Colby missed the absolute most.

This was what ignited the flame in his relationship with you, but also diminished it.

Your smart ass mouth.

In a swift motion he yanked off his tie, glaring down at you.

“Open your fucking mouth. I’ve had enough of you talking,” Colby growled. You obeyed him mockingly, flattening out your tongue and opening your mouth for him. For a brief moment the idea of face fucking you into oblivion crossed his mind, but it quickly faded. He didn’t want to use you, he wanted to feel you.

Colby shoved his wadded up tie into your mouth, relishing in the sight of you gagging just ever so slightly.

He began kissing down your neck, unclasping your bra and tossing it aside into the sink. Colby smirked into your skin as he began to suck hickies into your tender skin, your moans muffled by the gag. “Gotta remind you who you belong to,” Colby muttered, littering your skin with bright purple and brown marks. He huffed as he lowered himself down further, his cock growing harder by the minute.

Your small hands found his hair as he kissed your breast, maintaining eye contact with you as he did so. His eyes were an endless sea of lust that you were going to drown in. He took your left nipple into his mouth, your muffled groans music to his ears. Your bud hardened in his mouth, the sensation making your eyes flutter shut.

Colby cupped your pussy, teasingly rubbing your folds. He released your breast with a pop, a ring of saliva coating your stimulated nipple. “If you don’t look at me, I stop. You understand?” Colby asked. You forced yourself to open your eyes, to swim above the high waters of lust that were rising. You nodded, looking down at the brunette man as he fully settled onto his knees.

He examined your lacey black panties, smirking.

“You wore my favorite set for me? You really are my personal whore,” Colby snickered. He yanked down your panties in a swift motion, your cunt practically dripping. You spread your legs, giving Colby more access as you tugged lightly at his hair.

“Such a pretty pussy,” Colby murmured, leaning forward. His fanned his hot breath over you teasingly, enjoying watching you squirm. You audibly whimpered, the sound muffled by his tie. Teasingly he kitten licked right over your clit, causing you to buck your hips involuntarily.

“Needy aren’t we?”

Colby’s hands gripped your thighs, before licking a stripe up your cunt. You moaned his name into the gag, your eyes never straying his. Colby’s mouth and tongue were relentless, assaulting your clit and sucking your juices like his life depended on it. He could feel his cock twitch in his trousers, your taste causing him to go feral.

He brought two fingers to your aching cunt, slowly pushing them into your entrance. You tugged at his hair, causing him to quietly groan as he pushed his digits inside of you. Your walls were squeezing around him, desperate for release. “This is when you look your prettiest. Your body begging for me like this,” Colby told you, his eyes wondering down to your cunt.

He curled his fingers inside of you, hitting that sweet spot you like hit most. You moaned loudly into the gag, your sinful noises giving Colby a bigger ego by the moment. That was another thing he adored about you, your ability to involuntarily make him feel like the luckiest man alive.

Colby began finger fucking you quickly, your body beginning to tremble as the cord inside of you began to become tighter. He used his other hand to draw fast circles around your clit, your thighs shaking. “That’s it. Good fucking slut. You’re doing so good for me. You filthy thing,” Colby said, swallowing as he watched your thighs begin to tremble.

Fuck. You were a sight for sore eyes.

“I’m gonna cum Colbs- fuck!” You groaned, your words muffled but still coherent through the gag as your orgasm crashed over you quickly. Your thighs trembled as your walls spasmed around Colby’s fingers, the feeling alone enough to haunt his fantasies for the next month.

Colby stood up quickly, yanking the tie out of your mouth and undoing his belt. You smiled as your high began to settle down. “You’re not half bad at giving head,” You teased. The brunette shoved his pants and boxers down quickly, his hands hungrily gripping your waist. “Fucking jump,” He ordered. You did as instructed, your back flat against the bathroom door.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The taunting tone of your voice, the haunting gaze of your eyes. He needed you now.

“You’re lucky I was feeling nice, next time i’ll skip foreplay and just make you take me,” Colby muttered, coating the tip of his cock with your slick. You whimpered as he brushed against your clit, before beginning to shove himself inside of you. “There won’t be a next time asshole,” You argued weakly, your walls stretching out to accommodate Colby’s size.

Your words made Colby roll his eyes, bucking his hips into yours aggressively. You whined as his cock fully sank inside of you, his tip brushed against your cervix. “There will always be a next time. You’re stupid if you think otherwise,” Colby panted, his cock twitching as you squeezed him. He began to move, dragging you up and down on his cock.

You began to groan his name, his hand flying over your mouth. “What did I say? This party is for Sam, not you. So shut the fuck up,” Colby snarled. You bit your bottom lip as you yanked his hand away from your mouth, glaring at him as he hit your g spot. “You’re so miserable Colby. I’m going to find a nice man and settle down one day. You’re going to be the fuckboy of youtube forever. That’s your punishment for what you did to me,” You argued, your words laced with venom.

Colby pinned you flat against the door, his cock buried inside of you as his eyes searched yours for a glimpse of the old you. The one he had before you cheated on him.

“Oh yeah? Guess what your punishment is?” Colby asked mockingly. You raised your eyebrows, before he snapped his hips into yours. You moaned loudly, clamping a hand over your own mouth to keep quiet as Colby’s brutal pacing began to quicken. His hips were relentless, his stamina unfazed as he held your body up against the door.

“Your punishment is this. You feel my cock? How good it makes you feel?” Colby huffed, gripping your skin harshly. You nodded weakly, his cock abusing your cunt to Colby’s liking. “You’ll never be able to replace me. It doesn’t matter what shrimp dick fuck you end up with. You’ll always think of me. You’ll always think of this,” Colby growled. He was going feral, his hips moving on their own as he quietly groaned your name.

You gripped his shoulders, wrinkling his crisp white button up. “I hate you Colby Brock,” You replied, biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from making anymore unholy noises. Colby grinned at your insult, before watching his cock go in and out of your dripping pussy. “I hate you too sweetheart. But fuck, you take me so well,” Colby muttered. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his cock continuing to use your cunt as it pleased.

His breath was hot as he groaned your name quietly, trying to avoid any outsiders hearing either of you. You hugged him tightly, allowing him to use you as he pleased. You loved the way his cock stretched you out mercilessly, then abusing your g spot into pure euphoria. “Colbs-” You began, trying to warn him of your oncoming orgasm. Colby gripped your flesh harder, as if he were afraid you’d disappear.

“I know baby, me too. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock,” Colby ordered weakly, his own orgasm approaching rapidly. Your body trembled as you came, your walls squeezing Colby’s cock tightly. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” Colby moaned into your skin. His thrust continued, fucking you into overstimulation as you ride out your orgasm. “Colbs, cum inside of me, fucking please,” You whined. Colby chuckled darkly as he lifted up his head.

He was proud of you in an odd way.

“I knew you were still my cumdumpster,” Colby said darkly, before bringing his lips to yours. The taste of your lips sent him over the end, his cock twitching and spilling his seed inside of you. You struggled to keep up with his needy lips, your body gone completely limp as his seed filled you. He pulled away slowly, his lust fading and usual distaste for you returning.

Colby slowly set you down, doing as he always did. He looked around, grabbing the closest hand towel and running it under the tap water. “Just breathe for me, okay?” He murmured. You did as instructed, focusing on your breathing as he wiped your overstimulated cunt. He cleaned you up, tossing the rag aside.

He handed you your bra and panties, before dressing himself quietly. It always ended this way, the two of you dressing in silence after a good fuck. You never understood why he bothered to clean you up. As you put on your dress, the brunette was quick to help you zip up the back zipper. You both were facing the mirror, the reflection showing people both of you used to be.

You gave Colby one last glance before slipping out of the bathroom, leaving the brunette alone with his thoughts.

He slipped out not long after you, the remaining guest seemingly unaware of the sinful act that had occurred moments before. He snaked his way through the smaller crowd, returning to his place beside Sam. His best friend was happy to see him, giving him a drunken smile.

“Hey dude, where’d you go? I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Sam asked. Colby shrugged, accepting the cup of liquor Sam had passed him. “I’ve been mingling. You know how I am,” Colby lightly joked. Sam signaled for him to come closer, as if he had a secret to tell him. The blonde placed one hand on his shoulder, before quietly telling him the realization he had:

“Y/n is here. I don’t see a problem with her being here but I know you guys have a history so I thought i’d let you know,”

Colby shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, his thoughts circling around being buried in your cunt just minutes ago.

“Thats fine man. I don’t really care. Where’s she at?” He asked curiously. The brunette figured you would’ve left, having completed your goal of him fucking you. Sam pointed at you in the mist of the crowd, an influencer Colby didn’t recognize with you.

He watched as you grinded your ass against the man, his hands gripping your waist. The waist Colby’s hands were on minutes earlier. You caught Colby’s eye, sending him a flirty wink as you continued to dance with the stranger. Colby’s gaze hardened, fire dancing in his eyes of envy as he eyed the stranger.

If looks could kill, the strange man standing where Colby should’ve been would be dead.

The only thing that broke Colby’s hardened stare was Sam’s question:

“Hey dude what happened to your tie?”

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: What started as a quest to prove Eddie's 'manhood' ended with a gesture that had you hurtling towards your future--ready or not. (5.4k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, parental conflict, poverty, lots of bees, mention of parental illness, brief mention of sex work, finally some actual physical contact between them, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter five: float like a butterfly

For the first time since you’d started working nights, you didn’t dread the sound of your alarm ringing. You’d always appreciated its stillness, with only city noises and the occasional guest puncturing the perfect silence. There were some nights where you didn’t speak a word for the full eight hours of your shift; you just read or wrote or daydreamed until the clock struck six.

Except for last night, of course, when you’d passed the time by talking with Eddie and minimally contributed to wallpaper removal. Your mind flickered back to the way he’d placed his hand on yours. The sensation of his palm, calloused but warm, lingering a beat longer than necessary. 

The whole moment could have been deemed unnecessary, in theory. Surely he could have modeled the action on his own and then handed you the tool so you could imitate him. Was it truly to show you how to scrape off glue, or did he have a more gratuitous intention?

Shaking your head, you eschewed the idea almost as quickly as you’d considered it. He was just being polite, a rarity among most of your male guests. Maybe that's why you were so hyper-focused on it; years of clipped conversations and crude comments had you mistaking kindness for something more flirtatious.

Speak of the Devil…

Eddie stood in the lobby, his guitar case slung across his back. He kept one elbow perched on the desk as he spoke to your mom. Whatever he said was making her laugh, a genuine one that brought a light to her eyes. She noticed you first, and when she waved you over, Eddie turned around to see what caught her attention. His smile shifted from open-mouth to close-lipped, more thoughtful and discreet without losing any of its charm.

Slinging your bag off of your shoulder next to the desk, you feigned a casual demeanor and asked, “What did I miss? Serenading my mom?” You nodded towards the guitar case, biting back a smile.

Eddie shook his head, his curls falling in his face. “Tried to make a couple bucks down at the subway station.” He shrugged, shoving his hand in his pocket. “Not enough for a ticket home, but it’s a start.”

Home. Obviously he was going home. New York had nothing for him, had chewed him up and spit him out like he left a bitter taste in its mouth. He had no reason to stay.

Oblivious to your disappointment, Mom laughed again. “Mr. Munson–”

“Eddie. Mr. Munson is my uncle.”

“Eddie,” Mom quickly amended, “was just telling me about the time he ripped his pants while he was on stage.” 

Rosy red seeped into Eddie’s cheeks, evidently not expecting your mom to share that information with you. “And that was the last time I wore leather pants,” he said. “Lesson learned.”

Deeming this conclusion insufficient, you inquired further. “How exactly does one rip leather pants?” You stifled a giggle, just imagining him feeling a sudden breeze mid-concert.

“Well, ya see,” he started, crossing his arms over his faded Metallica t-shirt and smirking, “I’m what’s known as an enthusiastic performer. And as such, one might find that leather can be quite restricting.”

“So…you got really sweaty and they ripped.”

Eddie hid his face behind a curtain of curls, all but confirming your suspicions. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Heiress,” he warned with a smile, cocking his pointer finger in your direction.

Mom took that as her cue to leave, quickly clasping your hand and excusing herself. Thick tension set in without her there as a buffer. Her presence prevented any conversation from dipping too deep into flirtation; now, there was nothing stopping it. 

Except, of course, the looming fact that he was a guest. And like all guests, he was a temporary fixture in your life. 

“The new wallpaper didn’t come in yet,” you blurted out. Dad had insisted on ordering it from a family friend, saving money but forgoing the promises of timely delivery afforded by bigger suppliers. 

Eddie shrugged, unbothered by the information. “I know.” He placed a cigarette between his lips and held out the pack in offering, but you shook your head. Without missing a beat, he put his own cigarette back and returned the box to his pocket. “Your mom was saying how excited she is for you to finish your classes and take over the motel.”

Panic flooded your lungs and constricted your breathing at the potential crisis he might have inadvertently caused. Did Mom seem upset? Her usual signs were noticeably absent: narrowed eyes, set jaw, lips painfully taut in a silent roar: we’ll discuss this later. 

There was none of that. She was laughing. Happy. Not a hint of disappointment. Yet anxiety still hooked its claws into your skin, a stinging reminder of the anvil dangling over your head. 

“You didn’t say—”

“Not a word.” Eddie waved away the thought. “Just smiled and nodded.”

Your chest went concave with relief, and you had to stop yourself from reaching out and pulling him into a hug. His arms held a surprising strength, as evidenced by his wallpaper removal abilities, and you wondered how they would feel wrapped around your waist. Did he hug tightly, not letting go until all of the air had been squeezed from your lungs? Or did he prefer a softer, lazier embrace, one with a hand free to stroke up and down your back?

Why did it matter?

“Is there a reason you haven’t told them?” he asked. The sound of his voice invaded your senses, pulling you back to reality in an instant. “I mean, they seem nice enough.”

Stooping down to grab your notebook, you nodded in agreement. “That’s part of the problem, I guess.” Your teeth scraped along your tongue as you considered your words. “If they were shitty, I wouldn’t feel so bad about letting them down.”

“Letting them down?”

You nodded, feeling that familiar pit that formed in your stomach whenever this subject arose. “Yeah. I can’t be a social worker and run the motel. And if I don’t stick around, they’ll have to close this place for good.”

Eddie breathes out with a low whistle. “Pretty high stakes.”

“You can say that again.” Resting your elbows on the desk, you buried your head in your hands. “How did your parents react when you told them you wanted to be a rockstar?” you asked, your voice slightly muffled. 

He took so long to respond that you looked up, wondering if he’d up and left while you weren’t watching. 

“My dad’s, um, not in the picture, and my mom died when I was a kid,” he finally said, using his left thumbnail to pick at the right. 

“I’m sorry.” And you were: for his loss and for prying into his history. Mortification bloomed and prickled sweat under your arms, and you clenched them to your sides in a feeble attempt to hide any forming stains.

“S’okay. I mean, you didn’t know, so…” his shoulders moved up and down, his mouth drawn into a forgiving half-smile, “now you know.”

Now you know. A little slice of him, presented to you like one of the cakes the local bakery kept locked behind a pane of refrigerated glass. The ones you admired as a kid, reveling in their perfectly smooth icing and intricately piped pastel flowers. They’d always seemed too delicate to touch, so you’d skipped over them in favor of sprinkle-laden cookies.

Logically, you know that the cakes were made for consumption. All you needed to do was ask for a taste. But you could never bring yourself to ruin their beauty. Not then, and not now.

And so, as always, you stepped away and chose the easier path instead.   

“Did you really rip your pants on stage?”

Eddie’s nose wrinkled at the sudden subject change, but he recovered quickly. “Sure did. Split right down the seam.” He puffed out a short laugh through his nose. “Poor Gareth got an eyeful that night.”

“Are you sure that isn’t the real reason you left the band?” Picking up the nearest pen, you poked the capped end into his forearm. 

He play-winced, rubbing the spot the cap touched, and shook his head. “Nah, this was my high school band. Corroded Coffin.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“Oh, yeah. We were terrifying.” Eddie widened his eyes in mock-horror. “The backbone of Indiana’s satanic panic, actually.”

You raised your brows. “Impressive.”

“Mhm. We only broke up because our bassist went to college out of state. Princeton.” He lowered his voice at the name as though relaying confidential information. 

“Not the Ivy Leagues!” You pressed your hand to your heart, clutching metaphorical pearls. 

Eddie grimaced. “I’m afraid so.”

“I’ve heard Princeton is known for their demonic studies program, so that tracks.”

This is nice. This is easy. No mention of schoolwork, or the motel, or parents—or lack thereof. You could do this all night. 

A throat clearing followed by a hacking cough took you both by surprise. Peering over Eddie’s shoulder, you found Phyllis standing in the lobby doorway. 

“There’s a wasp nest outside my window,” she said, tugging up one drooping shirt sleeve. The odor of stale cigarettes grew stronger as she walked closer to you and Eddie; even if she quit smoking today, the pungency would always cling to her. 

Uncapping your pen, you reached into the desk drawer and grabbed the stack of Post-Its. “I’ll make a note to get some insecticide spray tomorrow,” you promised, poorly curbing your exasperation. 

If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. 

The older woman didn’t put up any argument, but Eddie was obviously displeased. “Like hell you will.” He glanced around, pent-up energy overflowing as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “You got a baseball bat around here?”

Your “Uh, no,” overlapped with Phyllis’s nonchalant, “Yeah, of course,” and she left to fetch it.

A sigh escaped you, hinting at your mounting irritation. “Eddie, absolutely not,” you insisted. “Just wait till I get the spray and you can do it then.”

He clicked his tongue with a note of condescension that you didn’t particularly appreciate. “Don’t worry about it, Heiress. I’m from the Midwest; our wasps are like your rats. This’ll be nothing.” When you remained unconvinced, he adopted a teasing grin. “I don’t tell you how to do your nerd stuff, do I? So leave me to my man stuff in peace.”

You nearly choked on your own saliva. “Your man stuff?”

“Yes. Very strong and burly.” He flexed a bicep for emphasis and you threw your hands up in defeat, trying to ignore the soft fluttering in your stomach at the vein bulging through his skin.

Phyllis returned with the bat, the wooden neck clenched between arthritic fingers. “It’s right around the side,” she told Eddie. “Just look for the giant nest. And don’t forget to give this back when you’re done; I’m working tonight.” She thrust the bat into Eddie’s hand and padded back to her room, slippers thwacking against the linoleum. 

Eddie twirled the bat, threading it through his fingers and catching it smoothly. He smiled, unable to camouflage his pride. “See? I got this.” His grasp was determined without a hint of tenderness, a stark contrast to the way he’d held your hand the night prior. Tucking it underneath a denim-clad arm, he took a deep breath and pushed through the front door like he was preparing for battle.

You watched him leave, shaking your head. Evidently, he had a point to prove, but you doubted the chances of his success. Part of you wished you could leave the desk to watch him in action. Another part was relieved that you had the excuse to avoid witnessing this disaster as it unfolded.

As you predicted, not even half a minute had passed before you heard Eddie yelping, his footsteps thudding towards the motel’s entrance. He flung the door open with enough force that it smacked against the wall, scrambling to slam it shut behind him. His chest heaved under his jacket as he tried to catch his breath. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” He swatted around his head at some lingering wasps. “Son of a bitch!”  

Sucking your tongue to your front teeth, you bit back an I-told-you-so. “How’s your ‘manhood’ or whatever?” 

Maybe that wasn’t much better than outright gloating, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

Eddie made a closed fist with only his middle finger sticking up, and he winced almost immediately. “I think one of those little fuckers got me.” He cradled one hand in the other as you walked towards him for a closer inspection. 

Sure enough, a stinger was poking out from the side of his forefinger.

Phyllis came shuffling back from her room, pink lipsticked mouth pursed in concern. “Jesus, kid. Were you trying to piss them off?” The loose skin under her neck wobbled when she chortled. “You swung at that nest like you were Babe Ruth!”

Through a tense smile, you asked her to get a soapy washcloth so you could clean out the wound before it could spark an allergic reaction. “Unless, of course, that interferes with your man stuff,” you said to Eddie, all-too happy to throw his words back in his face.

“Fuck off.” A traitorous chuckle broke through his stoic exterior despite his very real pain. His eyes followed your movements as you grabbed the first aid kit.

You took his warm palm in yours, gently turning it to assess the afflicted finger. The stinger was lodged under his skin, already turning the surrounding area an angry red. 

“Oof, he really stung you good, huh?” Your tone was all sympathy; you figured he’d gotten enough jabs from the wasps. 

Eddie gritted his teeth as you gingerly scraped at the stinger with the edge of your notebook, taking care not to squeeze out any of the venom. You tightened your grip to keep his hand in place, feeling the soft but steady thrum of his heartbeat between his wrist and his thumb’s tendon. It had a melody of its own. 

Slowly, meticulously, you eased the stinger out from where it was wedged.

“Sorry,” you said softly, noting the way his eyes clamped shut as you drew out the stinger and brushed it onto the desk. 

“S’okay.” He managed a small smile, one you returned without hesitation.

The night was still for a moment before he spoke again, his voice soft but eager. 

“Tell me more about Izzy.”

Apparently, you weren’t the only one with a penchant for rapid subject changes. 

At once, your head was filled with memories of her: the pigtails held in place with thick rubber bands, the popsicle juice-stained pink t-shirt, the giggles that melted away your stress from a succession of ungrateful customers. He said something else, but you were too engrossed in your own thoughts for the words to register. 

“Hmm?”

“The little girl you helped.” Eddie cocked a quizzical brow, suddenly worried that he’d remembered incorrectly. “That was her name, right?”

You nodded. “She was only there that one day. I didn’t see her again.”

Her mother was probably too embarrassed to stay any longer and found another motel. If you could go back in time, you would have reassured her, maybe even offered to watch after Izzy while she worked. You might have informed her of programs where she could find a job that didn’t put her or Izzy in harm’s way. 

Eddie continued talking, for some reason persistent in his quest for answers. “But you said she talked to you while she was drawing. About her favorite stuff?”

Phyllis returned with cloth before you could answer him, and she rested it on the desk with a sigh. “I’m gonna head out,” she said, pointing at Eddie, “but my bat better be in my room before I get back, Yogi Berra.”

He nodded, absently massaging the nape of his neck. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” One burgundy-painted fingertip pointed at Eddie, then at you. “I like this kid.”

How do you even respond to that? An honest, ‘me, too’? An overly sarcastic, ‘he’s alright’? 

You opted for a small, unassuming smile and the reminder to be safe, which was absurd when you really thought about it. Phyllis had been doing this, as she put it, “since my tits were above my belly button,” yet you were telling her about safety. 

Bringing your attention back to the sting, you clutched the sopping wet washcloth. Phyllis apparently hadn’t wrung it out; water dripped down the side of your fingers and splashed onto the floor in an uneven plop-plop-plop. 

With an abundance of care, you swiped the cloth over the sting site. It was already starting to swell, the skin raised and angry. 

Eddie reflexively pulled away, the tension evident from the way his front teeth formed grooves in his lower lip. 

“Fuck, that hurts.” His free fist pounded into the desktop with so much force that, for a split second, you worried that he might leave a dent. 

“I know, but we have to clean it out,” you said. 

He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath; you weren't sure you even wanted to know what he said. “Yeah, yeah.” He winced as the frayed fibers grazed him again. “So…Izzy?”

“There isn’t much to say,” you answer honestly. “I mean, she just told me she loved McDonalds french fries and Muppet Babies. Especially baby Fozzie Bear.”

“Anything else?”

You thought back for a moment. “Her favorite animal was dogs, but only the little ones. She said the big ones scared her because they barked too loud. Oh, and her favorite color was light purple.”

The memory is bittersweet, bathing you in both comfort and a dull ache. It was almost six years ago but the little girl had made herself at home in your mind. You thought about her on a daily basis, wondering if she and her mom were still bouncing from motel to motel, or if they’d found a permanent place to settle. Every ounce of optimism you possessed worked to help you believe that they were safe and that she didn’t remember when safety wasn’t guaranteed.

“I knew it.”

You looked up from applying calamine lotion, dabbing the pink-stained cotton ball over any excess dripping off of his finger. “Knew what?” 

“I knew you’d remember everything she told you.” His thumb relaxed and fluttered down until it rested on yours, the pad of his finger on your knuckle.

You reached for a Band-Aid before realizing that opening it required two hands. With more hesitation that you anticipated, you let go of him. “And what makes you say that?” You wrapped the bandage around his finger, careful not to press too tightly around the sting. “There. Good as new.”

Eddie smiled his appreciation. “I, um, had a similar experience when I was a kid.” He swallowed, picking at the Band-Aid until the adhesive side began to bunch up. When he allowed himself to glance at you, he saw you looking back at him, silently encouraging him to tell his story. 

“My mom got sick when I was in kindergarten. The treatment made her tired and nauseous, like, all the time; when she wasn’t sleeping, she was throwing up.” His eyes clouded over and his voice cracked slightly; he cleared his throat and continued. “I was at school one day, and the social worker asked me if I had anyone at home who washed my clothes for me. And when I told her no, she asked me to bring any clothes I needed cleaned with me the next day. So I did, and after school let out, she took me to the Laundromat.” 

If you told him that he didn’t have to keep talking, he'd stop. He’d wipe away any residual tears and excuse himself, and you’d once again spend your shift alone. And so you didn’t say anything, just stood there as his gears turned in recollection.

“She had this game: she’d hold up a piece of clothing and ask if it goes in the ‘lights’ or ‘darks’ pile, and she would get faster and faster until I was laughing too hard to answer.” Eddie exhaled a short laugh and swiped his tongue over his top teeth. “The whole time, I’m thinking that it’s all fun, that this is a normal thing that every kid did. I didn’t realize until years later that it was because my clothes smelled, y’know?” 

Sheepishness colored Eddie’s face in pink splotches as he shifted from man to boy and then back again. 

“Anyway, your story about Izzy kinda reminded me of that. And she might not remember your name or even what you talked about, but she’ll remember someone being there for her. Someone who didn’t act like she was a bother or a charity case. Just a kid who wanted to play.”

His words left you without any of your own. There was so much to digest; chiefly, your newfound glimpse into Eddie’s past. And though you’d only ever known him as an adult, you were still picturing him as a child. He sat atop a counter where others folded their clothes, his brown eyes–looking even bigger than they did presently, given his small stature–gazing up at the woman in wonderment as he giddily sorted his laundry. 

And then, of course, there was the delicately embedded compliment. The reassurance that you had been a positive force in Izzy’s life, even through one brief encounter. 

It was the only part that you could elaborate on without intruding on his privacy. He’d shared something so personal, and while you were desperate to learn more about him, you didn’t want to barge past the boundaries he had so carefully constructed.  

“Yeah, I…just wanted her to feel safe, I guess.” You’d devised a plan while you drew flowers and Care Bears in case no one showed up to find her. Everything had to be done so that she remained in the dark about the situation’s severity; you’d have Mom or Dad check the room, only calling the authorities if Izzy’s mom was unresponsive—or worse. 

In the end, there was no need for you to worry. Her mother was alert and Izzy herself was none the wiser that anything was wrong. You hadn’t even told your parents about the situation despite their potential involvement. Eddie, of all people, was the only other person who knew. 

He nodded and reached over, giving your hand a subtle, tender squeeze. 

“You did.”

Reassurance drifted through the air and clung to you like the sharp scent of tobacco on his jacket. Receiving compliments wasn’t your strongest suit, so you pivoted topics to avoid stretching the ensuing awkward silence any further. 

“The calamine lotion should help with the itching, but you can take some Benadryl if it’s still bad.” Rummaging through the first aid kit, you searched for the medication but only managed to scrounge up a bottle of expired ibuprofen. “There’s a pharmacy a few blocks down. They’ll have some there.” A little mom and pop shop that sold candy and cheap wine in addition to different over-the-counter medicines, it had been a community staple since before you were born.

The corners of Eddie’s eyes crinkled, lips turning upwards in amusement. “An heiress, a social worker, and a nurse? What can’t you do?”

That was a loaded question, and you were relieved that it was rhetorical so you wouldn’t have to list all of your shortcomings. You settled for flipping him off with an accompanying smile of your own.

“I should probably get that bat before she gets back,” he said, glancing towards the older woman’s room. He lowered his voice and continued. “She kinda scares me.”

“Oh, I definitely would not get on her bad side,” you agreed. “Phyllis’s wrath will make that wasp sting feel like a walk in the park.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” His laugh was music that stirred up a desire to dance, to be carried by the melody like a strong gust of wind, and then he was out the door.

Immediately, you were inclined to find something new to talk about when he walked back in. You’d had two days of companionship and had been spoiled by it; the thought of another night in solitude suddenly seemed lonely.

You couldn’t ask about his parents or the social worker who’d taken him to the Laundromat; that was too personal, too soon. Same with his old band. But music–his favorite songs, musicians, albums–that might be safe enough to explore.

The door opened and brought with it a cool evening breeze. Eddie returned much more confidently than he had the last time, Phyllis’s bat slung over his shoulder. 

“Apparently, I actually managed to knock the nest down,” he reported, sounding as surprised as you felt. 

He stifled a yawn, denim creasing at the elbow when he lifted his hand to cover his mouth. It was then that you noticed the way sleep tugged at his eyelids, dashing any remaining hope of having a conversational partner this evening. Asking him to stay awake for you was just selfish. 

“I’ll see you around, Heiress. Let me know if there’s any more man stuff you need from me.” He rapped his knuckles on the desk twice in quick succession and started towards his room. 

“Night, Eddie.”

Opportunity slipped through your fingers as he walked away, the sound of his footsteps eventually too muted to hear. You shoved your disappointment beneath the surface. Eddie wasn’t your friend; he was a guest who happened to be friendly. Asking him to stick around and chat would be unprofessional. 

If he happened to stop by the desk while you worked, you could make small talk. Otherwise, it would be business as usual. 

Minutes were hours and hours were days. Another trucker needed a room for the night, and you checked him in around four o’clock. 

You thought about the certainty in Eddie’s assurance that Izzy had felt safe with you. He didn’t know her; he barely knew you, and he wasn’t even there when it all happened. Yet his approval illuminated from the inside out and you replay it over and over. 

You did. You did. You did. 

Izzy was safe with you and she knew it. If you swallowed your fears and forged your own path, you could help other kids just like her. But it would come at a steep cost unless your parents could somehow miraculously afford to hire a new employee.

Your stomach turns just imagining the motel’s windows shuttered, a For Sale sign propped up in the door, ready to be snapped up by a major hotel chain for a mediocre sum that would barely pay off the overdue bills. It haunted you.

How long could you do this? How long could you push off your own dreams in favor of your parents’? At what point did you cross that fine line between selflessness and martyrdom?

Exhaustion crushed your body, strong enough to overpower the churning anxiety. Still, your sleep was fitful, and you woke up before your alarm feeling wholly unrested. Achiness radiated through your bones as you dragged yourself out of bed.

You knew what you had to do.

Dad noticed your earlier departure, so used to you leaving at 1:45 every day like clockwork. His brows pinched with perplexity as he determined whether he’d forgotten about a change in your schedule.

“Just running an errand before class.”

His confusion faded, replaced with a grin. “Thought I was losing my mind.” The way he stood under the lighting accentuated the gray flecks in his hair and mustache and solidified that he was, in fact, aging. His eventual retirement loomed closer, more of a when than an if with each passing day.

“Can’t lose what you never had,” you teased weakly. Dad met your joke with a wink; if he had picked up on the falter in your voice, he was gracious enough to ignore it.

You took a slight deviation from your usual route, walking past the bus stop and turning the corner until you reached the mailbox. It beckoned you, taunted you, sneered at your cowardice. The stamped envelope mocked you tenfold; innocuous on the surface but held the weight of betrayal.

It contained your admissions letter to NYU with the “accept” box marked and a deposit check that nearly drained your savings, ready to go.

The mailbox hinge creaked open so loudly that it seemed to echo. All you had to do was drop the envelope down the chute and pray that you made the right choice.

Regret surged through your veins the moment the envelope left your fingertips. You acted on instinct, shoving your hand back down the box to reclaim your letter, but you knew it was a fruitless effort before you’d even failed. It was already lost in a sea of bills and birthday cards. 

“Shit!” Yanking your arm out before someone accused you of mail theft, you tilted your head back in an attempt to stop the impending tears.

With one stupid decision, you’d heaved a shovel into the dirt and begun digging a grave for the family business.

What the hell were you thinking? 

As though it had a mind of its own, your foot swung out and smacked against the tin drum with all of your might. It took a beat for the pain to hit, the throbbing in your toes matching the reverberating metal.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You didn’t care who saw, who heard. Anger and self-loathing bubbled over like boiling water and scalded you in shame. Everything was so far out of your control, and you couldn’t rein it in. The world kept spinning fast, faster, too fast—

“Kicking it won’t make the mailman show up, y’know. ‘S not like rubbing a genie’s lamp.” 

Eddie stood on the other side of the mailbox. A plastic bag dangled from his hand, the box of drugstore brand antihistamine peeking through its translucence. His playfulness morphed into concern when he noted your dewy lashes. “Heiress? You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” You swiped at your cheeks and sniffed back the mucus that collected in your nostrils. You probably should have been embarrassed that he’d caught you in such a state of distress; maybe you would be once the dust settled. 

He wrinkled his nose dubiously. You couldn’t blame him; why would he be convinced when you were assaulting mailboxes and swearing at the air?

“Seriously. Just having a bad day.” And it was going to get even worse if you missed your bus—again. “Thanks for asking, though.” You managed a grateful smile to prove your sincerity.

Grabbing your backpack from its spot on the ground, you zipped it back up and hoisted it over your shoulder before starting back towards the stop. 

“Hey, wait a sec.” Eddie called out to you, shuffling over until he was by your side. “You, uh, your makeup…” He trailed off bashfully, raising his thumb but stopping before it touched your skin. “May I?”

You nodded, breath hitching as the pad of his finger grazed just below your eye. He gently rubbed, tongue poking between his lips while he focused on removing the smudge without hurting you. 

He was close, almost too close for comfort. There was a small cut on his chin where he must have nicked himself shaving, and you forced yourself to stare at that instead of his wide eyes. 

“There…we…go.” He held up a mascara-stained thumb as evidence. Without thinking, you pressed your own thumb to it. The knuckles of your remaining four fingers slotted between his until you pulled away. 

Eddie laughed, apparently amused by the odd gesture. “I’ll take that as a thank you.” He wiped the residue on his shirt, not caring if it left a mark. “Don’t miss the bus; wouldn’t want you to be late for your nerd stuff again.”

“Mhm.”

You harnessed all of your strength to unglue your feet from the sidewalk. Your body operated on autopilot to its destination while your mind only thought of the heat that leapt from his thumb to yours, or maybe yours to his. 

It was cyclical, you surmised as the bus approached, with no clear beginning or end.

--

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[yandere-writer-momo]

Immortal

Yandere Lich x Afab Reader

There was no such thing as magic or monsters. They were old tales once used to scare children… or so she thought.

What stood before her could not be described as a man… no. This was no man, but a monster parading around in the flesh of her lover. An undead monster with malevolent glowing ruby eyes in his pitch black eye sockets.

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this, my dear…” The creature’s husky voice whispers. He outstretches his hand to try to tuck a strand of hair behind her face, but she flinched away when some of the skin falls off his hand to reveal more skeleton. “This skin had started to decay too quickly… I don’t mean to scare you-“

(Your name) could only scream as she tried to flee, but something invisible held her in her place. Her feet now stuck to the ground like a tree as her body trembles like a leaf under his intense gaze.

“W-who are you?”

“It’s me, Aeron.” The undead creature gave her a bow, his rotten hand now tenderly caresses her face. “I’m your lover of course-“

(Your name) fails to shift her head away, her body convulsing in sobs when he presses the teeth of his skeletal face in an attempt to kiss her. More of Aeron’s flesh fell off in the process, the soft skin now sat on her shoulder. Tears spill from her eyes in horror.

“This is quite a sight for your eyes, my dear…” ‘Aeron’ pulls back with a sigh, he peels off the rest of the skin off his face to reveal an entire skeleton save for his ruby eyes. “I sadly do not have the same appealing appearance I had a millennium ago… but I simply could not stay away once I sensed you were back in this world.”

Aeron grabbed her hands and held them up to his rotted chest. The black metal band on his skeletal ring finger terrifies her to her very core. This monster was not her fiancé… “My heart may long be gone but I swear it beat only for you. I had no reason to have flesh or organs once you ceased to exist…” Aeron pressed his teeth to her soft hands with a cry. “I miss being able to touch you… to feel you. I envy that man who was in my place for a brief time but he is no more. He hasn’t been for a few years now actually.”

Aeron then sat back, his terrifying face tilted to the side when her tears didn’t stop falling. “My dear why do you cry? Do you not remember me? My name? I… I don’t quite remember my name either so I borrowed your temporary lover’s.”

“W-what are you?” (Your name) stutters out. This monster has been by her side for three years and she never noticed… how could she not notice?

“Well I am what you would call a lich. I sacrificed my humanity for immortality so I could meet you again once you were reborn. I was once your lover over a thousand years ago.” Aeron threw his hands up in the air. “I eliminated all other magic in this world so nothing could ever harm you again. I didn’t want something as silly as priests to stop us from being together again. How lucky was I that you weren’t chosen to be the saintess again.”

(Your name) watches the lich ramble. She was lost and didn’t have a clue on what he spoke of. They were lovers a thousand years ago and he waited a millennium to be reunited with her? She was a saintess? Then what was he?

“My dear, don’t question it too much. You’ll hurt you head.” The lich snapped his fingers, the flesh flew back onto his body and repaired itself. A familiar handsome man with dark hair stood before her now. Aeron smiled at her. “We can just pretend this never happened again… just like he have for the last three times you found out.”

“The what?” A hand was waved over her face and (your name) no longer knew what she was about to say… or why she was upset in the first place. “Aeron? What happened?”

“You just had a bit of a headache my dear. How about I make you a cup of tea to help?” Aeron rubs her back in a reassuring manner, his red eyes filled with love. “Just sit on the couch okay? I’ll take care of everything.”

(Your name) nods her head and goes over to sit down on the couch. She plops her body down while Aeron fetches her a fresh cup of tea.

Aeron smiles at his reflection in the window. Yes… this human face will do for now. All he has to do is convince her to stay with him forever. He wouldn’t fail this time… he had her wrapped around his finger rather than on opposite sides during a war.

Aeron was no longer an enemy necromancer but her lover. Her fiancé.

He’d burn the whole world down again if he had to. Aeron would do anything for his love… he’s already sold his soul and waiting a millennium for her. What was another thousand years to a lich?

[yjhariani]

Part 2 of Lighter Warnings: Profanity, angst, violence, blood.

A/N: Apparently people are upset that I kill them? Hopefully this mend your hearts in one way or another.

“This is a rescue mission,” Laswell started. “Top secret. The only people who will know and will be involved in this mission are the people in this room and a group of allies.”

Soap was looking around. Even the captain looked like he knew only as much as he did. In fact, he looked rather surprised.

“Who are we rescuing?” Price asked.

“One of my agents,” Laswell answered.

“Since when do we do this kind of mission?” Ghost questioned. “Rescuing a CIA agent of anyone.”

“This one isn’t actually working for the CIA. Just for me. Besides,” Laswell sighed before finally opening the file case, “this is the one person that you would want to rescue.”

The photo was the first thing everyone saw and time seemed to slow down. The four were looking—staring at the photo. The face that most of them had not seen in almost a year. Except for Ghost who saw another photo of the same face last night because he could not sleep.

The lighter in Ghost’s pocket felt like it weighed a ton now. It felt as if it was lit up and he tried his best not to touch it. He could not have mistaken that face. He knew exactly who the person was.

Gaz had to blink a few times to ensure himself. Soap even had to rub his eyes. Price, picking up the photo, felt a tinge of nausea at the back of his throat.

“This? This person is your agent?” Price asked.

“Yes,” Laswell answered stoically. “As of this moment, this person is taken by—”

“Can we talk about this for a moment?!” Soap shrieked. “That person is dead. We were there. Ghost was holding this person’s dead body! We were… we were there. We saw it. We saw the body at the funeral, too.”

Price slid the photo to Ghost. It was a photo he had not seen before, it looked recently taken.

You. Still as gorgeous as the last time Ghost saw you. Most of all, you looked alive. You were smiling in this photo. It was not genuine and Ghost knew it.

“That’s why I took care of the funeral and, guess what? The most crucial information that we got was received when our dead friend was posing as a dead body,” Laswell nodded. “We can talk about this after we rescue—”

“You couldn’t have told us?” Price protested. “You don’t trust us?”

“Telling you would compromise the mission. Now, can we all focus here? The longer we stay here, the higher the chance that we’ll be failing this rescue mission. We still need to fly to where they’re holding our friend prisoner,” Laswell said, now sounding very much more serious. “If it’s an apology you want, fine. I’ll make it brief. I’m sorry. Would you all focus on the matter at hand now?”

Price sighed and waved a hand, telling Laswell to continue. Soap and Gaz nodded. That left everyone looking at Ghost who was still looking at the photo.

“Simon, you’re with us?” Laswell asked.

Ghost finally looked up.

Did he care that Laswell hid this from you? Did he care how you got into whatever this mess Laswell asked them to fix? Did he care that the one time he found out that you were alive was because Laswell had a job and the job was to rescue you? No.

Ghost cared that you were alive and that he would get to you soon.

“Just take me there and give me a gun,” Ghost said.

Without sparing any seconds left, Laswell immediately briefed the squad on the place where an arms dealer was keeping you hostage. Right after that, everyone started moving, ready to rescue one person.

Getting in was easy. It was a mansion in Mexico and there no one inside the building. However, they were not actually taking things easy. They knew what a trap looked like. Getting out might be difficult.

At least, Ghost thought, by then they would have you and he knew what you could do. You would make things way easier. Way, way easier. Especially for Ghost.

To be honest, Ghost had imagined a lot of different scenarios of that last mission. How things would end with you alive, how he would gladly take your place, how he wished—sometimes—for Soap to be the one who died. 

Not once that Ghost thought of this possibility. Yes, he had thought that the enemy might have taken you prisoner, but that was rather impossible seeing that he saw your dead body at your own funeral. He knew it was you. There was no way that anyone could look so much like you. Besides, he would know if it was not you.

Just like he knew that the further in they walked into the mansion, the closer they were to you. Ghost felt something in his chest. Was it excitement? Was it relief? Was it anger? Who knew, he was never good at those things.

It felt like a sudden when Ghost went down a manhole, saw the room with bars as a door from where he stood, and saw a bed inside that room and you were lying on it, nose pointed to the ceiling.

Your name fell out of Ghost’s lips. He thought it was his mind, at most a whisper. However, you turned your face towards his direction, confused at first. Then, you got off the bed and rushed to the bars.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” you asked, sounding way more angry than relieved.

“Rescuing you,” Laswell said as she passed Ghost and skipped towards the room you were in.

“It’s a trap,” you stated.

“Holy fucking Jesus, it really is you,” Soap said, catching up behind Laswell.

“What do you mean it’s a trap?” Price asked, joining Soap and Laswell who were already trying to unlock the bar that separated them from you.

“They put me here so they could escape you,” you said to Laswell. “They’re gonna burn this place down.”

“That’s why we need to hurry,” Laswell nodded. “Ghost, bolt cutter.”

In the meantime, Ghost was frozen on his spot. All he could see was you, your hands holding the bars, your messed up face, the way you stood, the look you gave everyone but him. 

Gaz carefully put his hand on Ghost’s shoulder. Ghost did not look at the sergeant. He could not. All he could look at was you and you and you. Alive.

“LT, I got your back,” Gaz quietly said. “They need that bolt cutter you’re holding.”

“Ghost, quickly,” Price encouraged.

That next second, you finally looked at Ghost. He saw your fists clenching the bars even tighter. There was a thin smile on your face and that was all it took for Ghost to walk himself towards the door and cut the chain that locked you up.

The chain was cut, pried away, and the bar was opened. The next thing Simon knew was that he felt himself getting pushed back by a splatter of a human being wrapping their whole body tight around him.

Unfortunately, it only lasted a few seconds. It was too soon. Way too soon. You took one of the guns holstered on Ghost’s belt in the process.

“Let’s go,” you said.

“Just him?” Soap questioned.

“Good to see you, Soap,” you sighed, cocking the gun in your hand. “You, too, Captain. Hey, Gaz.”

Gaz nodded at you once.

Looking back at Simon, you found him still looking at you. You had no idea if he blinked at all or not.

“Been a while, big guy, you’re ready for this?” you asked, a flat smile on your face.

“How are you in a good mood?” was the first thing he said to you.

“Of course I’m in a good mood, I get to be in your lives again,” you said. “That, of course, if we can make it out of this place alive.”

There was a few seconds passing with everyone just watching you and Ghost looking at one another. Those seconds felt like forever for Ghost. They were beating you. They left bruises and cuts, but he knew they could never destroy you like that.

There was nothing more that Ghost wanted other than to smother you with his face and to crush your ribs with his arms. Affectionately, of course, but he would never say that out loud.

If you had time to spare, you would have already slipped his mask off and kissed him on the lips.

“It’s like we’re not even here,” Soap said.

“It’s like someone’s acting as if they had not been dead the whole fucking year,” Price scoffed.

“I’m sorry. I trust the boss lady here and I’m just doing what she told me,” you said. “Now, where is the exit?”

Not waiting for anything else to happen, Laswell led the way. Usually, you would be further at the back in the marching order, but for some reason, no one was moving until you started tailing Laswell. Ghost was right behind you because he was worried that you would combust if he let you out of his sight.

It was all easy. Getting back through one door and another. It was all too easy.

You did say it was a trap. That they would burn this place down. Ghost could not care less. He just cared that you were alive and were present, not more than a few feet away from him.

Nothing about you changed. Not that Ghost noticed. Well, you were more cautious somehow, but that was understandable seeing your reputation.

Upon entering one of the last rooms you had to pass before the lot of you were finally out of the building, you started smelling it. Gasoline.

Getting further into the big room, you finally saw the tanks. They were grouped in a corner. The floor and all the present furniture were wet with what was in them.

Everyone was tense all of a sudden. These were not here before. However, none of you stopped. Not until you felt a bullet flew across the opposite side of the hallway the group was sticking towards. It was headed towards the tank.

The shooter was a few feet away from the front door. Instead of pointing his gun at the group, he pointed his gun at the grouped tanks of gasoline.

It happened fast. You pushed yourself aside, feeling yourself rolling on the floor towards the tanks, and being pushed on your chest by a force of some sort. At the same time, Laswell and Ghost fired their guns at the person at the front door. In the very last microsecond, Ghost meant to pull you back upon sensing your leave, but he missed by mere centimetres.

Your body fell to the floor before the shooter’s body. By the time that stranger’s body touched the ground, Ghost was already beside you.

Red was blooming from your chest, your eyes wide, almost breathless. Ghost saw the spreading of red on your clothes and immediately pressed his hands on it.

“You took a fucking bullet for a bunch of tins?!” Ghost questioned. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

“Calm down, boo. At least we’re not cooked,” you said.

Ghost looked at your face and your chest back to back for what seemed to be a million times. He could see the blood seeping through his gloves.

Earlier, it was like he entered an ancient cave and instead of gold, he found found a crypt with you inside it alive, along with his heart. If that was the case, this moment would be that part where he realised that the treasure he found was cursed.

This looked bad. This looked really bad. You felt it, too.

Ghost traced his steps in a rapid second. He realised that he could have given you his bulletproof vest and he did not. He was too busy getting awed by your presence.

Last time, after long nights of pondering, he knew that there was nothing he could have done that would change your ‘death’. This time… well, this time, he would regret a lot.

“Simon,” your hand searched for his face, making him look you in the eyes. “It might be for real this time.”

“Not again,” he breathed. “Not again. I won’t fucking take it.”

By then, the rest were already around you.

“Jesus,” Soap exhaled.

“We need to move,” Price stated.

“Are you—”

“We’re moving and we’ll stop you from fucking dying!” Price yelled, cutting you off.

Everyone turned towards the captain, speechless. He was angry. No one had seen him this angry.

For a very brief moment, Ghost looked at Price and understood why he was so angry. Ghost had to deal with your death. Gaz had to deal with your death. Soap had to deal with your death. However, Price had to deal with your death whilst dealing with Gost, Gaz, and Soap dealing with your death.

If anyone deserved a million apologies for this mission Laswell gave you, it would be Price.

So, Ghost sucked it up. He did all he could to maintain pressure on your chest as he picked you up. Soap immediately helped him carry you as the group moved to the vehicle they left when they got here.

Everything moved so fast. Ghost did not pay attention and only kept his hands on you, looking at you. In the middle of this rough, sped up ride, he saw you smiling.

It was all slipping away, you could feel it. It was cruel that Ghost had to experience it once more.

“What?” Ghost asked.

“You know, my loyalty always lies with you, right?” you replied.

Ghost knew what you were doing.

“Shut up,” Ghost said.

“Always,” you repeated, putting your hand on his masked face. “Nothing I’m more loyal to.”

Even then, Ghost could not help but leaned himself against your touch.

“Except for this job, yeah?” Ghost asked.

You only looked at him.

“You’re still up for our plan if I make it out of this?” you asked.

“You will,” was all Ghost said.

“In case I don’t—”

“You better shut your mouth and keep it in,” Price chimed in. “You’re not dying on my watch, not again.”

In spite of that, a smile formed on your face.

I love you, you mouthed with whatever consciousness you had left.

“Fuck off,” Ghost quietly said.

The next few minutes, you only looked at him looking at you. Before there was nothing.

“I’m so… very sorry this happens again,” Soap said to Ghost.

The tension in the air was real. Hearts were broken. However, nothing would ever feel as hurtful as Soap putting the plus four card onto the table and saying.

You laughed.

“Last place again, boo,” you said. “You’re in the bottom of a bucket full of shit, man.”

“Fuck off,” Ghost scoffed as he gathered all the cards.

Price let out a light cackle as he leaned back on his chair.

“Nice place you both got here. Must be like a holiday every day of the year,” Price said.

By place he meant the house you and Ghost just moved in. It was not much, really, but it was what you and Ghost had envisioned all those years ago.

“A bit lonely with just the two of you in it, don’t you think?” Laswell asked.

“Oh, we’re… planning to get some pets,” you said.

“You mean a baby?” Gaz asked.

Ghost turned towards him, eyes sharp, piercing into the sergeant’s soul.

“Careful, Gaz, next time you’d be the one who’s dead and we won’t be as traumatised as when this one,” Soap gestured at you, “died. Twice almost.”

“Aw, come on, let’s not talk about that again. Just shuffle the deck and pass it around,” you said.

“Of course you don’t wanna talk about it, you’re the one who doesn’t have to suffer,” Ghost said.

“You better take that back, Simon, because you have no idea,” Laswell sighed. “I’m the one who has to deal with the whining.”

“We all suffered,” Price nodded, looking at Laswell. “But you started it.”

Laswell only looked at the captain for a moment, but she exhaled eventually.

“Fair,” Laswell said. “I could’ve told you, but I didn’t and I’m sorry.”

A pause.

“I still can’t believe you took a bullet for a bunch of tin cans,” Soap said.

Half of the table laughed. Price then took out a cigar.

“Lighter, anyone?” Price asked.

“It’s getting exhausting that you smoke a lot, but rarely keep a lighter on yourself, captain,” you said. “Here, let me light it up for you.”

Except for you and Laswell, the others took a moment of silence when you pulled out your lighter. Their gazes followed the lighter. A flash of a heartbreaking memory was painted in their eyes, unnoticed except for one another.

It was returned to you. Ghost could not live with it anymore. Afterall, he had you again. All the things that used to or still belonged to you would be nothing compared to yourself.

@teamowolverine @lilpothoscuttings

[sepublic]

            I saw people complain that Belos didn’t see Caleb’s ghost one last time during his death, and now that I’ve really thought about it in hindsight… I don’t think the ghost sequence in For the Future was meant to set up some sort of epiphany or something like that for Belos; Rather, it was THE conclusion to his twisted little storyline involving Caleb and the Grimwalkers.

         I think what happened was that in earlier drafts for Belos’ death, the writers considered having Caleb and the Grimwalkers appear, but then they decided that they wanted the scene’s focus to be between Luz and Belos; This is the series finale, it’s Luz’s triumph against Belos first and foremost, and that of the friends and family she’s made (people Belos looks down upon).

         But the writers still wanted a final bit between Belos and the ghosts, so they moved it to For the Future, another time we see him dying at a low point; There’s no other part of Watching and Dreaming this would fit, not even the sequence when Belos possesses the heart, since at that moment he’s convinced he’s nearing a narrow but certain victory.

         So Belos all by his lonesome with only his dark thoughts to keep him company, falling apart, dragging himself as he’s desperately trying to figure something out? That happens in For the Future, so the ‘ghosts’ happen in that episode. Apparently some color references refer to these ghosts as illusions, which points fairly solidly towards the interpretation that it’s all in Belos’ delirious head.

         And I think it makes sense that it’s the end; Not only are we accounting for how a lot had to be crammed in, but I feel it’s symbolic. After being rejected by Hunter, the big culmination of Hunter’s conflict against his uncle, Belos comes crawling back to all of the other Grimwalkers. It’s that same memory of Caleb and his clones he’s chasing, he tries to inhabit another grimwalker, one last time…

         But it fails; The grimwalkers are done with Belos, because Hunter finally stood up to him in the previous episode and broke the cycle. Belos can’t continue it anymore, despite his final effort to resuscitate this thread of his life; He is rejected both mentally and now physically by the clones. So in the end, Belos leaves it all behind. After being forced to suffer in the culmination of his failure with Caleb, it rejects him one final time. And by that point, Belos has gotten the hint, he can’t go back to that anymore.

         So he finally let go; He moves on, he abandons it behind in the Titan’s skull. It was never about Caleb, it all circled back to Philip and what he wanted and expected of his brother, rather than actual, unconditional love. Belos has dedicated his centuries to two things, saving Caleb and slaying the witches… And now he’s forced to reconcile with the fact that Caleb is a lost cause when the last Grimwalker fails, so all Belos has left is his murder, his vengeance. And he casts aside this last thread to pursue that ultimate goal. 

        Plus, Belos’ relatively subdued reaction, as people pointed out, indicate he’s been experiencing this for a while now; And he hadn’t changed then, so why would he change now, from an in-universe standpoint? And I suppose a Doylist one, too. The fact that the ghosts were given their own separate scene also means the writers could focus on Belos and the Grimwalkers without worrying about other characters present, which gives us a longer sequence than a brief cameo at the end.

        A lot of people insisted they just wanted a final acknowledgment of Caleb by Belos, anything at all, in the finale… But I think we DID get a final haunting, it just had to be pushed back into the penultimate episode instead, especially to make room for Luz. Whom I must remind you is the main protagonist, for whom this entire story begins and ultimately comes back to. As a contrast to Belos, who acts entitled to this assumption for himself, his motives ultimately boil down into thinking he’s the main hero. But it’s Luz, who learns to let go of that sort of pride, and healthily engage with her own story, in her own way.

        And before people complain that Kikimora and Boscha took time away from Belos (whose Caleb story would still end in For the Future with or without them), I should remind y’all that there are actually plenty of reasons for that subplot; For starters, the Hexside situation follows through on the setup of Hunter telling the students about Belos’ plan in Labyrinth Runners, so something actually comes of that. A bunch of unruly kids being in charge, with an adult preying on the leader, is a parallel to the Collector’s situation. 

       Conflict with Boscha and Kikimora create a low point for Luz and Willow to be frustrated over, providing an opportunity for their loved ones to step in and make a breakthrough, thereby contributing to Luz and Willow’s growth. Hunter gets to develop a relationship that is healthy to him, helping him move on from his abuser. 

        Boscha being an antagonist leads to a wonderful scene in which she and Willow are paralleled, which of course contributes to Willow’s arc. And this is speculative, but this plot seems to be the remnants of an original plan for Boscha and Kikimora’s arcs that unfortunately had to be trimmed down thanks to the shortening; Kikimora especially, since she’s set up in the S2 intro as being on the same level/significance as Lilith and Hunter, and was likely intended to be until the shortening. 

[merp-blerp]

A Gaylor interpretation of "The Prophecy" because if Taylor never sleeps why should I?

TW: I tried to keep it mostly light, but ended up veering into brief talk of self-destructive behavior and suicide near the end.

Overblown Analysis Under the Cut ↓

"Hand on the throttle / Thought I caught lightning in a bottle / Oh, but it's gone again"

I think this song is about failed coming outs and closeting. Of course, many in this community know of the Lover failed coming out, but God only knows if that was really the only attempt. I think she tried to at least subtly come out several times. But during Lover, she and many others thought she would finally make it out of the closet, a once-in-a-lifetime chance, fully ready to go and take control, but plans were foiled. If it wasn't the first or last attempt, the chance was gone again.

"And it was written / I got cursed like Eve got bitten / Oh, was it punishment?"

Taylor begins to question if her coming out plan(s?) fell short because she's cursed for being who she is. Was she cursed like Eve was for biting the forbidden fruit? Eve in some interpretations of Christianity is often seen as the blame for all the world's sins, with Mother Mary being seen as God's Eve "do-over", since Mary stayed obedient to God's wishes. Sometimes Eve is even depicted as tempting or tricking Adam into eating the fruit, it being her fault he fell, rather than his own choices ruining him. Whether or not Eve is actually to blame could be debated forever, not unlike how Christians debate similarly about whether the bible is okay with queerness or not. Taylor wonders if never being seen as who she is by the general public is a punishment for her simply being. Interestingly, Taylor changes Eve's story, saying Eve was bitten, rather than the biter, possibly by the serpent/Devil in the garden gate of Eden. Being bitten by a snake actually reminds me more of Cleopatra more than Eve, but I'll elaborate more on that later.

"Pad around when I get home / I guess a lesser woman would've lost hope / A greater woman wouldn't beg / But I looked to the sky and said / Please / I've been on my knees / Change the prophecy / Don't want money / Just someone who wants my company / Let it once be me / Who do I have to speak to / About if they can redo the prophecy?"

Somewhat self-explanatory. Taylor anxiously paces as she asks God if her fate can change. If she can just get free. She doesn't want the money that comes from the beardings and closeting any longer. She just wants to be seen for who she is. She wants someone who wants the real Taylor's company, not the showmanship Taylor. She wonders what God or entity she has to ask to be freed from the cage.

"Cards on the table / Mine play out like fools in a fable"

Taylor has used card games as imagery before, usually in situations where she feels like someone isn't being honest with her, playing her. Most significantly for this reading, in "Foolish One" she speaks about how her cards were on the table, or that she was being open and vulnerable, while that song's muse wasn't showing theirs, as they weren't being clear, leading her on. In this situation, Taylor is once again laying all her cards out for the world to see, but it's foolish because the world never sees it, whether it's from not knowing how to or not wanting to. Fables are very similar to folklore or folktales, characterized as short, clear, fictional stories, often featuring animals. Taylor is saying that while her cards are clear, her stories must be told through vague, or "fool" characters that distance her from them, fictionalized. Both Gaylors and general Swifties seem to currently agree that her album Folklore has truth in it and isn't fully fictionalized, but exactly how much is fiction, and who represents who seems to be where opinions differ. And then there's a lot of infighting between the sides of the fandoms, so Taylor stays mostly unseen and caged.

"Oh, it was sinking in (Sinking in, oh) / Slow is the quicksand / Poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand / Oh, still I dream of him"

The feeling that she'll never be free sinks in, slowly over time, like sinking into quicksand is slow, or poison through your body from a small prick. She dreams of someone. One way to look at this is that she's dreaming of someone she loves, the muse of this album. I, however, for now at least, get this feeling that the dream is actually more of a nightmare. I mentioned in my makeshift theory on "The Manuscript" that I believed "The Professor/He" was a personification of the music industry or an industry boss. Taylor's said before that she's had nightmares about the crummier aspects of the industry, like unwanted photos and videos of herself. Maybe she still does (as a slight sidenote, I feel like this could be connected to Kissgate, as that was filmed without her wishes, and arguably when the closeting and bearding amped up heavily). She even mentions nightmares in "Cassandra".

"And I sound like an infant / Feeling like the very last drops of an ink pen / A greater woman stays cool / But I howl like a wolf at the moon / And I look unstable / Gathered with a coven 'round a sorceress' table / A greater woman has faith / But even statues crumble if they're made to wait"

The ink pen feels like Taylor's saying that she's slowly burning out, down to the last drop in her, tired of writing letters addressed to the fire and sending signals, as she runs out of ways to say her truth just for it to fall upon deaf ears. A more stable woman wouldn't show her pain, but she's so loud about her truth like a wolf, yet soundless. She gets more desperate like a helpless child as she continues to wait, still grappling with the guilt that can come from being queer and a Christian at the same time, like she's a witch with a coven. She knows she's supposed to keep her faith by staying in the unseen shade of the closet, after all, "There's no such thing as bad thoughts / Only your actions talk (from "Guilty as Sin?")". But waiting to be free for however long is taking its toll. At the Spotify TTPD pop-up library, Taylor featured what's seemingly a bust of Artemis/Diana, the Greek/Roman goddess of the, most significant to Taylor, archery. (Yes, the name Diana is very curious for Gaylors, but—unpopular opinion—maybe—I don't think it actually means too much to the song itself) After hearing about an Artemis statue being destroyed in regards to that symbolism, when digging, I found a few stories about Artemis/Diana's statues or temples being destroyed, whether it's half of Diana of the Tower burning and the other half being lost or the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus being the victim of arson in 4th century BCE. Just like Artemis/Diana, Taylor gets destroyed unexpectedly. (I've also heard of an Artemis/Diana statue that was destroyed by time, but I can't find a source for that story that doesn't connect to the Taylor pop-up).

"I'm so afraid I sealed my fate / No sign of soulmates / I'm just a paperweight in shades of greige / Spending my last coin so someone will tell me it'll be okay"

Taylor fears that her fate to never be seen is her fault, as she willingly participated in the closeting and beardings, so she's cursed to stay that way forever, never getting to mingle with other queers as one of them, like a soulmate, but an "ally", as she's too big to hang out with them. In slang, a paperweight is a useless object; Taylor probably knows that her coming out could mean a lot for queer people and the movement, but since she hasn't been able to come out, at least not in a way that is universally recognized, she feels useless compared to what she could be. Greige is a combo of grey and beige, much like the sepia aesthetic of this album. It's almost colorless, as she is forced to be grey rather than a rainbow with all of the colors due to closeting. The use of sepia or greige could symbolize that this album still has a thin coat of bearding and closeting attached to it, even though it could also be seen as a big step into the daylight. She tried to see daylight times before, "but the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light" (from "Peter"), at least for now. After her "postmortem", Taylor spends what I interpret as an obol, a coin a shade, or ghost, given to them before burial, that's paid to Charon, the underworld ferryman in Greek mythology; the fee would let a shade cross the river Styx to get to Hades. But Taylor pays only in the hopes of being comforted by someone after her "death". To be told that everything will be okay after the grey fallout. An obol would be the last thing a person would own from their time on earth, so it's her last coin. Taylor being a shade could call back to lyrics like, "Shade never made anybody less gay", in "YNTCD", having the double meaning of shade as in vitriol and the dark shade of the closet, and "Sit quiet by my side in the shade" in "Paris", where her private lover quietly sits in the closet with her. In "The Archer", Taylor mentions "And all of my heroes die all alone", interpretively due to them being queer and not getting to have a privileged life in that sense. Maybe in the afterlife, Taylor hopes to find and be comforted by one of these heroes.

I mentioned Cleopatra earlier, and while as far as I know Cleopatra wasn't queer, she is treated similarly to Eve, often blamed for the temptation of men; Cleopatra allegedly self-inflicted a snake bite to end her life, like how Taylor's Eve was bitten. Taylor has similarly been treated like Eve and Cleopatra, seen as "going through men like potato chips (a real fucking quote I found while researching for this post)" whether that's the exact case or not. Taylor's also illuded to self-inflicting harmful actions that could kill her in several songs, like "Hoax", and including on TTPD: "Love left me like this and I don't want to exist" from "Florida!!!" Even quicksand and poison mentioned in this song are ways to die. Whatever the reason behind these lines might be, I hate that she may feel that way and I worry that it's a somewhat ignored aspect of her music, brushed off as dramatic. It makes the asylum theme of TTPD much more tragic. I wish nothing but the best for Taylor. 🤍

I make a part 2 part to this

[7sevenrings7]

So Much (For) Stardust - Stolitz (Explicit)

The hold Stolitz has on my SOUL is INSANE. PLEASE, somebody, just let them be happy! *sobs*

So...let's let them have some Good Friday smut. As a little treat.

WARNING: This fic is explicit and is intended for those aged 18+. Fic includes fellatio, ass play, and bondage. Unrelated: Brief and non-descriptive mentions of an apocalypse.

It's definitely not as wild as I could have gone (given the couple), but I wanted to explore the softer side before going into their kinks. Definitely not the last fic of these two.

This will also be posted on ao3 early next week (along with a x reader Hazbin fic if you're interested in those). The prophecy at the beginning will be an integral part of that x reader fic. I was fascinated watching "The Circus" to hear that prophecies were under Stolas's purview and wanted to explore that.

In another life, you were my babe

In another life, you were the sunshine of my lifetime

What would you trade the pain for?

...I'm not sure.

When Hell usurps Heaven

Earthbound its ruler be.

When Heaven quells Hell

The door with no key

Shall present itself

Unto humanity.

And when both fall

So soundlessly

Two stars remain

In shattered realms:

The Light of Lucifer and

The Mourning of Morningstar

To rest reality.

To rest reality.

To rest reality.

To rest reality.

To rest reality.

To rest…reality.

Stolas could still feel the snaps of Lucifer’s shoes as he stalked from the mansion tattooed onto his skin. 

He could never determine when a prophecy would come to him. He could force it - well, kind of - if information was needed. But the harder he tried, the less what arrived made any sort of logical sense.

That he had not tried at all - in fact was actively begging the universe to offer Lucifer only the most straightforward and simplest of answers - haunted him.

I did not sleep with that imp, your grace.

Ozzie saw me there, yes. Unfortunately, I think there may be some sort of misunderstanding. You see, I was just…

You’re a rule breaker, sire. So let’s rewrite the rules! Who’s to say I can’t marry my Blitzy? We’re already FAR more acquainted than Stella and I EVER would be. From one fallen to temptation to another…let me have this. Let me be happy.

Okay…so he was never actually going to use the last one. Fantasy was one thing. Political suicide was another. 

But he also hadn’t planned on spewing the most damnable prophecy that had ever fallen from his beaked lips. One that had come as sure as sin without any of the pleasure.

It did not help that it was the 14th.

Clawed feet dug into the plush red rug in front of his lounging chair that he felt drawn to for the simple fact of wanting something present should he faint. Stolas gasped for air, his hand clutching at nothing and everything all at once as his fingers ruffled through the feathers of his chest.

Where in the Hell will we go?  Stolas frowned, his upper set of eyes shutting against the stray thought as he caught the lower set of eyes began to tear up. What’s safety in the middle of the fucking apocalypse? 

He did not have to ask himself what the rattling of his brown-gray walls meant. As he always did, Blitzo snatched up the window and slithered into the room just as sly as any snake.

“‘Sup, slut” said Blitzo, standing to his full height in front of Stolas. “Ready to take this ‘D’ train to ‘P’ Town? Like…like Pleasure Town. Pleasantville…nah, that’s gaggy. Pound Town! Oh Christ on a stick…why’d it take me that long to get there? It was right there! Could have helped a guy out there, Stolas.”

Faced with his beloved and his ridiculous humor, Stolas found his breath growing even despite the shake in his very bones.

“Blitzy,” he warbled, words seeming to fail him.

“Hm?”

Those yellow eyes stared up at Stolas expectedly and he could not take the slightest of spaces between them any longer.

With a swiftness Stolas gathered Blitzo up in his arms to clutch him against any sliver of skin he could find. It was not an easy endeavor - Blitzo immediately began to wiggle and jolt his head to and fro in annoyance.

“It hasn’t even been that lo- eek!” Blitzo exclaimed, his hands carding through the feathers on Stolas’s chest to give his mouth room to breathe. The touch, as always, served more like fire to Stolas’s blood. “LET ME BREATHE!”

“No,” said Stolas, voice still weighed with sorrow. “No, Blitzy. I need you to listen.”

“List-ng,” mumbled Blitzo.

That Blitzo’s gun was what his hand reached for when Blitzo slid a hand down Stolas’s arm escaped Stolas entirely. He could merely feel his cheeks redden and his groin grow pleasantly hot.

“I received a prophecy today…for the King of Hell,” said Stolas.

“Ah shit,” said Blitzo, perking up and putting his arm stiff by his side. Stolas made a small “mmph” at the loss of contact. “Lucifer? Like the Lucifer? Like the holy fuck…FUCK ME, DADDY…Hell’s Daddy Baddie Bofanawahnahdingdong?”

Squinting at Blitzo as if trying to understand the workings of his mind, Stolas tilted his head. “...yeeeesss?”

Blitzo’s eyes seemed to shine before he wore a strange, almost pondering expression.

“Is he as short as the tabloids say? Because I say that he’s a Short King ™ but noooooo…Moxxie says he’s soooooo tall and that he’s soooooo seen him in person. Like sure, Mox. An absolute nobody like you has seen our supreme ruler without melting into the pavement like a sour strawberry shake. Lick my ass, bitch boy.”

Though Blitzo was not speaking directly to him (that much was clear…it was the little white-haired imp that Stolas had come to know as “bitch boy,” after all), Stolas could not help but smile at his antics. 

“I suppose that would depend on the height of the demon meeting his majesty,” said Stolas plainly.

Blitzo pouted.

“Don’t poke holes in my theory,” he said, whipping his tail lamely against Stolas’s arms still holding him feet above the floor. “Fucking rude.”

Laughing a warm laugh, Stolas snuggled Blitzo into the curve of his neck.

“To answer your question…short.” With a pause, Stolas regarded Blitzo with a hooded look. “Better be careful, Blitzy…you know how I love my short kings…”

That he was referring to Blitzo himself went without question…at least Stolas assumed that it did. The look of confusion on Blitzo’s face made Stolas frown. He took a hand to rub his thumb in a caress across the end of the scar under Blitzo’s eye.

Despite a stray moment of frustration in his brow, Blitzo stiffened entirely before smiling wide.

“You trying to tell me that I could have lost my shameless cum slut? Not much of a threat when I fuck you so good, babe. Speaking of...”

Goetia were practically weightless. It was a fact - a cold one that Stolas did not care to remember when he was busy drooling over the strength it took for Blitzo to flip back before hoisting him into the air. He tossed Stolas onto the waiting and well made bed. 

Stolas landed on the comforter with a laugh and a slight bounce. “Ha ha ha! Hm…but Blitzy…you forget what a world of depravity that you’ve launched me into. A toy or two might be all it takes to replace you.”

The dark of the room prevented Stolas from seeing Blitzo, but he could definitely feel those gold eyes on him.

He could also make out the telltale sound of clothes hitting the floor.

Cold, mirthless laughter filled the room.

With a leap only an imp as impish as Blitzo could make, there he was…crouched on the foot of the bed. Those eyes of his narrowed even as Stolas drunk in the view. The splotches of white dancing among the red. The lithe chest and the promising outline between his legs.

The cowboy boots Blitzo always wore and always refused to take off.

When Blitzo spoke, it was with a hiss befitting his forked tongue.

“Be useful for once and restrain yourself.”

Stolas frowned. There were parts of Blitzo’s life that he simply did not talk about. Hurts that Stolas seemed to commit without being quite certain of what he had done. 

And the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt the one he loved. So he settled into a role he knew Blitzo approved of.

“Yes, daddy,” Stolas practically purred. “I’m so sorry for being so…mouthy.”

That seemed to improve Blitzo’s mood if his smile and his slither up the bed were any indicators. With politeness, Stolas made to forget and ignore the scratchy slip of Blitzo’s boots on his satin sheets. 

Handcuffing himself to his headboard was not a task completely unknown to Stolas. It was, however, unavoidably awkward. 

“If you’re so sure that you can have so much pleasure without me…let’s remind you what I can do without all the bells and whistles. See how your smug ass likes that.” Blitzo was close enough now to clasp Stolas’s light chin in his large hand and lean forward to whisper. “Mouthy. Real cute. I’ll show you mouthy, your majesty.”

The nasty tone in Blitzo’s voice was definite cause for concern…

…but not quite as much as the imp literally ripping the clothes from Stolas’s body.

“OH!” Stolas exclaimed, his wrists already the sweetest type of uncomfortable. “Oh, Blitzy, yes!”

The blush that colored Stolas’s cheek was like a drug to get high off of. He certainly felt high as all four eyes danced in delight with the dark of the canopy bed swirling around him. After Lucifer had left, Stolas had found his cape and his crown discarded in some hallway or room in his grief. So the red tunic he wore was the very first to go. He thrust his chest toward Blitzo desperate for contact.

Blitzo simply moved to catch Stolas’s beige trousers in his digging claws. They came off without protest - without need for the speed with which they were thrown. 

Stolas’s blush deepened when he realized his thick tongue had been sticking out of his panting beak.

“Look at you,” said Blitzo, his tone both appreciative and aggravated. “Prettier than any Moan-a-Leeso.”

That Blitzo had no idea what the hell he was talking about was evident.

But his intent meant enough. Meant enough to make Stolas stretch and sigh and savor the burn of the restraints despite wanting nothing more than to grab hold of his lover.

“You…think I’m that pretty?” Stolas ventured.

Blitzo managed a nod before his tongue caught Stolas’s.

The Goetia could have cried.

Kissing Stella had been nothing like this. He had once wondered what anyone found fascinating about romance when kissing her was the same as kissing a cardboard box or the back of his hand.

But Blitzo? Oh, Blitzo made him burn. Made him want to be lost in him forever. Made him want to be reckless and reasonless and all the things he had been warded against as a child. 

Too soon Blitzo was pulling away with Stolas following him as far as his restraints would allow.

“Ah, ah, ah,” said Blitzo haughtily. “You’re making me forget where I was…my little dick-straction. Oh yes…”

Blitzo was sure to caress and clasp at every bared bit of feather that Stolas had on display as he made his way down the dark lord’s body. The plush feathers of Stolas’s thighs quivered when Blitzo carded his fingers through them.

That he was already hard was a battle Stolas lost mere moments after seeing Blitzo. But the first reverent twist of Blitzo’s hand on his cock made Stolas choke on air. 

For his part, Blitzo waited until all of Stolas’s eyes were squarely back on him before smirking.

“Being mouthy,” said Blitzo.

Being with Blitzo was like experiencing every vibrant bit of life all at once. It could be overwhelming and only the slightest bit overstimulating. Both seemed apt descriptions of Blitzo’s tongue twirling the head of his dick as if it were the last lollipop in Hell. 

This imp would be the end of him.

“FUCK yes,” Stolas exclaimed.  

What Blitzo did not fit into his mouth, he shoved into a hand instead. His fingers curled and quickened at such a lovely rate that Stolas did not quite think to care where Blitzo’s free hand was. 

Then a finger pressed soft but steady against the feathers of Stolas’s backside.

Stolas knew the way he spread his thighs wider at the sensation and raised his tail feathers would be considered brazen. The act of nothing more than a common whore. 

But maybe whores were onto something when it felt this damn good. 

Being that Stolas knew Blitzo was coming over, he had naturally prepared himself accordingly. But in the rush to the bed, he had forgotten the lube. Words were trying to form into sentences in his brain to warn Blitzo…but then the curiously gentle swirl of Blitzo’s finger left the round of the hole he had finally found.

It was soon replaced with Blitzo’s tongue.

One hand still working the Goetia’s dick, Blitzo allowed the other to hoist one of Stolas’s long legs into the air as he slowly but surely licked and lapped and lounged within the other’s ass. The crudeness of it all made the feathers on Stolas’s chest practically burst forth as he squealed in delight - pleasure and pointed avoidance of responsibilities clashing into the sweetest sensation. 

Tongue snapping up suddenly, Blitzo chuckled when Stolas groaned in protest. 

“What’s the matter? Not so easy to replace now, am I?”

The force and the bite of those words caught Stolas off guard, made him blink almost drunkenly down at Blitzo. “What? Blitzy…I could…I could never replace you.”

A myriad of emotions flitted across Blitzo’s face. None landed quite right or for any more than a moment. But when you had four eyes to catch details, you caught enough. 

Shock.

Sadness.

Searching…but for what?

“Well…that’s…” Something like a cough or a wheeze escaped Blitzo. “Oh fuck me…that’s…good.”

Before Stolas was able to say more - to ask what would possess Blitzo - his Blitzy - to assume he was replaceable, the imp had lowered his mouth back lower than low. The pressure of that tongue - thin though it was - seemed too much at first. Unpleasant. Stolas grimaced and was about to ask to shift positions when the dual tips of Blitzo’s tongue ran against that spot.

“FuuuuuUUUUUuuccckk-KH!”

With a mind like Stolas’s, quiet was hard to be found. He always had to be ready to perform his duties at a moment’s notice. There were wars to stave off…faraway stars to map…dreams to bring to reality or to immediately crush. It did not matter if he was simply lounging with a lovely red wine and a good book…his thoughts always persisted.

Now, with his dick thrusting weakly into Blitzo’s warm hand and his mind scattered by the sheer sensitivity of his ass, the only thoughts in his head were of that delightfully crimson cutie pie giving him the most divine of pleasures. 

Any discomfort was soon forgotten as Blitzo bobbed his head and let the wet heat of his mouth graze between Stolas’s legs before falling back further again. 

“Yeah…yeah make me wear your tongue as a fucking plug,” Stolas rambled loudly, both humiliated and turned on by his own words.

Blitzo, gracious as ever, obliged. 

Normally Stolas’s stamina would allow for more fun, but after an exhausting day and being called “pretty” by Blitzy, he was desperately welcoming the build of pressure at the bottom of his stomach. It did not help that Blitzo’s fingers were now focusing on the head of Stolas’s cock in jerks that spoke of well known weak spots.

“Blitzy…Blitzy, please…I’m so close…I’m so…!”

The speed with which Blitzo switched his tasks - set his mouth to Stolas’s cock and two fingers into Stolas’s ass - was astounding.

Stolas could barely appreciate it for the peak of his pleasure striking him all at once…tearing down the trappings of a prince and making him putty in his lover’s mouth. 

Oh how he longed to stroke Blitzo’s jaw as the imp swallowed his cum. 

The moans from Blitzo as he lapped at Stolas’s dick did nothing to quell this want.

“Touch you,” rasped Stolas, inhaling sharply. “Want to…touch you.”

Pulling the softening cock from his mouth, Blitzo frowned. “Too damn bad. Now stick out your tongue…”

Though he quickly and dearly missed the fingers that had been stroking the inside of him, Stolas giggled almost maniacally. “Fuck yes! Yes! Come to me, Blitzy!”

Sorrowfully, Stolas’s beak did not allow him the abandon he would so adore to have when providing fellatio. But there were always ways around this. One particular gag Stolas had found in a luxury sex shop in the Lust Ring usually helped to give enough range without putting Blitzo in harm’s way. 

Tonight…tonight he needed him so desperately that he would forego his pride to give Blitzo what he needed.

Presented with the gorgeously long red cock that he so loved, Stolas stuck out his tongue as far as he could…then past that.

“Christ, we’re eager,” Blitzo chuckled. “Say ‘ahhh,’ baby.”

Stolas could not say anything at all and instead made an awkward humming noise before feeling the weight of his beloved settle onto his tongue. He certainly must have been a sight���all-powerful dark lord of Hell second only to the Sins and their families themselves…reduced to craning his mouth wider than wide to worship the dick of an imp. 

The rhythm, thankfully, was soft but steady. Blitzo moved his hips slightly as Stolas’s tongue lathered up and down his dick, his balls, his…

“OHohohohoheeeee! That kind of tickled,” Blitzo giggled.

Heart pounding in his chest, Stolas stopped himself from embracing his darling imp to preen on him until his heart’s content. He’s so raw and real and rippling with sex…oh, Blitzy. 

Salt and sweat. It was the taste of fine wine…of ambrosia…of something so indulgent as to be gluttonous. 

Oh FUCK…I never called Bee back about the quarterly reports…ah…later. Busy now.

Blitzo’s hand came up to tug back the feathers at the back of Stolas’s head and Stolas writhed beneath him.

“That’s right,” said Blitzo encouragingly. “Suck daddy’s dick just how he likes it.”

Horror sent chills down Stolas’s spine when he let out a horrible slurping noise as his tongue rounded that red cock over and over. It was unattractive and gargling…embarrassing in its earnest enjoyment.

But then Blitzo was mumbling…was saying things that sounded strangely like “Fuck, that’s hot.” 

So Stolas continued. 

“FUCK me…fuck me,” Blitzo grunted, his hips snapping quicker to meet Stolas’s wild rhythm. 

It was the clutch of those long fingers against Stolas’s skull that let him know his effort was about to be rewarded. He thought of their last roll in these same sheets…how Blitzy had sat his cute little ass right onto Stolas’s face and use that blessedly long tail to jerk Stolas off at the same time.

A repeat would be marvelous…but perhaps later…now…now I just want it to be about you, Blitzy.

In the quiet seconds before Blitzo came, the two locked eyes. Trembling, Stolas dropped his gaze while willing his tongue to continue even as the burn at the base of his mouth cried out.

Little longer…little longer…don’t you dare take this away from him…you can do it…

Colorful strings of curses filled the air as Blitzo finally came. Stolas tried to shoot him a wanton look even as he lapped at the cum being shot down his throat.

But Blitzo glanced away, his breathing ragged. 

It might have hurt if those hips had not gone backwards to remove himself from Stolas’s grasp before the imp collapsed onto the Goetia’s body.

“Mmmmhmhmhm,” Blitzo moaned. “Daddy want sleepy now.”

Laughing a loving laugh, Stolas gave into temptation and preened - his beak shuffling and clacking against those large horns. “Get some sleep, Blitzy.”

Seemingly beyond tired, Blitzo rolled off of Stolas and onto the empty side of the bed.

His side of the bed, Stolas corrected himself quickly.

…if only.

Several moments of silence passed. Stolas gathered his breathing and slid his hands from the restraints with practiced ease. 

He was almost too afraid to turn his head to look at Blitzo. The imp was still there - his weight equivalent to little more than a small dip in the bed.

But if he looked…would Blitzo remain? Or would he disappear like a dream?

Like so many times before?

Stolas heard Blitzo snoring and his heart sunk and rose all at once.

“I’m so scared, Blitzy,” said Stolas softly, sweeping the line of secretive. “I have absolutely no idea what any of this means and…and all I know is that I saw you. During the prophecy. In the madness of a planet’s end…it was only for a moment…but I’d recognize you anywhere.” 

The chuckle that hung in his chest was hollow and forced.

“I…I want you to come with us…with Octavia and I.” Stolas smiled when a loud snore bubbled and popped from Blitzo’s mouth. “You can even bring Loona and your two little imps from the agency. I…I haven’t quite figured out where we’ll go…but for as long as I’m able, I’ll protect you.”

He turned then, confident in Blitzo’s sleep. The imp was turned with his back facing Stolas - bare and spiked and intoxicating.

But now…now was not the time for that.

Scooting carefully and quietly, Stolas laid a hand in the space between the two. When he clutched at the sheets, he might have been doing so to keep himself from touching Blitzo once more. For there always was the promise and panic of the next time.

The next time…

“I don’t know…I can’t…I think…”

Blitzo stirred in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. Stolas eyed him, hopeful. But Blitzo did not wake.

Inch by tiny inch, Stolas shifted to Blitzo until he was flush against his back. Although Blitzo swatted at him at first, he soon settled. Stolas had been rigid yet still - trained in years of proper decorum and terrified of waking the imp.

If Blitzo woke up, he would leave.

If Blitzo left, Stolas may never see him again.

He can’t be your bird in some gilded cage, he thought woefully. Blitzy would hate that…but if he could…if he would just…

What Stolas wished Blitzo to do, exactly, he could not lay a finger on. 

Like him?

Love him?

Marry him?

Or, perhaps, he thought, relaxing into the bed and Blitzo and all the bliss of the night, I’d just like him to stay.

Blitzo never had, of course…stayed after one of their rendezvous. Had come close and had even fallen asleep before. But Stolas knew far too well it never made a difference. He shouldn’t get his hopes up. He shouldn’t…Hell, he shouldn’t be doing this to begin with.

Yet just when Stolas began to frown, he felt what at first seemed like vibrating from Blitzo. Slightly alarmed (and only slightly aroused), he glanced over Blitzo’s shoulder trying to make sense of the senseless situation when it struck him.

Purring.

Blitzo was purring in his arms.

Despite himself and his own horror-filled prophecy, Stolas grinned a wide grin and cuddled into one of Blitzo’s horns.

Maybe - just maybe - this could be enough.

Maybe - just maybe - this should be a new beginning.

Maybe - just maybe - this time he would stay.

…maybe.

[farrahda5hywrites]

La Sombra y El Jardín

Sequel to this fic (@marvelmusing Enjoy)

Pairing: Aleksander Morozov(a) x Implied!Moon Summoner!Reader

Summary: You start to lose track of yourself as your memory begins to fail you.

Warning: None.

After your encounter with the Darkling, your fear of the dark came back full force without an explanation. Was it because he sought you out, you weren’t sure? Regardless of the reason, you were left in an life altering predicament.

No one would believe that you saw the Darkling, and even if they did, something within you told you to stay silent. Even more, you were shaken that the Darkling clearly told you that he would return. You never actually saw his face, but his words rang in your ears and were clear as the sky was as you headed out of another town.

That was several weeks ago, but it could have been less than that as days were beginning to blur as your sleep became difficult due to your returning fear. You managed to find shelter, eat, bathe, and slip out before you made yourself known. You started to welcome the other Grisha who sought you for help, basking in their brief company while you advised them. Those moments kept you sane and distracted from your thoughts.

But now, the moon was covered by clouds, and you hid amongst the trees waiting for the sky to clear up. You had nothing to keep your mind occupied as it raced and recited the conversation you had with the Darkling.

"This is not an ordinary storm. It will be short, but its effect will last for decades. No one will out run it.”

You were clueless to where those words came from and what their meaning was. The words were nothing like the other advice you gave to the other people who crossed your path. You searched for some sense of recognition from your experience, but any connection in your mind was quickly washed away as if were a picture drawn in the sand near the shore.

The shore? You thought to yourself. I’ve never been to the shore.

You jumped as you felt water swirl around your ankles. A calm feeling anchored you back to the ground as you walked along the shore. You looked up at the sky, and as a bizarre red cloud started to form and then glowed green then blue.

You kept walking into the water with your hands folded on your chest getting closer to the bottom of the sea. The bitter cold of the water surrounded you until you were completely submerged and entranced by whatever led you underwater. You tilted your head back, and you swore you let out what would have been a loud shriek had the sound not been muffled by wave crashing around around. You looked up once more, and the clouds continued coming getting rougher forming a storm. You felt your body rising to the surface of the water, and you begun floating back to the shore as it started storming.

Something snapped you out of your trance, and you swore it was a hand on your shoulder. You step out from the trees surrounded by darkness like before. You tried to stop your body from shaking with fear as you search for some sort of light, but you found nothing but a hand lifting your chin to look at a face hidden by shadows.

“I asked you a question.” The Darkling said, voice soft but commanding.

You panicked realizing you didn’t hear what he asked. You assumed he sensed it when he repeats the question.

“Why are you roaming alone at night? Do you not value your safety?” He sounded upset, and you felt him let go on your chin.

“Technically, I’m homeless.” You mumbled despite feeling ashamed at this bizarre chastisement. “My village no longer exists.”

“And what village is that?”

You hesitated to give him the name, but you were shocked that you couldn’t remember it anyway. The name had been erased from maps centuries, no decades ago. You weren’t sure when and how long you had been roaming by yourself anymore as if all your memories had been washed away.

You were only caught with survival and helping the others do the same: survive.

Your head pounds as the Darkling questions you some more while also giving you instruction. It didn’t matter; your mind processed none of it. All of his words were lost to the darkness that surrounded the both of you. His frustrated sigh troubled you, but you were too afraid to apologize for your mental fog.

Sensing him pulling away from you as the shadows started to clear, you grabbed his arm. His shadows reformed around you.

“Yes?” He said.

“Avoid the hills.” You stuttered out. “We will talk during the next full moon.”

x.

The sun kissed your face in a way that made you feel as if you had been reset.

You had made it through the hills by yourself despite telling the Darkling to do the opposite. For some reason, you had more encounters these past few weeks. Many had spoken of a safe haven in the area; while you were tempted to follow the other Grisha, you still went your separate way.

Someone or something was calling you, and you couldn’t ignore it or it would consume you from the inside out. 

You couldn’t pinpoint what was different this time. Maybe the season affected your clarity or the lack of a deep sleep was finally catching up to you, burying you in a state of delirium. But a splash of water from the creek outside of the last village you left made you feel refreshed regardless of your desperate need of rest. 

You stuck your feet in the stream and sat on the rock to bask in the sun not bothered by the cool water running over your feet. The change in perspective allowed you to see a little cottage in the distance. Your heart started pounding, and you looked around to make sure no one saw you. Had you noticed the cottage earlier, you might not have stopped. Another look and you swore you saw the cottage door open by itself. 

Quickly, you gathered yourself and crouched low to stay out of sight as you tried to retrace your steps to the path that led you here. Your chest rattled more as you struggled to find your own footsteps, and all previous familiarity of the area had suddenly been washed away in the stream. You kept hidden, but you soon realized that you were walking circles around the cottage with no obvious way of leaving.

Your feet and some other force led you up the path to the front of the cottage with its door open. Your heart calmed down, but you couldn’t be quite sure the cottage was welcoming you in. You poked your head in first, still no sign of anyone around, and you walked in. 

The outside of the cottage fooled you. While the place seemed abandoned with cobwebs clinging to the walls and dust gathering on the floors, the decor was elegant. You could tell from where you stood the cottage had multiple rooms. The cottage almost seemed to be the wrong term, and you were perplexed on how the outside hid the largeness and grandeur of the inside. You jumped as the door closed behind you and began to explore the inside. 

The front room seemed large enough to entertain a group of people with its large sitting space and extra chairs. Dark curtains covered the windows, but you felt it was too invasive to open them to allow light in. As walked, you noticed a hearth as well with a reasonable pile of wood beside it. 

You moved on to the kitchen and dining area. The table felt sturdy as you put your hand on it removing a bit of dusk and wiping the dusk off on your clothes. Pots and pans hung and were stacked up all over. You found a broom in the corner and grabbed it in order to clean up the space. You hesitated to pursue the other rooms. This place wasn’t your home, and the rightful owners could very well return livid that you invaded their space. You compromised by avoiding the closed rooms sweeping the dust as you explored.

The back of the house had another room that mirrored the large entertainment space. Its curtains were open letting the sun into the room. You assumed the owners spent more time in the space. Bookshelves dominated the walls. An empty desk stood in front of one door the shelves. A chaise lounge was tucked by one of the windows with a pillow and blanket on top. 

You noticed a door that led outside right by the room, and you propped the broom against the wall. You stepped outside and gasped seeing a  garden still in good shape and a path leading down. 

This place was hidden for a reason. Of course. You wanted to mentally slap yourself for not assuming that your fellow grisha would have wanted to protect their home if they had to flee. You laughed at yourself, walking down the path to what you guessed was the edge of the property.  You glanced out in the distance and fell back seeing a shore.

Your mind refused to allow you to process how that was possible or retraced your steps as you attempted to when you approached the cottage. Flabbergasted, your legs managed to lift the rest of you and carry you back inside. You plopped yourself on the chaise and took several deep breaths and closed your eyes.

When you awoke from your sleep, you sat up slowly. The full moon hung high in the clear night, filling the entire window frame from your position. You groaned, laying yourself back down to get comfortable. You closed your eyes pulling the blanket over your head, ignoring the chuckle from the other side of the room.

[stargazer-sims]

The Art of Redemption

(part 8)

previous // next // story index

__________

Beth-Anne is furious.

She tries never to lose her temper with her students, but she’s as fallible as everyone else. As hard as she’s worked on her patience and self-control over the years, she still has a breaking point, and sometimes the kids will push her beyond it.

Today, the perpetrator is Brett.

He’s not a bad kid. None of her students are. Sure, they have their share of personal drama, and the teenagers in particular can be mercurial. They know how to press all her metaphorical buttons, not to mention each other's, but for the most part they support one another even if they aren't all best friends all the time. She's rarely known any of them to be blatantly disrespectful to her or to each other.

But, of course, there are always exceptions.

In hindsight, maybe she shouldn't have been surprised when she'd returned to the practice rink to discover a clearly upset Nikolai escaping into the corridor and a smug-looking Brett leaning against the boards with one toe pick stuck casually into the ice, but she was. She was so startled, in fact, that she utterly failed to react for a second or two.

Nikolai had already gone past her before she remembered her voice and asked him what was wrong. He replied, though she couldn't be certain what he said. She thought it sounded like "I'm going home."

For a moment, she was torn between heading for the ice or catching up with Nikolai. It was fairly obvious something had transpired between him and Brett, and she wanted to make sure he was okay, but she also had a job to do that she'd already neglected far longer than she should have.

Brett can wait a few more minutes, she decided.

She set her skate bag on the floor and then hurried down the corridor after Nikolai. With the advantage of two healthy legs, it was easy enough for her to get ahead of him. She halted in front of him so that he was compelled to stop as well.

"I thought I asked you to tell me if you wanted to go home," she said.

"I just did."

"Right. I suppose it won't do any good to ask you what happened."

Nikolai looked up at her, and the only way she could describe the expression on his face was despair. His voice trembled. "This was a mistake. I don't belong here."

She can acknowledge now, she didn't know what to do. She wanted to comfort him, to pull him into an embrace and tell him that wasn't true and that he most certainly does belong here, but she sensed he wouldn't like her touching him just then and he probably wouldn't have believed any reassurances she might've given anyway. Feeling helpless, all she could think to say was, "How are you planning to get home? I can't take you right now."

"Bus, I guess," he said.

"No," she said. "It's too cold and icy for you to try to walk all the way to the bus stop. Do you think you can drive?"

His tone was bemused. "Anya probably has the car, so..."

"If you can manage driving, you can take my truck," she told him.

After a brief pause, he said, "Okay."

She jogged back to where she'd left her bag and dug the keys out of one of its small outer pockets. Returning to Nikolai and placing the keychain in his hand, she said firmly, "The house key is on there too. You text me when you get home, okay? As soon as you get there. Understand?"

"I will."

"We'll talk when I get home."

"Okay."

She had no idea if they'd actually discuss anything once they were both at home again or not, but she told herself this wasn't the time to dwell on it. She watched Nikolai until he disappeared around the corner.

Now, she's standing outside the entrance to the practice rink, skate bag in hand, doing her best to compose herself and to not jump to any unfounded conclusions. Although she can probably guess with some accuracy what took place before she arrived, she has to remind herself that she has almost no facts.

Steadying herself with a deep breath and a long, slow exhale, she pulls open the door and steps through it. Brett is precisely where she'd last seen him, and he's still wearing the same shit-eating grin.

One look at that arrogant little smirk and all her effort to stay calm flies out the proverbial window.

Fuck it. I'm going to find out exactly what went down, and then this kid is getting a piece of my mind.

She doesn't waste time pausing at the benches to put her skates on. She marches confidently across the slick surface of the ice until she's face-to-face with her teenage student. Skipping over the usual greetings and pleasantries, she goes straight to, "Tell me what just happened. The truth, Brett. I don't want any of your usual bullshit, got it?"

The corner of his mouth twists like he's trying not to laugh at some joke only he knows. "What do you think happened?"

"I'm not in the guessing business," she says.

"It was nothing," says Brett. "All I did was tell the truth. I guess some people are too sensitive to handle that."

She doesn't miss the emphasis he puts on 'sensitive'. He says it like it's bad. She bites back the urge to tell him he could do with a little sensitivity. He could learn a thing or two from someone like Nikolai.

Brett's condescending attitude infuriates her, and she wonders if he's aware of what he's provoking. Anger is her demon, and she has to fight like hell to keep it in check. It terrifies her, but at the same time a small part of her relishes how powerful it makes her feel. She is in charge of this situation, not him. There's a hierarchy here, and she's the person at the top of it.

She takes another stride forward until she's close enough for the toe of her right boot to touch the toe pick of Brett's left skate. He's a handful of centimetres taller than her and she has to tilt her chin a little to meet his eyes, but that doesn't deter her.

She stares into his face, and in a voice that sounds way more quiet and calm than she feels, she says, "What happened? Tell me. Now."

Brett stares back at her. She can feel her pulse in her throat.

Four or five more heartbeats tick by, and then Brett lowers his gaze. He stammers, "Can you... can you, uh... take a step back? Please?"

She complies with the request, but she doesn't take her eyes off him. "Tell me what happened."

It's evident to her that he doesn't want to confess his role, but he probably feels like he hasn't got a choice at this point. He opens his mouth to speak, and his voice cracks on the first syllable. That's as far as he gets. His eyes go wide, and he swallows so hard that she's able to see a slight ripple of the skin at his throat.

He's scared, she realizes.

Her first reaction is, Good. He should be scared.

As soon as the thought forms, she immediately regrets it. Her goal hadn't been to frighten him, only to find out what had caused Nikolai to flee from the place in such a state of distress. It'd bothered her way more than she's willing to admit, seeing Nikolai crying like that, and a genius intellect wasn't required to figure out that Brett was at least partially responsible for it, but scaring the teenager wouldn't fix it. The only thing she's accomplished is to stick herself with the problem of two upset skaters instead of one.

Well done, Beth-Anne. Way to fuck shit up more than it already was.

"I'm sorry," Brett murmurs.

Beth-Anne's anger dissipates as quickly as it'd flared up, and just as quickly, shame and guilt rush in to fill the space it had occupied. She suddenly feels weak, and she becomes alarmingly aware that she's shaking.

"No, I'm sorry," she says.

"Am I in trouble?"

"No." She holds out her hand to him. "You're not in trouble, but we do need to talk. Can we do that?"

He doesn't take her hand, but she didn't really expect him to. However, he does follow her off the ice and then sits meekly beside her on a bench. "I'm really sorry," he says again. "I was in a bad mood, and seeing him here just made me mad, and... I don't know. I'm nervous about Junior Worlds and flying and... Everything this week just feels like, so unfair."

"This week's been pretty unfair to everybody," she says. "You, Mariah and little Eden. All the group class students."

"And Nikolai?"

"Him too. And me."

"I said some mean stuff to him."

"I assumed as much.”

"He cried," Brett says. "I didn't know he was gonna cry. It made me uncomfortable, but like... it also felt kinda good? Not good, but like I was in control of a situation for a change and I didn't want to stop myself once I got going, even though I knew I should. Does that even make any sense?"

The muscles of Beth-Anne's mouth twitch in an involuntary and probably very crooked smile. "Would it shock you if I said it makes perfect sense to me?"

"It does?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Are you gonna make me apologize?" he asks.

"No, I'm not," she tells him.

This time when he makes eye contact with her, she observes incredulity rather than fear. "But... you were literally terrifying a minute ago. I've never seen anybody get that mad, like ever. I figured you were going to yell at me and tell me I had to say sorry and… basically make me feel like shit about myself.”

“Have I ever yelled at you?” she asks.

“No, but I’ve never seen you that angry before either.”

“I shouldn’t have let myself get that angry," she says. "I was reacting instead of responding, and that wasn’t right. I'm supposed to be setting an example for you, but I guess I wasn't doing my job very well, was I?"

"You were," Brett says, and the words come out so softly that she's barely able to hear them. When she glances at him again, she sees tears tracing long, wet lines down his cheeks. He scrubs fiercely at his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffles and continues, "My mom... She gets mad and throws things. Not at me, but I still don't like it. And my dad sometimes gets in my face and yells, but... but he doesn't stop even when he knows I'm scared." He lifts his gaze to meet hers and whispers. "You stopped."

Beth-Anne doesn't know Brett's parents very well, but from all the times she's interacted with them, she has the impression Brett isn't particularly high on their list of priorities. If she were to guess, she would've said they hardly bother with him at all, much less take enough notice to get angry and scream at him. It's Brett's live-in tutor, Jordan — Jordy, as Brett affectionately calls him — whom Beth-Anne most often deals with, and it seems to her that Jordy parents him more than his parents do.

Christ, what a mess. What an absolute fucking train wreck this day is turning out to be.

Sadly, she knows a thing or two about being yelled at by an angry parent, and about being terrified of them. She understands how a kid will latch onto any adult that helps them feel safe. She'd done that with her skating coach when she was a kid, and with her older brother Jason. They did all they could, and she credits Jason for saving her in the end, but not before far too much damage had been done.

Without warning, her brain throws a vivid replay in front of her mind's eye; Claudia shrieking, blind drunk, and charging at eleven year old Beth-Anne and her little sister with the neck of a broken bottle clutched in her white-knuckled hand.

"Abby, run!" Beth-Anne had screamed so hard that it'd felt like something was ripping inside her throat, but little Abby was paralyzed with terror and didn't obey the command.

In this moment, Beth-Anne can’t remember what she or Abby had done to make Claudia so enraged. She only remembers grabbing her five year old sister, practically flinging her into the corner, and then shielding her as best as she was able to do with her own scrawny body.

Until that day, she hadn't had the slightest clue how much a human face could bleed. She also hadn’t grasped her full capacity for fear until then, and she genuinely believed her own wildly beating heart and oxygen-desperate lungs would kill her before her injuries did.

She's pulled out of the traumatic scene in her mind by the light touch of Brett’s fingertips on her knee. She blinks and nearly gasps. Brett is still crying, and now he looks as close to panic as Beth-Anne feels. She becomes conscious of hot tears on her own face.

"Are you okay?" Brett inquires.

She gulps air and somehow gets out, "I'm sorry. Yeah, I'm all right. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I... I guess so."

"Do you want to talk about it? Your parents, I mean."

He shakes his head. "No," he says, and then, "Why did you stop?"

He doesn't elaborate, but she knows what he's asking her.

Because I'm not my mother, she wants to tell him. Because even though you're not mine, I love you as if you are, and I never want to hurt you. But her eventual answer is, "Because anger doesn't solve anything. All it would've done would be to hurt you and make you not want to trust me any more."

He appears to consider that.

"Sometimes," he says at length, "I think you're one of the only people I can trust. You and Jordy. And like, I'm grateful, but sometimes it's still really hard 'cause I know my life isn't like other people's. LIke Mariah and Eden and Nikolai... they have normal families with normal parents. They go to regular school and do normal stuff with their families. Well... not Nikolai I guess. He doesn't live with his parents or go to school, but you know what I mean."

"I know," Beth-Anne says.

"And like, I kinda want Nikolai's life, or Mariah's. Not exactly their life, but something like it. You know?"

"I know," she says again. When she reaches out her hand this time, he takes it, and she squeezes his fingers gently. "When you're struggling, it's easy to wish you had a different life, but you know something? It's not always going to be the way it is now. You'll grow up and you'll learn a lot of things, and people will come into your life who'll change it for the better if you let them. And you can change your own life, too. You're the only one who can live it, and you're in charge of shaping it however you want."

"It doesn't feel like I'm in charge of anything."

"Sometimes it doesn't," she concedes. "It feels like that for adults sometimes too, like everything's gone to shit and there's nothing you can do about it, and sometimes there really is nothing you can do except hang on until it gets better. In times like that, the most important thing is how you respond."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's no use to blame people for things that no one has any control over, or to act like everyone's against you, or to be too proud to ask for help when you need it. Stuff like that. People will remember you for how you behave when circumstances are at their worst."

"So... you're saying Nikolai is going to remember that I was mean to him?"

"That wasn't the point I was trying to make," she says. "But, yeah. I think he'll remember, but I'm equally sure that if you ask him to forgive you, he will. Then he'll also remember that."

"You said you weren't going to make me apologize," Brett says.

"I'm not. I think you should apologize, but you're old enough not to need me or any other adult to make that choice for you. You should do it if you think it's the right thing to do, not because I think it is."

"Okay," he says. "Should I do it today?"

"Maybe give yourself some time to think about it," she suggests. "And give Nikolai a chance to settle down a little, too. He's going through a lot right now."

"Because of his leg?"

"Yes, but it's more than that. In a way, he's grieving because he's lost one of the most important things in his life. And I won't lie to you, watching him go through it is fucking tearing my heart out, so you can imagine how much worse it feels for him."

Brett pulls his lower lip between his teeth. "Yeah. But... you're helping him, right? Taking care of him?"

"That's my job," she says. "He's my friend."

"Am I your friend too?" he asks hesitantly, and he momentarily reminds her of a small child rather than a fourteen year old. It reinforces just how vulnerable he is, and how much he needs her protection and support.

Her heart aches with regret for her earlier actions. She wishes there was a way to erase that awful slip, but then she recollects the advice she'd just given him. People remember how you behave when circumstances are at their worst. Had she acquitted herself? Had she regained control before she'd caused him any harm? She assures herself that she did, because she thinks she likely wouldn't be sitting here and talking to him candidly like this if she hadn't.

"I like to think you and I are friends," she says.

"But Nikolai is your favourite."

"Maybe, but Nikolai is an adult, and we've known each other for a really long time. My friendship with him is different than my friendship with you," she says. "Anyway, it's okay to have favourites. That's just human nature. But, even if Nikolai is my favourite, that doesn't mean I wouldn't go to the ends of the Earth for you."

"You... would?"

"We've already been all over the world together, haven't we?"

This draws a tiny smile from him. "I like travelling with you. Flying isn't so bad when you and Jordy are there."

"I'm glad we make it a little easier for you."

"Yeah, but I still wish teleportation was a thing."

Despite herself, Beth-Anne laughs, and with her laughter some of the tension in her body falls away. "That would make it more convenient, wouldn't it? When you and Nikolai are back on speaking terms, you should ask him about flying. I'll bet he wishes teleportation was a thing, too."

"He doesn't like flying either?"

"Not unless he's flying through four rotations," she says.

"Me too. Some day soon, I'm going to do all the same quad jumps he can do."

"Someday you will," she agrees. "Not today, though."

"Are we still going to skate?"

"That's up to you," she says. "We will if you're up to it. If not, I can call Jordy to come pick you up."

"No," Brett says. "He needs his daily break from me. Plus, we've already lost enough time. Nobody wins gold medals by sitting on their ass, right?"

Beth-Anne grins. "Why does that sound exactly like something I'd say?"

"Probably 'cause it is."

"Cheeky little shit," she says, and is gratified when he tries unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh with his hand. "Give me a couple minutes to put my skates on. Then we'll warm up, and then I want to see whether you've been working or slacking while I've been away."

He pokes out his tongue at her. "Working. What else would you expect? Why would I be slacking off when there's a world championship gold medal in South Korea just waiting for me to earn it?"

"Let's not get overconfident," she warns.

"I want you and Jordy to be proud of me," he says. “Maybe my parents would even be proud of me if I won a world championship gold medal."

She has her doubts about that, but it's an illusion she doesn't want to shatter for him. She says, "I can't speak for your parents or Jordy, but I'm already proud of you. You don't need a gold medal to make me proud."

"Even if I'm a pain in the ass and you lose it with me sometimes?"

"Yeah," she says. "Even so. You're not the first massive pain in my ass to also make me proud, you know. But, I've learned something in my life, and it's that if you actually take the time to listen to a troublemaker and really get to know him, he usually ends up being well worth the trouble."

[romanoffsbish]

Ready to Run

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Carol Danvers x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Breakups, Brief Heartbreak, Blasphemy 💋

It was a beautiful Summer's day, the kind that comes as the season begins its slow blend into Fall. Birds were singing songs of cheer, while children's laughter blended in to fill the streets of Manhattan, but Natasha was none the wiser. No—the redhead was currently lying face down on her couch with her face smushed against the cushions of the faux leather muffling her voice as she spoke to the black cat who was purring beneath her lazy hand., "Can you believe it Liho? She's actually doing it."

Liho tenses as her tone wasn't the usual soft one she took up with him., "I mean, what was so wrong with how we had things?," she scoffs., "Privacy is crucial.," she goes on halfheartedly as she tried to convince herself that your time together was fair as she only loved you behind closed doors., "She doesn't even love her...," her lip began to tremble, and the cat knew it was time to bolt before he became a tissue.

"Great, even you don't want me anymore...," she cries out pitifully., "You always liked her more, my rescue cat, but you love Y/N more..."

————————————

"We all do.," Yelena says as an announcement of her arrival, not that Natasha didn't already know she was here, she just didn't care at all., "Go away Yelena, you don't want to be late for the wedding of the season..."

Yelena rolled her eyes at her sisters pointless pity party, she's caused all of her own turmoil here, and as much as she wanted to relentlessly taunt her for that and the disarray of her apartment she knew she was on borrowed time here., "Yeah, the one you could've prevented.," Natasha looked backwards to glare up at her sister, but she was quickly squealing and looking instead at the ceiling of her apartment.

"Yelena! в чем, черт возьми, твоя проблема?" The blonde assassin laughed humorlessly, "прямо сейчас? Это был бы ты идиот!"

(What the fuck is your problem? / Right now? That would be you idiot)

Natasha was furious, partly because her sister just rolled her off of her own couch, but more so that she was right, and she always hated whenever that happened., "Fix this Natalia."

Natasha sighed, rubbing at her temples., "There's nothing to fix Lena, she's moved on, and you know, maybe she's better off for it.," Tears began to well up in the redheads eyes as she tried to come to terms with never having you again but she failed miserably. This last year and a half without you has been torture, but today marks a permanence that even she can't dismiss away, you were about to be irrevocably Carol's and it made her fucking sick to have inadvertently caused this.

You'd given her four of your best years to make her mind up, then another year before you even got with Carol for her to atone for her previous shortcomings. She'd always been too stubborn though, and you were simply tired of being her hideaway so you went on the date. Then the date turned plural, and before she knew it you were planning the wedding that should've always been hers to plan with you.

Natasha gasped when a harsh slap was delivered to her cheek., "Quit the pitying and do something about it Natalia.," she lifted her head to lock eyes with her sister, a subtle fury there but it was quickly masked by the hurt., "No, I can't... She's happy, and I can't give her what she wants."

Yelena was growing agitated the longer Natasha wasted the time her and Wanda have graciously created for her to fix things. The narrow window was only growing more so, and her stubbornness was becoming overplayed., "Natalia, you could easily give her what she wants, give up the need for control, and let her love you on a fucking beach or at the Denny's.." Yelena's fingers gripped the collar of Natasha's shirt to hold her in place while she scolded her.

The older widow was taken aback by the way her younger sister spoke to her, but she wasn't too shocked, Lena loved you tremendously, and she never shied away from reminding Natasha of the mistake losing you was., "Seriously Natasha, if I can let Kate Bishop take me to the carnival, and make me play those silly games that are rigged for a cheap stuffed animal then so can you with Y/N—the women of your heart deserves better, and quite frankly so do you."

Natasha sobbed as her sister's words echoed in her mind., "I-I'm scared.," Natasha finally quietly admits and the blondes resolve softens as she loosens her grip on her sisters collar and leans her forehead to hers., "Я знаю, ты должен быть, теперь иди, не дай ей уйти."

(I know, you're supposed to be, now go, don't let her get away.)

"It's probably too late, I'll never make it on time.," Natasha humorlessly chuckles while wiping her own tears from her cheeks, and her brows furrow at the sight of her sister's sudden smile., "Never say never.," the grin leaves the redhead unnerved but she wastes no time grabbing her helmet from her sister's hands followed up by her leather jacket and keys.

"Your mommy's such an idiot.," Yelena coos to the cat circling her legs in obvious thanks., "It's okay little one, soon you'll have Y/N back.," Liho purrs rather loudly in response as he burrows into the blondes arms.

Natasha paid no mind to the traffic laws as she made her way to the church—really, who's going to pull over an Avenger in a hurry? Only an idiotic rookie would do such a silly thing...

"License and registration ma'—.," the officer's words died on his tongue when the helmet was taken off to reveal the redhead Avenger with a scowl on her face that dared him to continue., "I-I'm terribly sorry ma'am. You're free to go.," she scoffed but chose to move on, his badge number will just have to come in handy for later she supposes as she races off, her speed now even faster than before as she did her best to beat the metaphorical clock that taunted her.

She skidded to a stop just outside of the church, nearly tripping over her own feet as she rushes up the stairs, yanking her helmet off just as she pushed through the wooden doors., "Stop the wedding! Please, don't do it Y/N.," the pit in her stomach only becomes heavier at the sounds of the unfamiliar gasping., "Mama, it's the Black Widow.," a teen shrieks, and it's then that the trained spy notices the all black attire fitted to the strangers bodies, then the blown up photos of an elderly couple up front.

"Иисус Христос, это не может происходить со мной." She grumbled under her breath before smiling painfully as the child lifted their phone up before her face., "I'm so sorry.," she mutters to the shocked family, running out as fast as she can with the knowledge that this will likely be in the news by tonight, but she can't bother to care as she runs across the street., "Why are there two churches here anyways?!," she grumbles to herself disbelievingly as she's hopefully entering the correct venue.

(Jesus Christ, this can not be happening to me.)

With a heavy heart you slid the ring onto the blonde's finger, sending a sad smile over to your best friend in thanks for at least trying. You'd really been holding out hope that the actual love of your life would take the bait, even Carol knew you were settling for her, and it would be a lie to say she wasn't doing the same.

You zoned out as the Priest read out the sermon., "Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.," and just as she went to make her final announcements a loud thudding was heard causing you to turn to face the doors., "Stop the wedding! Please, I fucking object.," you bit back a triumphant smile as her words ring within your mind like a forbidden prayer.

Natasha stumbled over her feet once more as she approached the altar, never in her life had she been more nervous for what's to come., "You know it wouldn't be right if you did!," you and Carol shared a knowing look—this was it., "I love you Y/N, and I know how late I am with my public proclamation but please don't get married to Carol to spite me.," she didn't even flinch when you glared at her in true offense., "I'm just being honest here Y/N..."

Your silence filled her with dread, maybe she read it all wrong, Lena and Wanda too, it's a genuine possibility that you've moved on., "Fine... Just say it then Y/N, tell me that you don't love me—set me free, I'll walk back out those doors...," she tries to keep it together, but tears befall her cheeks as she continues., "All I ever wanted is for you to be happy lyubov'.," she held her breath as she waited on your response., "Even if that's not with me."

"No.," your voice came out a bit hoarse, and it broke the redhead to know she'd had you on the verge of tears once again., "Don't go.," you looked over to her with a frown., "остаться.," the redhead nodded, the silent communication you shared with just a stare settling her.

(Stay)

You looked up to Carol who wore a smile, albeit sad, you could tell she was truly happy for you., "At least one of us gets to be with our person.," she acknowledges in a whisper against your cheek, her arms were tightly wrapped around you as you'd pulled her in for a bittersweet embrace, one that was always going to come with the message of goodbye., "I'm sorry.," she shook her head as she pulled back., "Don't be."

You shared one final smile with Carol as you were slipping the rings back into her hands. You nodded, then with a shaky hand you reached out for Natasha. The redhead kept her face stoic, not wanting to add insult to injury with the triumphant smile hiding beneath the surface as she intertwined her fingers with yours she she could pull you out of the church.

As soon as she pulled you through the door she spun you around, pulling you into her embrace, and her face immediately nuzzled into your neck., "God detka, I've missed you so much.," she whimpers, and you're absolutely stunned as tears get caught in the crook of your neck., "Promise I'm done running, I'm going to love you openly from this point on.," her arms tightening around you giving way to the truth in her choked out words.

"Natty, it's about damn time.," she chuckled against your chest., "Seriously, you waited until the nth hour to get me back, I'd started to wonder if you ever really loved me.," the sad tone you suddenly took up spurred more tears to leave her as she pulled back to look you in the eyes, her hands settling on your cheeks., "Don't be ridiculous Y/N, I have never loved anyone as much as I have been blessed to have loved you.," she sighed as she laid her forehead to yours., "and I promise to love you outwardly until the day I die, because you're everything I have ever wanted, I'm sorry that it took me so damn long to realize I can't live without you."

Without any warning you tilted your head, causing your lips to graze hers, and she wasted no time meeting your advances as she kissed you with intent, hands falling to your hips as she lightly pushed you into the churches pillar., "God, I've missed your lips so much Natty.," you whimpered and she smirked into the kiss., "The feelings mutual detka.," she whispered, her tone raspy and that alone made you dizzy.

"Let's go before I allow you to have your way with me outside of a church." You boldly instructed the far too eager woman., "I wouldn't have been mad, open loving and all." She teases while escorting you across the road to her bike where she places another kiss to your lips before settling her helmet over you., "Where to?," you smirked, and though she couldn't see it she could hear it., "Vegas."

——————————————————

2,098 Words

Motivation is at an all time low besties 🤪

❤️ Kaitlyn 💋

[thedragonchilde]

Ship meme spam round one

1- Who is the most affectionate?

Please, Chibodee is the king of casual affection! It doesn't actually occur as easily to Domon, but he gets really into it, so it's all good.

2-Big spoon/Little spoon?

Chibodee is absolutely big spoon... unless he falls asleep first, then all bets are off

3-Most common argument?

Tough call. What's likely for them is brief heated arguments, but, like... the thing they're arguing about isn't the real problem. (So I guess technically these proxy arguments are really about communication, and the ways they both fail at it when upset - and things do improve once a blowout fight brings that into the open.)

4-Favorite non-sexual activity?

I feel like sparring is the obvious answer here

5-Who is most likely to carry the other?

I would pay actual money to see Domon pick up Chibodee. I'm sure he could, of course, but it's just a funny visual.

6-What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?

Assuming this means physical features, it's a tie on Chibodee's behalf - he pays particular attention to people's eyes, and Domon's dark fiery eyes are no exception... but Domon also has the perfect ass. On the flip side, Domon doesn't quite get why he would have to pick just one thing. Does ‘smile’ count as a feature?

7-What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

Knowing he has no chance at that point, Chibodee busts his ass to make sure that nothing changes between them (the last thing he needs is Domon getting wise)... which works out okay until he blurts it out to the other Shuffles. So I suppose the first thing that changes is the rest of the gang (particularly George) having increasing awkward moments where they keep a suspiciously close eye out for any rise in tension between the two.

When Domon finally realizes his feelings down the line, he actually comes out with it fairly quickly - but not before some uncharacteristic fumbling, a not-incorrect accusation that Chibodee is hiding something from him, and a very loaded sparring session.

8-Nicknames? & if so, how did they originate?

Nothing really in the way of affectionate pet names, not that Chibodee didn't try

9-Who worries the most?

I have to give it to broody Domon. If Chibodee does, he usually tries to play it off.

10-Who remembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant?

Chibodee, but mostly because Domon has predictable taste

11-Who tops?

You speak as though that wouldn't be competitive

12-Who initiates kisses?

At first, definitely Chibodee, though he's got to be careful about it, because the whole thing is still shaky territory for Domon and steamrolling him isn't going to help. Eventually, it evens out a little more (and Domon can be surprisingly thoughtful about it)

13-Who reaches for the other’s hand first?

Whoever needs it. Encouragement via hand-holding is one stripe of affection that comes very naturally for them.

14-Who kisses the hardest?

I mean, they both have a lot of pent-up passion

15-Who wakes up first?

Domon. Old habits die hard.

16-Who wants to stay in bed just a little longer?

Chibodee's a fairly early riser himself (when he's not hung over), but lord help you if you get him up before he's good and ready

17-Who says I love you first?

...I'll be honest, I'm still working this one out, especially if the L word isn't dropped in the initial confession

18-Who leaves little notes in the other’s one lunch? (Bonus: what does it usually say?)

I'm honestly not sure I see this happening??

19-Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first?

Once it actually happens? I don't think Domon is capable of not telling people

20-What do their family/friends think of their relationship?

Dr Kasshu is terribly confused. Rain has some complicated thoughts, but is overall happy for Domon, and honestly a little relieved. Allenby idly wonders if that (Domon being into guys) is why she never really stood a chance. Argo cautiously approves. Sai has a lot to process. George laughs and asks Chibodee how he managed that miracle. The gals are pleasantly shocked, and $10 says at least one of them feels the need to give Domon the obligatory protective sister speech. (If this is a timeline where Kyoji and/or Schwarz is around, he/they had a feeling it would go this way.)

21-Who is more likely to start dancing with the other?

I'm not sure I see this happening either

22-Who cooks more/who is better at cooking?

Why do I get the feeling Domon might actually have picked up some skills in the wilderness? Nothing fancy, but.

23-Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines?

Chibodee, no question

24-Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times?

Chibodee is the easy answer here too, though there's a good chance that anything he says will take a few seconds to click for Domon, if it doesn't sail over his head entirely. If Domon were to do this, however, he'd be more effective, mostly by virtue of sheer bluntness.

25-Who needs more assurance?

Oh lord, in their own ways, both of them! The trouble is that, in their own ways, they both aren't great at seeking it out (Domon gets snippy and withdraws, Chibodee pulls the old "eyyy lmao I am totally OK no need to worry"), so it comes down to the other learning those cues

26-What would be their theme song?

...so I kind of have a playlist? https://open.spotify.com/user/thedragonchilde/playlist/7mT3I57SvEMps9Gz5AJl7O?si=1Je5GtALTpejsoA9ELWBLg

27-Who would sing to their child back to sleep?

Chibodee, no contest. He'd pass on his mom's lullaby.

28-What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Given that we're dealing with a fairly substantially long-distance relationship at first? Business as usual, though training has been known to get rougher when the stress of separation is particularly high

[black-is-iconic]

The Red Means I Love You

If there was anything Muzan loathed, it was the preposterous idea of fate. An outcome decided even before birth was just…..ludicrous, nonsensical, and completely incongruous from his view. How could one even begin to consider something so inane and injudicious? Only a fool would willing to submit to such nonsense.

Naturally, he didn't believe in the concept of soulmates, twin flames, or any other mystical beliefs that suggested a predetermined fate for one's romantic or platonic relations. Some people believed that these ideals were a gift from the gods, but he didn't see it that way.

He had no interest in seeking favor from entities that had already condemned him to die before he even took his first breath. In his eyes, the gods were his enemies. And everything they smiled down upon should be tainted by the very creature they hated.

Starting with the vile cretins known as human beings, although this wasn't necessarily to spite the gods this was more so his own vendetta against the abhorrent vermin who'd maliciously picked and pestered him as a sickly boy.

Useless parental figures and an iniquitous doctor made his miserable short human life a misery beyond measure. But now with all this power at his fingertips, he could do as he pleased without any interference. With the world at his feet, he could become a god-like never before, and then, maybe then he might actually find peace for a few brief moments in this wretched existence.

He'd never garnered those 'precious' red strings but he never wanted them in the first place, he viewed them and anything else from the gods as a blight on his life.

But just as pieces were falling into place and things were finally going his way (for once) he felt a small tug under the cusps of his sleeve, at first he ignored it thinking it was simply the scrap of paper against his wrist as he flipped through an old book in his the comfort of his study lounge.

However, as the tug became more insistence like a pestilent itch, the more curious he got as to its source. Without much thought, he tore through the taut white linen fabric, revealing a single red thread pulsing in a bright, almost ethereal light, like a freshly lit lantern digging into the flesh of his wrist.

His brow furrowed, he tried to ignore the sensation but couldn't help but think it was slightly odd, and yet not unpleasant, to be honest. It seemed to be growing stronger every second, and the longer he stared the more his curiosity grew.

He rolled the thread between his fingers feeling the soft yet warm smoothness of the silk texture. It was peculiar and felt unnatural like nothing he ever encountered.

He watched as the little thread began spreading slowly into his veins and he furrowed his brows deeper but nevertheless, he sharpened one of his claws and attempted to cut the string. But the string began to glow a bright reddish-orange and burn like a thousand suns, he dropped the strain with a hiss cradling his singed fingertips where it was scorched in an instant.

The pain and sting made his blood boil as he glared angrily at the offending line of color that was now glowing and radiating energy.

He growled in irritation and frustration as it was becoming clear to him that he couldn't just cut through the thread without risking harming himself.

He reached for one of his glass viles shattering it along the edge of the desk and spilling the failed cure-all along the mahogany floor. Picking up a particularly sharp glass shard, he yet again tried to sever the forming connection to whatever contemptible wretched creature unfortunate enough to be on the other end.

And once again, he found himself unable to sever it, instead the blood-red line grew brighter and fiercer. Burning his finger with searing heat as if the thread was molten steel, he let out a displeased grunt dropping the glass and watching as the burned skin that had been holding the glass quickly healed once he stopped trying to pry the damn thing off.

With an annoyed cluck of his tongue, he leaned back into his seat staring down at the thin red thread as it continued to weave itself into his veins and into his skin.

He could hardly contain the frustration and aggravation he felt as it crawled like some vile insect up his arm causing an uncomfortable prickling sensation that ran down his spine, what a bothersome little pest. A thorny nuisance and he wished dearly to destroy it.

But alas it would seem the little thread was here to stay, for now at least until he found a safe way to get rid of it, perhaps…..

[subaerial-dweller]

aaaAAA I'm on a roll now, I'm just spitting whatever comes into my mind about Generation Loss onto the table now. I love this show very much and I no longer care if people see these posts, I have too many thoughts and I'm writing them down :DD.

PART THREE: FRANK AND CHARACTER ORIGINS

I don't think Frank is a skeleton. We know he's a dude, right? There was that screenshot someone took of Frank's poster in Episode 3, let me see if I can find it.

Here we are. In my search for this screenshot, I did come across a lot of posts that said very similar things to what I was going to say, which was that Frank might just be a rotting corpse they drag around with them, which is really quite insane. I said in my first post of this late-night frenzy of Genloss thinking that I'm not very good at drawing, and in 45 minutes that hasn't actually changed. But I have a very graphic view in my head, and it makes the point where Jerma fucken smacks Frank across the face and breaks his fucking neck or something, it makes it all a lot harder to stomach. It's a gruesome thing, and now I'm just worried about how exactly Frank died.

Sneeg likes him, so maybe he was once the main character, where GL!Ranboo is now? It would make sense, because he's in that cage thing with Sneeg, so they might've just both failed together, but Frank was never going to go beyond the first episode without dying.

OH SPEAKING OF THAT. This is where the "and character origins" part of the post comes from.

I want to talk about where the other characters came from. We see a bunch of them, and they all allude to being in this game for a while before we see this iteration with GL!Ranboo in the main role, but I also have other ideas.

OPTION ONE: they're all, strictly speaking, actors, and Ranboo's the one running through this completely blind. They all know their roles, they understand what they have to do to get the story moving along (Sneeg tackles Austin to get Ranboo through the moving cutout wall thing, for example), and they play those roles. That would explain why Charlie's in every episode: he's the Slime Demon, then he's Surfer Dude/Patient Slime, and then he's Charlie Slimecicle the Streamer. He's a recurring talent (maybe I'll write another thing about where I think GL!Charlie came from, when speaking about option one). They're all mind controlled like Ranboo is, with the same filter layered over reality (except on Austin, I think his malfunctioned which is why he looked so horrified in the clothes room with Ethan, and on the merry-go-round next to rotting corpse!Frank, and Sneeg when he was wearing the hat). They're briefed on their roles, and they follow them, but their main goal is to keep the story moving and get Ranboo to the end. Once again, I think GL!Austin's filter thingy doesn't really work, because he called Jerma "sick", he looked horrified and disgusted to sit next to a dead body, I think he was the only person to care that GL!Ethan had been, you know, brutally murdered, and he also tried to take Ranboo's place in the cutout room.

OPTION TWO: They've all been through the games before. They've all been the main characters, and they've now been moved into other roles with each repetition of the show. So GL!Sneeg was once the main character in Episode 1, and then he fucked up and was locked in the cage with Frank (who also was the protagonist, but then he, uh, well something went wrong and Showfall regrets this Tragic Accident), before Ranboo comes around.

Slimecicle was the main character in Episode 2 once, and he was about to lose the Mousetrap game in the Candy Room, so he ate the piece so the Puzzler couldn't blast him to pieces. Obviously it worked, but he was repurposed as another role, because they took that "oh it's in him" as a great premise for the next time this show went over. Now, our version of Genloss, where GL!Ranboo's the main character, this could happen right after Slime ate the piece, or it could be a while back, but Showfall liked the idea so much they just kept forcing Slime to eat the pieces and random shit, or they cut him open and put it all back inside. Either way, it's not pretty.

Option Two would explain why GL!Vinesauce says "I've done it before" when he asks Sneeg and Ranboo to throw him across the lasers. It would make sense for the first two episodes, where there are other characters and the storyline seems to be in control (as much as Hetch was manipulating Episode 3, Ranboo did have his own mind back and made his own decisions, like with rescuing Streamer Charlie Slimecicle), because for those, the plotline is simple, straightforward, with barely any variation. The characters can be recycled, it makes sense. However, I think accidents do happen, and sometimes, in the case of Frank, actors only get past one episode before, you know, dying. RIP Frank. Squiggles misses you.

[stardew-obsessed-ora]

I've been avoiding posting just so that Ulrich's ref could be my 100th POST. RAHHH. WOOO IT'S DONE!!

For anyone whose new to seeing this man, his name is Ulrich Althaus (Ulrich Mephisto Althaus if we're referring to him in other canons). He's a Technical Lead for Joja Corporations, and despite being introverted, he can come off as rather judgmental to people who don't know him well enough to understand how he speaks. He's around 18 years old when he first arrives in the Republic itself, finding himself staying around Downtown Zuzu for a while. He's somewhere in his late 20s/early 30s when he stations himself in the valley itself and tries to gather the resources to set up a Joja Brand tech store. In his mind, he truly, deeply believes that Joja can help benefit the valley. He ends up having rose-tinted glasses over the company for the longest time, and gradually has those viewpoints shattered the longer he stays within the valley. Of course, I plan on building his lore up gradually and through slow answers here and there, so I'm really trying not to spew out too much :3 also he's ungodly picky i mean he hates more than the average farmer LMFAO. bro has most of the universal hates too

More general description stuff/expansion stuff (fair warning its long):

 Ulrich's personality is a fascinating one. He feels as though he has a reputation to uphold, and will often shut down most, if not all critique coming toward him unless they are genuine. He often-times does not stand for attacks on his own character. Usually though, he’s the one giving critique to others, but it mostly comes off as insults rather than from a genuine place of concern due to how blunt he is. The way he phrases things tends to be derogatory in nature due to his lack of filter. He tends to get annoyed when people act offended, and genuinely doesn’t understand why they took his concern the way they did.

Unfortunately, due to the nature of feeling he has to constantly uphold a reputation, he is quite the perfectionist. It's difficult for him to accept his own mistakes without shutting down and having to distance himself from the situation awhile. To put it simply, he feels like he’s failed those around him through his errors. While he gives others the opportunity to correct their margin of error, he would never give himself that leeway. 

Due to Ulrich’s lack of social understanding, he tends to struggle at fraternizing with others and oftentimes misses obvious jokes or sarcasm within sentences. He is particularly bad at this when matched with tone through text, and will often find himself over-explaining something that didn’t need to be explained to begin with just to be met with “blah blah blah its a joke”. Though his lack of tonal understanding is better in person, he can still be found occasionally left confused and bewildered at interactions.  

Speaking of social scenarios with Ulrich, he is relatively introverted, and prefers brief interactions with strangers in person as to not burn himself out. He prefers interactions with little to no people around, and in general much prefers spaces with little to no activity. This is one of many reasons which his line of work involves remote involvement and virtual meetings on his end. While this issue does not present itself in online chatrooms, he still finds himself burnt out of interaction occasionally if he’s had to speak to those hes unfamiliarized with for too long. 

To those he’s come to know, however, he can be a rather clingy, overprotective individual who wishes for nothing more than to be there for the ones he’s come to love. His clingy nature comes from a place of fear, as he doesn’t want to go through losing someone else he’s come to grow close to. Though, he can be a bit overbearing at points. 

Other Likes:  

 - He highly enjoys programming, creating things from scratch through the languages he knows,  and being able to experience anything which was decently coded. He’s actually a total nerd for video games and especially for computer viruses. He loves being able to dissect things like that. 

He enjoys heavy metal music and EDM. His playlist can be a jumpscare for those entirely oblivious to his music tastes.

He enjoys hiking and exploring alone in his free-time. Its relaxing for him to be able to get out and exercise in any way he can. 

He’s a total dork for mythology and the study of all things surrounding mythological creatures. 

He gets overly hyper during the festival of the moonlight jellies 

He’d never actually admit it, but he really likes dancing, the art behind dancing, and is a decent dancer himself. 

Other Dislikes: 

He has a phobia of needles

He’s outright terrified of Krampus. His father told him ONE tale for bedtime and it forever sealed his fate. 

He dislikes overly loud and obnoxious individuals, finding them quick to drain him. 

He dislikes summer, finding himself overheating easily in the harsh sun

Despite being a Joja employee, he somewhat holds disdain for the way a majority of the branches are run. 

Geese. I don’t need to explain this one, I’m sure it’s justifiable.

Strengths:

One of Ulrich’s greatest strengths is how agile he is. Being relatively skilled on his feet, he is able to run away from most confrontations. Of course, he’d find that shameful, so instead he uses this agility of his to get to and from places at concerning speeds. He might have knee issues, but that doesn't mean he's not fast as fuck.

He's a total computer nerd. Got a tech problem? He’s probably your guy to help out. 

He’s a surprisingly good chef

He was also taught a decent amount of fishing by his father, making him decent at it. 

He’s very outspoken about how he feels regarding any given situation

Weaknesses:

He’s ass at farming. Do not make this man do farmwork, you’ll regret it deeply. Please PLEASE don’t make this man do farm work.

He has the depth perception of a literal toddler. If he’s running somewhere, there’s a 50% chance he’ll slam into a pole on the way there.

As stated in his bio, he has difficulty in social situations. This can make bonding with others difficult, and causes him his fair share of conflict. Especially when he mistakes a joke as a snide remark and starts to comment about how it shouldn’t have been said and it spirals out of control.

He’s stubborn to a fault. He has a very stern set of morals which are hard to bend. Not only that, but his strict internal code causes him to react oddly to anything which bends it even slightly, causing even MORE conflict on his part. 

He’s very outspoken about how he feels regarding any given situation

close up on some things that might be hard to read + the chibis that im absurdly attached to (i might post them standalone)