#and instead of eventually fixing it by having it removed even after he tried taking it out himself. in the end the mom says that it’s her

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 21 || The After Hours

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, fluff, a tinge of angst, and sexual tension.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 5.1k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——"I DON'T UNDERSTAND," YOU murmured to the albino man whose arms you're comfortably carried in.

What the hell does he mean by when you call he comes running? You didn't call him... right? Wait, fuck, you don't even remember. Was it really Geto's voice you heard over the phone?

Gojo slowly walks with you in his grasp toward his car, "You called me... Well, I know you probably meant to call Suguru but uh, you called me, sweetheart." He explains.

A pouty expression takes over your features as you grumble out a response to him, "Why didn't you... s-say anything, asshole."

He shrugs, "Cause' Suguru's asleep and I didn't want his half-woken brain to come out here and get you, who's completely wasted. So, it's a good thing you accidentally called me anyway. Plus, I missed-," He stops as he looks at your face.

Your eyes closed and you'd fallen asleep again. Gojo opens his mouth to finish what he is saying but instead sighs and focuses his gaze on where he's walking.

Carefully, the male works his passenger car door open and places you inside. Gojo is overly cautious while he seats you comfortably. Your head had leaned into a visibly unbearable position and he had to be light with his touches to fix you properly.

The pads of his fingers are soft against your face and he's gentle with the way he handles your head. When he's done making sure you don't look uncomfortable and finishes buckling you in, his eyes pause on your pretty resting features.

Even though the beauty Gojo sees in your face, he can't help but notice the dried tear streaks running down your cheeks. He wonders when you cried and why. Was it because of him? Again? The thought alone makes his heart ache.

Gojo shuts his eyes and leans his forehead to yours, resting against you lightly, "I'm sorry..." He whispers to you, despite the fact that you're asleep.

After another second, Gojo removes himself from your space and shuts his car door softly. He then makes it into the driver's seat and he's quick to start his car and drive off.

The ride is slow and Gojo tries to make it as smooth as possible so that he doesn't wake you up. There were a few times when you moved and let out a little groan, each time prompting a concerned gaze from the man in the diver's seat.

Each minute that passes, Gojo spends it thinking about what you told him over the phone. He hates to see you struggling like this, wishing he could go back and maybe do something different but knowing the outcome would've been bad either way.

By the time he gets to your apartment, it's even later into the night and Gojo spends the entire time with you being as careful as possible. He knows you didn't want to see him but he needed to make sure you got home safely.

So, the man carried you all the way to your apartment door and even let himself inside. You found this out a while ago when you went through your messages but apparently, Shoko gave Gojo a spare key to the apartment.

You thought it was weird of your roommate to do so without talking to you about it but she eventually explained to you that she's asked Gojo to go to your apartment more times than she can count and it was frustrating giving him her keys every time.

That, and she secretly felt like him having access to the apartment would help the two of you get together. Of course, Shoko is still ignorant of what's going on between you and Gojo but neither of you has plans on changing that.

After all, her giving him spare keys is beneficial to you in a situation like this.

Gojo moves into your apartment with you in his arms, his footsteps quiet. When he entered, everything was dark and he noticed Shoko's room door was closed. He figured she was asleep since the space beneath her room door showed no signs of lighting and plus, it was pretty late.

You shift around in Gojo's arms while he carries you into your room. The male carefully placed you down on your bed and he wanted to make sure you were comfortable in your sleep but was nervous to do so.

Gojo drags his gaze up and down the obvious discomfort the dress you're wearing brings you and he so desperately wants to change you. With a sigh, he glances around your room, searching for a t-shirt he can toss over you but spotting none.

The man knows you probably won't like it but, he stands up and strips his upper half, removing the white sweater he was wearing and moving to put it onto your body, leaving him in a simple t-shirt he had underneath.

The sweater went over your dress after which, Gojo felt around your back, careful not to touch you directly, and unzipped your dress. He didn't want to lay eyes on your body while you were asleep so, the male worked your dress off you and down your legs with his sweater blocking his eyesight from seeing anything.

On you, his sweater went down to the beginning of your thighs, looking like a dress in itself on your smaller frame. Gojo had long since worked your heels off, having neatly placed them somewhere in your room and now he was trying to tuck you into your bed.

After that, he left your room for only a moment to grab medicine for the painful hangover he knows you're going to have when you wake up. Returning to you swiftly, he puts all the necessary items on your nightstand and sighs.

Soft snores left you, prompting his eyes to fall on your face for the millionth time that night. Gojo tilts his head as he looks at your face, taking in all of your features. He missed having the mere luxury of just looking at you.

You're so beautiful in his eyes that just staring at you makes him loathe himself for the terrible shit he's putting you through.

When the long moment of appreciation comes to an end, Gojo caresses the side of your face with the back of his hand as if to say bye, before leaning up and turning away.

What he doesn't expect is for a delicate set of fingers to wrap around his wrist and stop him from going anywhere. Before he can even turn around to look at you, you whisper out a sleepy and still drunken, "S-Stay."

All it takes is that one word of yours for the male to stop every movement. Hell, he thinks he stops breathing for a second. Turning his face around to look at you, he spots your eyes just barely open and your hand holding him.

Gojo swallows, "Sweets, as much as I want to... you don't really-"

"Satoru," You whisper.

The way you say his name so suddenly after not referring to him as such for what felt like an eternity makes his heart throb violently in his chest. Gojo's whole facial expression weakens, his body and mind completely incapacitated under the sound of your voice and the feeling of your touch.

Your eyes flick up to him and he can tell that you're clearly drunk.

"Y-Yes?" Gojo whispers back.

"Stay." You command.

He feels so utterly helpless under your gaze. What is he supposed to say when you look at him so longingly? Holding onto his wrist in a way that makes him feel like if he leaves, he'll only leave you sadder.

He glances off to the side, "You're just gonna be upset when you sober up. I can't-"

"Toru please." You murmur, suddenly frowning, "I... d-don't wanna be alone."

Gojo's eyes shut and he grits his teeth, "Fucking hell... O-Okay, fuck, fine w-whatever you want." He stammers out, physically unable to deny your requests. "Just... don't curse me out when you're sober, please."

You let his wrist go and smiled cheekily, "No promisessss."

Gojo walks around to the other side of your bed and slowly lays down beside you. Even drunk, you could tell he was nervous doing so-- he already knew what was going to happen when your drunken state faded away. At first, the man lays down as far as possible, making you flip your body around to face him.

He clears his throat, "Is this okay?"

The guy was on the other side of your bed, clearly trying to keep his distance. You giggle, "No, stupid... Come hold me," You whisper.

"H-Hold you?" Gojo chokes out.

You sigh heavily, "At least until-," You yawn, "...I fall back asleep. T-Then you can leave, if you want."

With a slight nod, Gojo just barely slides closer to you. One of his large arms goes over your side and you immediately reciprocate, making his heart skip a beat at the way your small hand is felt on his back. The two of you were basically hugging each other and the state of his heart worsens as you snuggle in closer to him.

"C'mon, this is unfair..." Gojo sighs heavily.

You continue hugging him anyway, comforting your head into his chest. "I know," You whisper in response.

The two of you then get quiet for a while. Your breathing gets softer and softer against his chest and every brush of air against his skin makes it harder for him to calm his rapidly beating heart. It's been so long since you'd been close to him like this that he doesn't know how to handle it.

Gojo feels almost dizzy by your warm body against his. It's not turning him on or anything but his heart feels so odd in his chest.

Suddenly, your head shifts and you look up a him, "Gojo..." You whisper.

And he misses the way you say his first name already, "Hm?"

"You're so cruel to me." You babble out. Not only was your intoxication beginning to take over your mind, but fatigue was weighing in on you as well.

He sighs shakily, "Am I?"

"Very..." You start pouting, "He made me really happy, y'know..."

Gojo blinks in confusion.

"Choso," You clarify. Gloss begins to lay over your eyes and you quickly grow saddened, "...He won't even talk to me now."

"Did you... tell him about the list or something?"

"No, idiot." You fire back. "He wanted to date me but... I o-obviously couldn't say yes because of you."

Guilt thrums throughout Gojo's body, "I'm sorry." He apologizes sincerely.

You sigh heavily, "Y'know... if you were really sorry, you'd delete that video of me and let me go..."

"I can't." Gojo replies, squeezing his eyes shut, "I really can't."

"Why?" You question, scoffing slightly, "After all this time, can you at least tell me why it has to be me?"

He silences himself in thought. There are so many ways he could go about answering such a question but the possibilities of how you may react are endless. Plus, you're drunk and if he's going to admit or explain anything to you, it'll be while you're sober.

"Because..." Gojo's voice gets so quiet that you almost don't catch what he says, "...I don't have any other choice."

What does he mean by that? You have no idea. It's just another one of Gojo's stupid explanations that make no sense whatsoever, leading you to only be annoyed with him for the nth time since you've known him. You're negative emotions for this male run deeper than anything else.

Even so, there's this underlying emotion you feel when he talks to you or looks at you. And you absolutely despise the way it affects you because the man simply plagues your heart, vexing you with his toxic and fucked up realities of how he wants things to go.

You find yourself lulled into it all nonetheless. Whether it be by choice or not, something about Gojo just draws you to him in so many ways.

You hate the way he looks at you as if your very existence is what he still breathes for. The way he talks to you like each second without your presence is steadily crushing his will to live. How he holds you so gently yet firmly as if he dreads the instant he has to let you go.

And more than anything, you hate the combination of all that being tied to his stupidly handsome face that makes you nervous at every second, even though you try to hide it. Then there are the memories of the very few good times you spent with him.

Somewhere deep, deep, deep down inside-- you'd give anything to go back to that morning you woke up in his arms.

Gojo Satoru may be no Kamo Choso but even so, both men hold some deep and special, whether it be good or bad, place in your heart.

You shake your head in disbelief, "...I hate you."

Gojo swallows down your words, "That uh... That makes four."

"What?" You scoff confusedly.

"That's the fourth time you've said those words to me-- the fourth time you've claimed to hate me." Gojo points out, his voice so clearly sorrowful, "I wish you didn't..."

Your brows bush together, "...Wish I didn't say it or...?"

"No, I wish you didn't have to hate me." He says, shutting his eyes again and sucking in a deep breath, "B-But... it's uh, It's okay. I can live with you hating me."

You roll your eyes and open your mouth to say something but he cuts you off unintentionally by continuing.

"It's odd though," Gojo whispers, his fingers toying with the back of the sweater you're wearing. "Why would you want to be in my arms if you hate me so much?"

You groan, "Cause'...." The reasoning takes a second to come out, almost as if you didn't want to admit such a thing out loud, "I don't... I don't wanna be alone." You murmur, your voice wavering a little before your grasp on him grows tighter.

Gojo's heart is pounding so ridiculously hard against his chest when he feels you cling to him so desperately. It took control of every muscle and vein in his body not to squeeze you back just as hard to let you know that he'd never leave unless you told him to.

A soft, heart-wrenching little chuckle leaves his lips, "Me neither, sweetheart."

For a second time, silence wraps around the two of you. The only noise in the air now was the sound of you both breathing faintly. You don't know why but, even though you hate him, you couldn't deny the deep sense of comfort and understanding you felt within his arms.

Your heart was heavy in your chest, feelings for Choso having a dangerous steel grip on you. If you were to complete this list; you needed to put your feelings for that man aside. Only temporarily though. By all means, no matter what it took, you'd be running back to Choso the very second you were freed to do so.

Unconsciousness creeps up on you and unexpectedly wraps your mind up in a warm little blanket, swaying you into relaxation and tugging you into a state of slumber. Meanwhile, Gojo lay awake, unable to fall asleep with the ounces of guilt, regret, and disappointment in himself that cascaded over him.

Though it took a while, he waited until it seemed like you were asleep and then tried to ease his way out. Sadly, through your sleep, you only clung onto his body more-- silently begging him not to go anywhere.

With a sigh, he ends up staying.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

A few hours later, you wake up because of a pounding headache. It was still dark and your eyes just barely opened to gather your surroundings. Finally, you were sober.

Your mind was all groggy and you couldn't remember much after Gojo came and picked you up. It was in fragments and pieces that you recalled talking to him in your sleep and begging him to stay with you.

Yet, when you woke up and opened your eyes, you were met with the dim sight of your bedroom door closed and no feeling of warmth or body heat around you. It annoyed you that Gojo left even though you told him to stay.

Being alone was the one thing you wanted to avoid.

Even hours after your intoxication had worn off, the worst part about it was that as you propped your side up using your elbow and reached for the meds on your nightstand, a wave of arousal abruptly coursed through you. Perhaps it was because of your interactions with Naoya's piss-poor skills at pleasing you-- having left you unsatisfied all this time.

While you swallowed down a pill to kill your headache, you planned on possibly going to lock your door and just rub it out. You hate waking up horny like this and the headache doesn't help either. If only Naoya had known how to use his dick properly, you would've been fine right now.

With a sigh, you move to sit up and suddenly spot a large build lying on the other side of your bed. You almost let out a yelp in surprise until you realized that it was Gojo and that the man never left you.

Your head tips to the side while you eye his resting frame. His back is to you and you figure the male moved away from you so that you wouldn't curse him out first thing in the morning. You groan slightly at the recollection of you telling him to stay.

The sound of your light groan is enough to stir the man awake. He begins to turn around and your heart jumps for some reason when you meet eyes with him.

Gojo rubs his eyelids slightly, trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. "Well... aren't you a sight for sore eyes..." He hums, his deep morning voice only worsening that arousal of yours.

You swallow, "Don't start."

"Mmmmgh.." He hums tiredly, the sound vibrating against his throat and weirdly making your state worse. He then sighs and shuts his eyes, "Don't start what, sweetheart?"

Gojo's voice is way too damn sexy for you to have a proper conversation and, of course, the damn pet name never helps.

You ignore his question, "You need to leave."

"Make me," Gojo says playfully. You frown and his eyes suddenly open, "Come over here 'nd force me out." He murmurs, voice still low but clearly playful.

You roll your eyes at the male, "I'm not joking."

He smirks seductively, the sight unintentionally attractive to you, "Don't roll your eyes at me."

"Why not?" You scoff sassily.

"Haven't done anythin' to make 'em roll, that's why," Gojo replies, the suggestiveness of his words feeding your hormones.

You push the blanket down and away from your legs, revealing your warm skin to the comforting air of your room. "You plan on doing something to make em' roll?" You reply.

Gojo's body stills in reaction to your words. His eyes close again and you watch him bite his bottom lip, "Want me to?"

You shouldn't. At all. You absolutely should not be needy for Gojo of all people.

You decide not to answer him and simply let out a yawn. He chuckles, the sound foolishly sexy. God, everything about this man is turning you on right now and you absolutely hate it.

"I can't stand you," You end up saying.

"Come sit on me then." Gojo fires back.

A throb is felt in between your legs and you grit your teeth. You didn't like the way he challenged you, almost as if you wouldn't really do so. It was one hundred percent because of your hormones that move, shifting to hold yourself up on your knees and shuffling over to the man.

Gojo's eyes shoot open and he chokes as you actually toss one leg over his and straddle him. His hands scramble a bit to lift himself up but you put your palm to his chest and push him right back down aggressively.

"Don't move now, you're the one who told me to come sit on you." You utter in a sultry tone.

He swallows as he stares up at you, never expecting you to be so bold. "Fuuck... it's too early for this y'know... Fuckin' sun isn't even up yet," He groans, his voice deeper than ever.

You lean forward, causing your crotch to rub over his, "Too early for what?"

"For you to be gettin' on top of me like this," Gojo sighs almost panicked, "I know I told you to but-," You wiggle into him a bit to comfort yourself, "F-Fuck, I didn't think you'd actually..."

Your torso tips forward and you press your fingertips into his chest, "Actually get on top of you?" You finish Gojo's statement questionably.

He nods, "Yeah."

The ache in between your legs is slowly becoming unbearable so, you roll your hips forward, your clothed cunt dragging against Gojo's cock and making his brows furrow and his jaw drop slightly.

"H-Hah, woah, w-wait, what're you doing?" Gojo questions. Those large hands of his go to your thighs and he squeezes your skin slightly.

You tilt your head innocently, "Trying to finish what that asshole Naoya left of me last nigh..." Your voice tails a bit as your roll your hips back and feel Gojo gently hump himself up into you, "Hah, n-night..." You manage out breathly.

Gojo smirks but his breathing is now heavy. He remembers you telling him that you had bad sex with Naoya but you never told him what exactly you meant by that. "What he left of-," He swallows hard, "You?"

Your head nods, "Mhm. Fucker didn't even make me cum," You explain, pouting frustratedly as you recall.

The male below you blinks, "What?"

"He didn't make me cum," You repeat while slowly grinding over the steady rise of Gojo's cock. There's almost nothing more stimulating than feeling as a male grows hard beneath you.

It's so warm and hard how his dick springs to life within the confines of his boxers. All because of a little bit of dry humping.

"You want me to make up for him?" Gojo's quick to offer.

You smile lustfully and drag your hips in a slow circle over his erection, "No... I can uh, shit... can get of jus' fine like this..." You tell him.

A wet spot forms on the male's boxers as precum seeps out the tip of his cock at the thought of watching you get yourself off by dry humping.

Gojo slips his hands up and under the sweater you're wearing, his grasp going to your hips and guiding you through your movements. "You sure?" He breathes out, "You and I both know I can satisfy you just fine."

You chuckle and then catch him off guard by grabbing his hands and prying them away from your body. Gojo's eyes widen when you pin his hands up above his head, your gaze meeting his while you continue grinding on him.

"I know you can but..." You tilt your head tauntingly, "You haven't earned that kinda thing back."

"W-What?" He stammers, his face flushing as your fingers squeeze around his wrists.

The way you're looking at him alone is enough to drive him over the edge but he manages to control himself. Your voice lowers, "You haven't earned the right to fuck me Gojo." Your words make him blink in disbelief, "Not after all the shit you put me through."

"But..."

"There is no but." You say, leaning down to him and tipping your head down to his neck. Carefully, you press your lips into him, "Right now, the only thing you've earned is the pleasure of being used by me."

Your words go straight to his cock and Gojo gulps. Is he hearing you correctly right now? Did you just say you were going to use his body for your pleasure? Is he even okay with that?? Of course he is. Gojo physically couldn't say no to such a thing.

Your lips push into the skin right under his jaw and Gojo groans lowly. Your cunt flutters around nothing at the sound and you grin. Lifting yourself, you move to hover your face over his, peering down into his eyes.

"S'that okay?" You whisper, "Can I do that?"

"I-I..." Gojo is at a complete loss for words right now.

You inch closer to him and your lips graze his own, "Can I use you, Gojo?"

He swore he almost came at the imagination of you doing so.

Everything you said was exactly what you wanted too. You really didn't believe that Gojo deserved to have sex with you without some form of punishment due to all the things he's putting you through. Hell, the only reason you're about to do anything with him is because of how horny you woke up.

Or at least, that's what you're going to blame it on anyway.

"Of course you can, sweets." Gojo utters, his eyes low, "I'm all yours, every part of me, it's all yours." He breathes out.

You smile at his words, "Yeah?"

"M-Mhm... You wanna selfishly use me to make yourself feel good," He shrugs, "By all means." Gojo encourages you, "Please do actually. I told you I'd make things up to you right?"

You almost forgot about that but, he's right. He did promise such a thing so, you nod in response.

"Consider this a part of it," The male explains, "I'm nothing more than a tool for you."

You smile at his words, butterflies fluttering through your stomach in reaction. You wondered if he was only speaking like this in terms of sex or if he meant in general but, based on the needy look in his eyes and the redness of his cheeks, he meant it in every aspect.

Slowly, your eyes shut and you press your lips into his for the first time in what feels like forever. The immediate whine that leaves Gojo is so utterly pathetic and desperate, the fact that you're still pinning his hands down acts as torture for the male.

Given that his favorite thing to do is touch you, to be deprived of that during sex is about to be one of the most difficult things he's ever experienced. But, for you; Gojo would do anything to fix everything he's broken between the two of you.

Your lips part over his and he's eager to accept your tongue sliding into his mouth, his hands simply twitching to feel your body as the two of you make out. It's slow and sloppy, wet tongues slipping over one another while soft and quiet moist sounds of your kissing fill the air.

It ends up being you that folds to the urge to touch and feel him, sliding your hands down from his writs, along his muscular arms, to his shoulders, and then to his neck and face-- growing more aggressive with your kissing and feelings his smooth skin beneath your fingers.

Gojo kept his arms up in place as you lifted from his mouth, quickly whispering his desires to you, "Can I touch you?" He hushes out before you kiss him again.

Feeling ignored, Gojo is struggling to control himself. Nothing is stopping him from moving his hands to your waist and flipping the two of you over, quickly grinding into that warm cunt of yours and pleasing you like he knows you deserve. Yet, he remains still anyway.

You tug on his lower lip for a moment before releasing it, "You wanna touch me?"

"Please," He begs, "A-At least while you're kissing me..."

"Alright," You agree, "But when I tell you to take your hands off me, you better."

Gojo nods understandingly and obediently, quickly flying his hands down to your waist and gripping onto you as your lips connect again. The kiss only grows sloppier, your lips sliding over his and his tongue working its way up into your mouth, leading you to hum against him.

Deep down inside, you can't lie... you did miss making out with Gojo. Nobody kisses you like he does. This man kisses you as if it's his dying act.

His hands go down to your hips and he pushes himself up a bit while pulling you down onto his crotch again. Through your messy kissing, Gojo starts moving with you to sit himself up with you in his lap, your lips hardly ever disconnecting from one another.

Now that you're both sat up, it makes kissing each other and dry humping at the same time a whole lot more comfortable and easy.

Through the softness of your lips, Gojo's able to whisper a thing out to you every now and then, "F-Fuck... I missed you s'much..." He mumbles into you.

His arms wrap around your waist while yours go around his neck, both of you hungrily making out with each other.

When you pull away for a second to breathe, you respond. "Did you?" You murmur.

Gojo nods eagerly, "You know I did."

You smile slightly as you kiss him again. Both of you just barely conversate in between pecks, "...Prove it," You utter.

The sound of his lips smacking over yours is heard, "O-Okay... I will, however-, mh... however you want." He speaks between your constant pecks and gentle sucks over his lower lip, "T-Told you... I'm all yours."

You finally pry away from his mouth completely, a string of saliva left between your lips and his. "Alright then... can I..." You bite your lower lip for a moment, trying to debate if you really want to go through with the idea in your head.

Gojo looks absolutely dazed right now from all your kissing-- having almost blown his load in his pants from making out with you. His cheeks are completely red, his lips parted with heavy pants leaving him, and his eyes low as they look at you.

"Yes," Gojo blurts out, "Whatever it is, you can do it to me." He agrees.

The man appears as though he was fucked out and all you've done is swap spit with him.

You stare at him innocently before giving him one last peck and then moving to his ear, "Can I tie you up?"

GOJO SATORU ✔︎

GETO SUGURU ✔︎

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎

NANAMI KENTO ☐

??? SUKUNA ☐

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[atinystaypixie]

Talk to Me

Warning: Pussy slaps (we love those), unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it), sexual content nun too crazy it's sex

18+ MDNI!!

Ony walked into your shared bedroom to see your figure tangled in the sheets. He knew you weren't sleeping which gave him the confirmation that you still weren't in a good mood. On a normal night, if you had gone to lay down before him you would turn to greet him to the warmth of the bed with open arms ready to cuddle. However, tonight wasn't a normal night. You had been giving him attitude all day which eventually led to an argument between you two.  Ony was trying his hardest to understand why you were upset to begin with, but you wouldn't take the time to explain. Instead, you decided to give him a "fuck it, I don't even want to talk about it anymore," and storming off.

You weren't one to express your emotions easily and Ony was always understanding of that. He was one to take his time with you and maintain clear communication. It was part of the reason you loved him so much. You felt bad for acting this way but putting your thoughts into words was harder than having an unjustified attitude. 

"Baby," you hear the handsome man call out to you as you feel the weight of the bed sink. He is now sitting behind your back. "Baby, I can't know what's wrong unless you tell me. I've been trying, but I can't figure out what's making you so upset." He says in a soft voice still trying to be gentle and patient with you. 

Again, he is met with silence from your side. Now he lightly shakes your shoulder and you respond with a shrug strong enough to throw his hand off of you. This causes the man to become agitated, that patience that you valued so much running thin. He had been at this with you for hours. After all the space and room he gave you to voice your problems, the man didn't know what else to do with you.

"Ma, Imma give you five seconds to fix yourself before I do." The way his voice dropped an octave caused your breathing to still for a second. The second being too long because you felt his weight disappear from behind you. All too quickly, Ony snatched the cover off and wrapped his hand around your ankle. Your world suddenly speeding as he drugged you to the edge of the bed and sat you up. Curling his finger around your chin and staring directly in your face as he now stood in front of you shirtless with only his sweats on. The intensity of his close proximity makes you avoid his deep glare. He didn't appreciate you not looking him in the eyes causing him to tug your chin before speaking. "Look at me," you shyly met his glaze making him hum in appreciation at your obedience. "This gone be the last time I ask you so don't make me repeat myself. What. Is. Your. Problem?" He punctuated every word to get his point across that he wasn't playing with you.

You start mumbling your response, making him cut you off. Pulling closer to you so that his mouth was directly to your ear and his cheek was pressed to yours, "nah. Nah. Speak up like you did earlier when you lost your mind and cursed at me, baby". Your bottom lip started to tremble, “Daddy,” you whine almost inaudibly. Ony let out a small laugh in a breath of air before pulling back to look you in the eyes and dropping his slight smile. “That was yo chance, ma.”

Ony removed his hand from your face to wrap both arms around your thighs and move you to the center of the bed. He spread your pretty, chocolate thighs giving him access to your clothed pussy. “All day, ma. Chance after chance. Yet you still acting up on me for,” suddenly you felt a sharp slap straight between your legs, “nothing!” Ony finished his sentence harshly after he delivered the slap to your pussy. You tried to pull your legs closed but failed due to his large frame being there, “Daddy, wait-” another slap given to your clothed cunt stopped you from finishing your sentence. “Nah, you didn’t want to talk, remember. Keep doing what you was doing. I don’t want to hear it right now.” Ony slapped your pussy three more times before moving to take your booty shorts off revealing your bare pussy to him. You weren’t wearing panties which gave him the sight of your slick starting to spill from your aching cunt.

He rubbed his thumb down your slit then around your folds spreading your arousal. “Giving me attitude for nun then get wet for me? Cute.” This time Ony gave repeated slaps to your exposed clit making you whine in pleasure and pain. He reached his hand that was now covered in your juices and stuck his fingers in your mouth. You started sucking them as he rubbed them on your tongue holding eye contact with you. “That’s my good girl. Why couldn’t you be like this all day?” He removes his fingers and shoves his ring and middle finger into your dripping hole letting his palm stimulate your clit as he roughly rubs your insides. You grab his wrist trying to slow his actions which causes him to take your hand and pin it above your head. “Move, baby. I haven’t even started with you yet so just take it like a big girl.” He says soothingly, the opposite of the assault he is doing on your leaking cunt. Your voice sounds throughout the room as you moan out from the pleasure he is giving you. Squeezing around his fingers, juices dripping down to the bed. Orgasm nearing you start speaking,”Daddy! Baby, please. I’m going to cum.” That’s enough for Ony to halt his actions and lick your wetness off his fingers.

“You’ll talk for that, huh?” He says unamused. He goes to remove your shirt admiring your brown skin, the perkiness of your breast, and your slightly darker, erect nipples. He runs his large hands up and down your sides to sooth you after the ruined orgasm before bringing one hand to the back of your neck and giving you a kiss for the first time tonight. It’s nasty. Tongue on tongue, saliva swapping, smacking sounds. It’s got you drunk off of him, so drunk you almost don’t hear him say “open your mouth, ma”.  When you do, he grabs your throat and spits into your mouth. He starts kissing you again then trails down to your neck sucking and biting at the skin. Ony takes one of your nipples in between his fingers and squeezes it causing you to throw your head back giving him more access to your neck. Your mouth hangs open letting out gasps and moans which Ony takes notice of. “Oh? Now you can open your mouth? Good, let’s put it to use.” He removes his sweats and leans against the headboard with you now infront of him. Dick hard with a slight curve, vein running down the side, and precum dripping from the tip.

He moves your goddess locs hanging in your face behind your ear and runs his thumb over your bottom lip. In his other hand, he grabs his hard dick and strokes it a couple of times, making you drool at the sight. Ony knows the look in your eyes all too well. You’ve never been one to resist his cock. He bites his lip as he slides his leaking tip over your lips before parting them and slowly guiding the head in. You happily wrap your lips around him excited to have him on your tongue. He pulls back out before pushing your head down on his cock completely. Taking a moment to enjoy the warmness and pulsing of your throat as it adjusts to his intrusion, Ony moans and lovingly rubs your cheek. “Yea, baby. This is a much better use for your mouth.” 

After a moment, he pulls your head off of him and watches as your saliva strands disconnect from him. Ony moves you to lay on your back and aligns himself with your pussy. Rubbing his dick between your wet slit causing you both to moan. Your hips moving against his seeking the pleasure he always gives just to be met with a strong hand stopping your movements as he continues to tease you. “You’ll get what I give you. Closed mouths don’t get fed, but you ain’t never heard that obviously.” He taps the heavy member against your bud and slides it to your opening. Circling the entrance and pushing just the tip in making you suck in a breath. He grabs your legs and puts one over his shoulder and pushes the other one open. 

“You gone start talking now?” He asks starting to feed you slow, deep thrust. Pushing all the way in and pulling almost completely out before starting again. “Come on pretty girl. Tell Daddy what’s wrong.” He kisses your ankle keeping his rhythm, making your brain foggy. You try to speak but it comes out scrambled due to him hitting your deepest parts and being able to feel every inch of him. “Fuck, bae. Please!” Was your response, only focused on being split open by his dick. It wasn’t what he was looking for. Speeding up his strokes, watching you say incomprehensible sentences Ony presses his weight to you and grabs your hands. You squeal out at the way you can feel him rubbing at your sweet spots even more at this angle. He interlocks your fingers and talks with his lips brushing against yours, “come on, ma. Talk to me.”

He suddenly starts giving you harsh thrust. Rough enough that your body jerks and the bed shakes. You can feel him everywhere. Against your lips, between your fingers, pelvis to clit, walls to dick, and his large frame wrapped between your legs. The stimulation is too much. You can’t help but to squeeze around him and squirt, wetting his abdomen and the sheets. He pauses, “now you just pissing me off.”

Ony pulls out and flips you on your stomach with your ass up and face down. He doesn’t give warning, just sliding back in and giving quick, mean strokes. He brings his hands down, slapping both of your ass cheeks at the same time. You’re screaming into the sheets now due to overstimulation. Ony is merciless. Tired of pleading with you and patience gone. He reaches around to rub at your puffy clit causing you to try to move away. He pulls you back, “stay fucking still.” He doesn’t care to hear you begging him to slow down. The only thing he cares about is when he hears your broken rushed out sentence, “missed you!” 

He pulls you up to him, back to chest, “what was that, mamas?” He questions slowly his thrust slightly giving you room to speak. “I just missed you, Daddy. Just wanted your attention.” He turns your head and captures your lips. He smiles and says, “there you go baby. Keep talking to me.” He starts to speed his thrust up again making you moan as you speak, “Just needed - shit- just needed you. Missed ahh spending time with you.” You feel another orgasm approaching, “please let me cum, Ony” you plead with him.

“Go head, ma. I’m right behind you.” He kisses you through your orgasm. Your cum leaking down his shaft as he fills up your clenching hole. Ony lay you both on your sides without pulling out. “I’m sorry, ma. I didn’t know you felt that. You know I would have made more time for you in a heartbeat.”

“I know, baby. I just felt clingy and didn’t want to annoy you.” The man had been working more lately and you were feeling the effects of the extra time spent away from him.

He kisses your cheek and tightens his hold on you, “don’t ever think you annoy me baby. I love you in every way possible. Next time just talk to me.”

✨

Thoughts of a Slutty Virgin - 🧚🏽‍♀️

This was longer than I expected. Ending was bleh. Tbh i didn't even know what was gone happen next

ENJOY!

Pixie's Masterlist

[the-iceni-bitch]

𝕸𝖆𝖉𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝕾𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖑 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖞

𝙾𝚛𝚌 𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚆𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜. 𝙲𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎.

𝙰𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 ~ 𝙰 𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜.

𝙰𝚕𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚊 ~ 𝚂𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜.

Words: ~1.1k

Relationship: August Walker x princess!female reader

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (non-con, bondage, manhandling, cum marking), mean August, size difference, SMUT!! 18+ ONLY!!

A/N: I love a bad boy so much and I’m not even a little bit sorry about it. If I’m going to hell, so be it.

August grinned as he walked through the horde’s camp, holding the head of his conquered foe high and roaring before tossing it to one of his clansmen and instructing them to boil it so he could add the skull to his collection. His blood was still up from the battle, and there was only one thing on his mind. He took a mug of grog from someone before throwing aside the flap to his tent and striding inside.

“Little princess!” August threw his head back and howled with laughter when you flailed against your bindings as soon as you saw him, taking a swig of grog before setting the tankard down and starting to remove his leathers. “Did you miss me, little one?”

“Fuck you!” You spat at him when he reached out to demeaningly pat your cheek.

“That’s rude language from such a pretty princess,” This time he slapped you, licking his tusks lasciviously when you gasped and shuddered. “I’m assuming this means you’re still rejecting my proposal.”

“Of course I’m rejecting it!” You thrashed even more, determined to get free from your bindings even though you had no luck in your attempts during the past few weeks of your captivity. “I’ll never be the mate of a filthy, murdering orc bastard!”

“Tsk, how disappointing,” the way you were writhing and squirming against your bindings was making him hard, as it always did, and it only got better when you screamed furiously as he began to undo his breeches. “It’s not as though you have many options, princess. I just killed another one of those suitors of yours who thought he could rescue you. His skull is going to look rather fine hanging around my neck with those of the other failures.”

That made your already fraught emotions sink even lower, but you were determined not to let him see you cry. There were now four different prince’s and their armies who had tried to take you back from the horde after they had pillaged your family’s kingdom. Every single one of them was dead, along with their armies, and you didn’t know how many more would make the attempt now that so many had been killed. A sense of dread started to settle over you at that thought, but you refused to be defeated. So you just continued to struggle against the ropes that bound you, glaring at him and ignoring the way your eyes stung with unshed tears.

“I fucking hate you,” you kept your eyes fixed on his face while he pulled out his massive cock and started to stroke it over your restrained body. “You’re disgusting and I’ll never be yours.”

“Your stubbornness only makes the fact that you’ll eventually break all the more delicious,” August snorted when you jerked away from him as he gave your head a condescending pat, slapping you instead as his fist kept moving over his cock. “You have no other choice, princess. I’m going to have you no matter what, it will go easier for you if you submit willingly.”

You just snarled at him, tired of telling him to fuck himself and deciding to just try to ignore him instead. It was difficult, though, especially when he gripped your face and forced you to watch as he stroked his cock over your squirming body. The worst thing was that you were getting wet as you kept struggling, and he could tell, a wicked grin spreading across his face when his precum started to drip on your already soiled gown.

August just grunted with annoyance when you pouted and closed your eyes, rolling his own before taking his hand off your face so he could yank at the ropes binding you until they were flung over one of the tent beams so you were suspended in midair.

“Stop, what are you doing?!” You shrieked when he shredded your gown so it fell off you in tatters and left you naked as you dangled in front of him. “You bastard! Put me down!”

“Always fucking complaining. You’re lucky I don’t decide to shut you up by skullfucking you, princess,” he chuckled when that made you finally fall silent as your eyes lit up with terror. “Don’t look so scared, like you don’t enjoy everything I do to you. Remember how messy you got when I broke you in?”

“Shut up… stop it!” You thrashed wildly when he shot his thick cum all over your stomach and thighs, screaming when he grabbed one of your legs and propped it on his shoulder so you were spread wide open for him. “Don’t you dare touch me!”

He ignored you, smearing his fingers through the thick mess he’d left all over before reaching between your legs so he could rub his seed all over your swollen pussy. His first smack caught you completely off guard, making you wail when his hand cracked against your quivering folds so hard you almost blacked out. But then he leaned down and kissed you and you were brought back to consciousness against your will, gagging at the taste of grog on his tongue while his hand started slapping your cunt over and over again.

His treatment was brutal, it always was, but still your body responded to him. You cried and choked on his tongue as his fingers struck your pussy at a brutal pace, hating that each time he smacked your sensitive flesh you gushed juices all over his hand and trembled from barely controlling your climax. You held out longer than you would have thought you’d be able to, but after twenty minutes there was nothing you could do. August grinned and spat into your mouth when you sobbed as you squirted everywhere, rubbing your raw and sore folds viciously while you spasmed through your climax. As soon as you were done he released his hold on the ropes and let you drop to the floor, laying on his bed of furs and picking up his tankard of grog again as he watched you whimper and squirm.

“When are you gonna admit how much you enjoy this shit, princess?” August nudged you with his foot to turn you over and chuckled when you whined. “If you can handle this you should be able to actually survive carrying my baby. Of course you will be much more comfortable if you’re not bound and restricted during your pregnancy. So why don’t you take the night to think about how much better your life will be if you actually accept a role as my mate instead of just a brood mare.”

You sobbed when he rose to his feet and pulled his breeches back on, leaving you alone in his tent to consider just how miserable you wanted your future to be.

[cordeliawhohung]

Sun Bleached Flies - Part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part ten of "soft spot"

Healing never comes as fast and easy as you want it to, but you try and adjust to your new life as best as you can. The thing is, there is no going back, there is only going forward, no matter how much you wished it was otherwise.

warnings: PTSD, angst, minor comfort, panic and anxiety attacks, spook and simon are going through it.

wc: 6.6k

A gentle breeze danced through the open window of his therapist’s office, bringing the scent of spring with it.

Moist grass, a hint of rain, freshly bloomed flowers; all hints of something new being born. Except this wasn’t new for Simon. Sitting in an overly calm and quiet room in a chair that was too soft as a man who looked too ancient for this earth flipped through notes of their previous sessions. 

This wasn’t Simon’s first time in therapy, and he was certain it wouldn’t be his last. After everything he had endured over the winter, he was required to attend sessions before he would be allowed to return back to active duty. He had only started a few weeks ago, as most of his energy and time had gone into taking care of you, but once you were well enough to go back to work, well, it was time to take care of himself. 

“How was your week, lieutenant?” the man spoke up after finally putting his notes down. His name was Gus, and was ex-military. Or, at least Simon assumed he was, judging by the deep and long wrinkled scars that littered his face and the unceremonious use of his rank. “Anything new?” 

“It was alright,” he answered bluntly. He was never quite good with the awkward small talk that came with therapy. Something about how he was supposed to bare his darkest secrets just to talk about the weather was unnerving. “Spook started physical therapy this week.” 

Usually, Simon never used that nickname Johnny coined for you, but ever since you were taken, he felt as if he couldn’t use your real name. That sharing anything about you was forbidden. Or maybe he was just being selfish, wanting to keep you, even your name, all to himself. 

“At least she’s in some sort of therapy,” Gus said dryly. “She still refusing counseling?” 

He nodded solemnly. “Says she doesn’t think she can talk about it yet.” 

Gus grunted a little as he sat forward in his chair. A pair of frail and shaky hands reached up to remove the oversized glasses on his face before he settled his foggy eyes back on Simon. “Does she talk about it with you?” 

“Tries,” he responded sourly. “She used to talk so much about everything; everything except for whatever was hurtin’ her. Always thought she’d tell me eventually, whenever she was ready. But after this shit? I’m fuckin’ lucky to get anything out of her. Even the good stuff.” 

Instead of prompting him with another question, Gus stayed quiet as he stared at Simon, and he knew what it meant. That man must have been in the business of fixing broken soldiers for quite some time because it never took him long to figure out what was bothering him. Always struck gold on the first shovelful of dirt. Might as well make things easy and give up the rest. 

“Everything that I’ve learned about her past I’ve had to piece together myself,” Simon explained. “Her moms passing she told me herself, but I know her previous partner was a right piece of shit. Judging by the way she hardly ever talks about her father, he probably was no better. She hasn’t told me anything about when she was taken, or what they did to her. There’s some stuff I can figure out. God, there was fuckin’ photographic proof on the damn floor.” He paused for a moment and shook his head as if trying to get his thoughts back in order. “She tries but then just shuts down and I… fuck, I dunno.” 

“And what have you told her?” Gus asked as he leaned back in his chair. 

Eyebrows drawing together and cheeks scrunching under his mask, Simon tilted his head to the side. “What?” 

“I mean, what have you told her? About your past, or your family? Are you making her play the same guessing games?” Gus pressed. 

A lump formed in Simon’s throat so thick he thought he would choke on it. He wanted to say that sharing his past was different. How was he supposed to talk about the torture he endured, the hook tearing through his ribs, the slaughter of his family? How their deaths were pinned on him, and he burnt away the evidence of them; what would you say to that? Or if you knew about his revenge, how he traversed a jungle just to kill a man? 

He grimaced. Hadn’t you already seen his revenge? 

“You’ve been pretty open with me so far, lieutenant, and that’s a lot more than I can say for most of the men I see in here,” Gus continued, “so tell me; what is it that you’re really afraid of?” 

Really, therapy wasn’t all too different from being interrogated. In both circumstances, there was someone trying to poke and prod around inside of his head. And in both circumstances, it was never fun when they poked the right spot. 

“I don’t want her to think I’m like them,” he finally admitted. 

“Her abductors?” Gus clarified. “Why would she think that?”

“I broke a man's arm and shot him as I had him pinned to the ground. Right in front of her,” Simon explained as if he saw Bukin dying all over again. Heard the bone snap and the crunching sound of his flesh grinding underneath his boot. Watched as his head jumped dully against the ground as the bullet tore through his skill. 

“You saved her life,” Gus countered. 

“I was violent,” he spat. 

“So were they.”

“I’m supposed to be better than them.”

“If you were better than them, she’d be dead, son.” 

Silence. The breeze continued to drift through the open window, attempting to kiss Simon’s flesh through his clothes, too kind for him to be deserving of it. He continued to stare through the old man as he waited for him to explain himself. 

“You brought her home alive. You know better than anyone that being soft comes with consequences. Some good, some bad. Be violent, be a monster; be Ghost in the moments when you’re doing your job. When you’re protecting the ones you love.” Throughout his last few weeks of therapy, Simon hadn’t heard the old man speak with such conviction until that moment. Like the man spoke from experience. “Be soft when you’re with her. Share the stuff that hurts. It sounds like you’re the closest person she has. Certainly the strongest. How is she supposed to be vulnerable with you when you’re the one who’s scared?” 

The thing Simon hated the most about therapy was hearing things he already knew but was trying to ignore. Everything would have been so much easier had he let you ramble that night the oxycodone had scrambled your brain. But it was his fault things had gotten that way in the first place. That picture of you that he kept despite his better judgment, leading Bukin right to your door; that was his fault. Selfish of him to hope that you’d be the one vulnerable first as if he didn’t have something to atone for.

Simon let out a heavy sigh as he looked down at his hands. The old man was right, and it was frustrating. “Christ,” he muttered. 

“Start with the small stuff. You don’t have to air everything out all at once. Actually, it would be better if you didn’t. Don’t want to overwhelm the poor girl,” Gus assured him. “Remember, she’s a civilian. She didn’t have the resources and training that you did going into that.” 

He didn’t spend much longer in that office before Gus sent him away to do his homework: figure out a memory to share with you. Sounded easy enough, but when he had spent countless years keeping things to himself so as to keep others safe, it was near painful. But he tried his best to think of something as he made his way back to the apartment. 

You weren’t there when he got home. Not that he had expected you to be, though it still felt wrong. As soon as your wound was no longer needing constant attention, you instantly hopped back into work. He tried to dissuade you from doing so, saying that he’d still have more than enough money to pay for everything, but you wouldn’t hear any of it. Claimed you were tired of being locked up in the apartment all day, even if he was there with you. Though it worried him, he couldn’t blame you, not after everything that had happened there. Every now and then he still found a small, green bead somewhere on the living room floor. 

A sigh left him as he stood in the entryway, staring at Boo who watched him curiously from the couch. The window had been left cracked open, and it looked like the little guy had been enjoying some fresh air. Simon tried to tell you that leaving the blinds open was just asking for someone to snitch that you had a cat in the apartment. You had retorted by saying boarded up windows made for a shitty home. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbled to himself. 

This was going to be a pain in his ass. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“This guy is getting on my fucking nerves.” 

That was the fucking understatement of the year. Méabh lazily leaned against your desk as she glared over at the new branch manager they had hired during your absence. His name was Jace, and he liked to spend his time at work micromanaging all of his employees, including Cheryl, who was able to wire money with her eyes closed after so many years in the business. The poor woman looked like she was one more annoying comment from smacking the overbearing manager. 

“He told me I didn’t ask enough security questions on the last transfer I did as if I didn’t ask all the ones that popped up on the screen,” Méabh continued in a droning grumble. “I wish Anna was still here. She did her job and wasn’t a complete cunt about it.” 

“Just be glad that you only work part time,” you teased while trying to focus on your paperwork. 

“Yeah, for now,” Méabh whined. “I’ll be going full time over summer holiday. Means I’ll get to see this prick twice as often.” 

Really, it wasn’t Jace’s hawk-like gaze, or even his annoying nasally voice that got on your nerves. It was his shoes. While most of the girls at the bank wore flats to save themselves from achy feet, Jace wore terribly loud dress shoes. Whenever he walked, it sounded like he wore high heels with the way they clacked on the floor, and with how much he stomped around it was impossible for him to sneak up on anyone. 

“Are you almost done?” Méabh then prompted. “I wanna get out of here.”

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know,” you chuckled. 

“Thought I’d do the noble thing and keep you company. You know, unless you want Jace to read over your paperwork before you submit it,” she retorted with a playful roll of her eyes. 

“How kind of you.” 

Luckily for Méabh, or perhaps the both of you, you had just typed up the finishing touches to your work. Not even a minute later the whirring of your computer died down as you shut it off for the night and stood from your desk. However, you made the mistake of pushing with both your hands, and you winced as a zapping pain shot through your left shoulder. Even after all those months, your wound hadn’t fully healed. 

“You alright?” Méabh asked as you gathered your items. 

“Yeah,” you said, slightly winded. Glancing quickly over at Jace, and poor Cheryl who was still stuck listening to his ramble, you looked back at the young girl before nodding towards the door. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Without saying goodbye, or saving your co-worker, you and Méabh slipped out of the building unnoticed and into the fresh spring air. Or, at least as fresh as it could get in the midst of London. It had been months since you last smelt real fresh air. When had it been, back at the end of August when you and Simon had gone on holiday? With the beautiful seaside and mist that tasted like salt? Or was it…

No. No, that couldn’t be right. 

“Need a ride?” Méabh prompted. 

You pulled your head out of the frigid water, dusted the sand off your knees, and smiled politely as you adjusted the blazer that perfectly complimented your pristine work clothes. You always had a way of bringing yourself back to reality if it meant avoiding an awkward conversation. Always so calm and put together, even with fragments of a bullet still stuck in your body. 

“No, I’ll, uhm, just walk home. Thanks,” you excused as your eyes glanced out at the busy streets ahead. 

Saying goodbye was awkward. Hell, everything was awkward those days. But like you did with all things in your life, you gritted your teeth and bared it before starting your walk home. 

It was strange trying to remember how you used to fit into the world before everything. Sure, you never quite fit in beforehand, squeezing into places too small for you to exist in, but it had become home. But not then. Your edges had become warped, curling in on themselves, retracting into your body. Your piece of the puzzle had shrunk, but everything else stayed the same size, leaving you stuck with a gap that separated you from everyone else. 

You were a watcher; a stranger to the very earth that nourished you. You could hear the seagulls rummaging through a pile of rubbish left beside the bin, and you could see the vibrant valley flowers that took up the window of the florist's shop on your left, but it was… blurry. Fuzzy, like the tingling sensation that plagued your arm every now and then when the blood flow was bad. You tried to focus, do anything to make the imagery around you feel sharper, but the faces of pedestrians were empty, like nobody around you was real, least of all yourself. 

And then you were home. 

It was difficult to tell how long you were standing outside of the door, staring at the empty wood as if it was a mirror. You had just sort of appeared there, like some sort of ghost. Without taking your eyes off of the door, you dug your hand into your bag and blindly felt around for your keys. A part of you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the view Leon had before kidnapping you. Before drugging you and taking you to that fucking basement. 

No. Bukin. Simon told you his last name was Bukin, and you weren’t going to give your dead captor the pleasure of using his first name as if you had been friends. 

Eventually the keys ended up in the lock and you entered the apartment. A heavy aroma of seasoned chicken filled the air around you, and you heard quiet cursing coming from the kitchen. You rounded the corner and were greeted by Simon cooking at the stove and Boo trying his hardest to trip the poor man. The critter stareed up at him with big, begging eyes as he followed your lovers every step. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, quickly glancing away from his work to look at you. 

“You two look busy,” you chuckled, tossing your bag onto the counter. 

“I’m busy,” Simon corrected before tossing a playful glare down at the poor cat by his feet. “He’s a menace.” 

Humming, you stood next to Simon and glanced at what he had on the stove. It was pretty common for you to come home from work with dinner already started, if not finished. Simon had become something of a chef since taking care of you, and he had some pasta boiling and some chicken frying. He had started eating a lot more protein and carbs since going back to the gym, attempting to gain back the strength he had lost while captured. 

“He’s just a baby,” you said, reaching a hand towards the hot pan. With careful fingers, you tore off a small bit of the chicken before blowing on it a little to cool it down. Boo had already stretched up to reach up your thigh by the time you had bent down to give it to him. After a few deep sniffs, he eagerly took it in his mouth and ran off. 

“Spoiled rotten, he is,” Simon mumbled. 

“He was being so patient,” you cooed, watching as Boo scarfed down his treat in the corner of the kitchen, as if afraid someone would take it from him. 

“Patient, my arse,” he chuckled. 

A dull beep sounded from the stove, which Simon quickly pressed a button to shut it off. With a twist of the dial, he turned the heat off of one of the burners and you heard the sound of boiling water quiet down before he moved it towards the sink to strain it. As hot steam billowed upwards, you turned your attention towards one of the cabinets where you found yourself reaching up for it. A small stack of china sat on the lowest shelf. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had actually set the table yourself. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout that, sweetheart,” Simon said as he sat the still steaming pot on the counter next to the sink. 

Shooting him a weird look, you continued in your pursuit. “I can handle getting plates, Simon.” 

And you did. Grabbed two plates right off the shelf and held them in your hands as you looked at him as if in a challenge. But you understood why he was still so… skittish. He had spent the last few months doing everything for you. Bathing you, dressing you, making your food; he did it all. It almost felt more vulnerable than bleeding out on cold grass. A burden, that’s what you had become. Just another pet for someone to take care of. And Simon didn’t mind it, you knew that; he never did. Still, it was difficult to rot away in that apartment in good conscience knowing he was caring for someone who more than likely should have been a corpse by the ocean. 

Saying nothing, Simon turned his attention back to his work as you walked towards the dining table. You hadn’t even made it halfway there before something crumbled inside of you. A shooting pain ran up and down your left arm, searing your nerves and burning away your flesh. A tingling numbness settled over your hand and the plates you tried to hold so carefully slipped right through your fingers where they shattered on the ground at your feet with a deafening crash. 

Your gasp was cut off by a short whimper as your hand reached up to press against your old, yet still aggravated wound. You kept the pressure there as if trying to keep yourself from spilling on the floor, and you looked down at the mess you made. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you cursed. You pulled your hand away from under your arm and looked at your hand as if expecting blood. 

“You alright?” Simon asked, heavy footsteps trailing across the floor behind you. 

“I’m fine,” you spat, words sharp enough to tear through flesh. 

The footsteps behind you stopped, and it forced you to realize the bite in your tone. It also made you realize how your hand trembled and heart stung as if you were afraid, as if you had been running. In an attempt to calm your nerves, you let out a heavy sigh before looking down at the mess you made. A terrible mosaic of broken glass and a now slightly chipped wooden floor spanned the area around your feet. You had ruined two perfectly good plates, damaged the floor, and you were the one snapping? 

So much like your father. Being angry at the mess when it was your own fault. 

“I’m… fine,” you tried again, softer this time. Empty. “Sorry, I… didn’t mean to…”

When Simon continued to walk towards you, you half expected him to reach for you, and some strange part of you didn’t want him to. Didn’t want his touch. Couldn’t stand it because you knew you didn’t deserve it. Instead, he knelt on the ground next to you, large fingers carefully picking up the bigger pieces of the shattered plates and gathering them into the palm of his hand. 

“You don’t have to clean up my mess,” you said softly, lip trembling as you knelt down next to him to mirror his actions. 

“I know,” he replied simply. He still cleaned anyway. 

Anger was a weird thing for you. It wasn’t often that you felt it without some other emotion accompanying it. Confusion. Frustration. Grief. Shame usually followed shortly after. Truth was, you were angry all the time those days, and it was worse than almost any other emotion you could have experienced. When you had first started your road to recovery, you felt numb, and when you didn’t feel numb you felt terrified. A part of you wished you were still in that stage because you could at least explain why you felt that way. Some sort of self preservation mode your body had forced itself into in an attempt to smother the trauma you had endured over several long weeks. The anger that hid itself away in your chest was something you couldn’t explain. You didn’t know why it was there, but you wished it wasn’t. 

So you stayed silent as you assisted Simon in cleaning up the shattered plates. It had remained mostly in several large chunks, but there were smaller, more fine pieces that you’d have to use a broom for. You hated that your hands shook for each piece you reached out for. 

“I broke one of my mum’s vases when I was a kid,” Simon said unprompted. You found yourself pausing. As you held what pieces you had gathered in your hand, you glanced over at him, and he must have felt your gaze because his eyes flickered to you before focusing back on his work. “Was an accident. Kickin’ around a football in the living room when she told me not to. I tried to hide it from her until I could fix it, but she knew immediately it was missing.”

“Was she mad?” you asked. 

It felt… odd. Strange. Nice. In all the years you had been with Simon, neither of you had really talked about your pasts. All you had gotten or shared were fragments. And there he was, picking up your mess, showing some raw part of himself you had never seen before. 

“Upset, but not mad. She never got mad, even when she should have,” he replied, voice unwavering. 

A thick lump had formed in your throat that was difficult to swallow. Something fuzzy tingled in the back of your mind, like something was trying to rip a chunk of flesh out of you; a memory. Teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek, you swallowed again before speaking. 

“My… father broke a lot of plates when I was younger,” you admitted, staring down at the chunks of china in your hands. “Usually to get a reaction out of my mom. They were her mother’s, my grandmother’s, plates. Eventually she had to end up buying plastic plates when he had smashed them all, but that didn’t stop him from throwing them. He was always…”

So predictable. 

Hadn’t you just said that not too long ago? After the shattering of a bowl? More broken china to stain the ground, the carpet, in that basement. You remembered his glare, Erik’s glare - Adakskin - when you told him he was predictable. And you were right. He had done everything you knew he would. A broken dish was always followed by pain. It didn’t matter. It never did. A broken dish was always followed by pain, even if you were the one breaking it. 

Eyes watering, you coughed a little as a sharp tickle formed in your throat. Simon, whose eyes had been on you, glanced over his shoulder to see a fair bit of thick steam and light smoke rising out of the pan he had been cooking chicken in. Cursing, he stood to his feet and quickly tossed the pieces of china he had gathered into the trash before moving the pan off the heat. 

And just like that, you were back. Still kneeling, still cleaning, still quiet. Your life had become nothing but a blur of time; living in the past and present at the same time. Even at work, at home, with Simon, the past held onto you so violently you weren’t sure you would ever be able to shake it off. You tried telling yourself you could - that you would - but once again you were cleaning up a broken plate. Always cleaning but never clean. 

“Hope you like crispy chicken,” Simon sighed. Spatula in hand, he attempted to scrape the burnt meat off of the pan. 

Once you ensured every single shard had been picked up, you turned your attention towards the kitchen for a split moment. You attempted a smile, but it felt too big on your face, so you got rid of it the moment it formed. 

“I’m gonna change out of my work clothes,” you said instead, crossing through the kitchen to head towards the bedroom. “I’ll, uh… I’ll let you get the plates this time.” 

He didn’t say anything in response as you vanished down the hallway, but he kept his eyes on you. His lips tightened into a thin line for a moment before relaxing once more and turning his attention back to dinner. He knew this stage of healing was going to be the hardest. The body had a way of mending wounds that the mind just couldn’t mimic with trauma. That conversation had been the most he was able to get out of you in months, and you still looked terrified. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It had been years since Simon had last smoked a cigarette. He used to smoke regularly when he first joined up, especially more so after his family was killed. It was a good way to keep himself awake on missions, or for avoiding nightmares. He quit when the withdrawal symptoms got bad and he had difficulty with cardio during PT. Now he smoked for the alleviation of stress, even if it only lasted for a moment. Or maybe he did it just to keep his hands moving. No matter the reason, it didn’t change the smoke curling in his lungs as he took drag after drag. 

Something had been on his mind since you dropped those plates at dinner the previous night. The empty look in your eyes haunted him almost as bad as the shaking of your hands. It was getting worse. Or, at least, it wasn’t getting better, and that terrified him. He didn’t know what to do to help you short of dragging you off to some therapist, which he knew wouldn’t do any good. Something was building. Something was going to burst, and he didn’t know when, but the pressure was there and there was nothing he could do about it. 

So there he stood, off in some secluded area on base, smoking his cigarette with a jaw so tense there were indentations of his teeth on the filter. It didn’t take him long to finish it, and when it had been stomped into the ground with the heel of his boot, he was half tempted to smoke another. Keeping the pack in his pocket, he released a heavy sigh before marching back towards the building that housed his office. 

Avoiding as many people in the halls as he could, he quickly unlocked the door and shut it as soon as he slipped inside. The air felt stale, like no one had entered to clean his space in his absence, which was probably for the best anyway. He flicked the light on, and it struggled to fill the room, being dimmer than he remembered it being, but it was enough for the moment. With a press of a button, his computer started to whirr to life, and he sat in his chair as he waited for it to boot up. It had great difficulty starting, and he could hear his SSD grind and whine after being shut off for so many months. 

Eventually the monitor lit up, and Simon wasted no time logging in before opening his browser. The last time he had used this computer he had spent all his time and energy searching through houses and apartments and hotel rooms in search of where you were being held. Now, he found himself looking at houses and apartments again, but for a different reason. 

He needed to get you out of there; out of the apartment the two of you had been staying in. Too many bad memories stained the walls for either of you to do any sort of healing. And so he searched and searched and found his frustration growing. A one bedroom apartment for 3,000 a month? Christ, the housing in that fucking city was astronomically expensive, and sure he could afford it, but for a single damn room? 

So he kept searching. It was difficult trying to find someplace that wasn’t halfway across the city from base that was also still close to your work. He’d hate for you to have to take the tube alone, or walk too far alone at night in the city, especially dressed as fancy as bankers usually were. Of course there was always housing on base, but he wouldn’t be able to bring you with because the two of you weren’t married. 

Your wife; they are relocating her.

Even after all that time he could see that woman clearly, whoever she had been, sitting on the floor of the room you were supposed to be in. At the time he tried to shake off the way that statement made him feel. Behind the anger, frustration, and fear, there was something else there. Wife. He had liked the term. He wished it was true. Then he remembered the photos in front of her. Your face; your gorgeous face, trapped in that Polaroid. The tears and blood that stained your cheeks and lips, the way an unforgiving hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at the lens. 

Wife. He wanted that, craved it. But that wasn’t the time, not after everything that had happened. 

Simon wasn’t brought out of his thoughts until someone knocked on his door, where he found himself glaring at the big hunk of wood. He hadn’t been there in months, and most people should have known that, so why was someone trying to bother him? Still, he gave them a gruff order to come in and he was quickly greeted by Johnny’s wide eyed expression. 

“You’re back?” Johnny asked breathlessly as he shut the door behind him. 

Well, at least out of everyone that it could have been, it was him. 

“Not yet,” he replied simply. His chair squeaked as he leaned back in it in an attempt to relax some. He tried to make a mental reminder to use some WD-40 on it later. “How’d you know I was here?” 

Johnny used his thumb to point over his shoulder at the door behind him. “Was on my way to storage to put some files away,” he explained simply, simultaneously shaking the manilla folder in his hand. “Walked by and saw the light peeking from under the door. Figured someone was cleaning, but knocked just in case.” He took a few cautious steps forward, as if approaching a skittish cat. “How’s everything?”

Simon wasn’t quite sure how to answer that question. Things certainly weren’t great, but they could be worse. For example, you could be dead, or still hospitalized. But saying things were great was far from the truth, and he wasn’t exactly keen on explaining every little issue that had been plaguing him as of late. 

“It’s an adjustment,” he admitted instead, “but we’re getting there.”

Johnny nodded, getting even closer to his lieutenant. “Spook doin’ alright, then?” 

Even after all that time, Simon still didn’t like talking about you with other people, even if it was Johnny. Hell, even talking about you to his therapist made him feel tense. But he couldn’t hold onto you like that forever, keeping you caged in the safeness of his arms where you were supposed to be safe. And he had to come to the realization that his sergeant deserved to know. Simon had been there the entire time; through the hospital, through your healing. The last time Johnny had seen you, you were bleeding out on your way to the nearest hospital. 

“She’s back to work. Started physical therapy this week, too,” Simon explained, though he wasn’t sure how much more he could say. 

That small bit of information seemed to mean the whole world to Johnny, and his face lit up. “Good, that’s good! Glad she’s doin’ better.” Then, his eyes darted to the monitor. He caught sight of the rental listings lined up on the screen, as well as their crazy high prices. “Searchin’ for a new home?”

Simon’s attention turned back to the computer for a moment where he let a heavy sigh escape him. “Yeah. Figured it was about time I got her out of there. The apartment. Wanted to get her out sooner, but couldn’t when she was still hurt.”

“It woulda been a lot for her to adjust to at once,” Johnny agreed. 

Things fell silent for a moment as both men lost themselves in their thoughts, but only for a short moment before Johnny adjusted the folder in his hand. 

“Well, I’ll let you continue searching,” he excused himself as he took a step back. “Gotta get this to storage eventually.” 

Simon was one second away from wishing the man well before watching him leave his office, but something stopped him. He knew that if he was alone again, his thoughts would go right back to where they were before. That woman in the room. Pictures of you on the floor. The blood. The Polaroids. That fucking hand that gripped your face - the hand that had no fucking right to touch you. Those goddamn pictures. 

“I’ll come with,” Simon said, already shutting his computer down. 

Eyebrows drawing together, Johnny tilted his head to the side as he paused his retreat. “You sure?” 

There was no room for argument. Everything in his office was quickly shut down and put away, and the two men walked through the halls of the building. There were a few familiar faces that threw Simon odd glances, as if surprised to see him there, or perhaps surprised he was still alive. His name was Ghost for a reason. 

Neither man said anything to one another until they reached the storage room. Shelves lined up like dominos and spanned all the way to the back wall where an industrial sized paper shredder sat. Large white cardboard boxes rested on the shelves with simple flip open tops, each labeled with either a case or date of some sort. Painfully white lights washed out the entire room, causing Johnny to squint for a moment before his eyes adjusted. 

“Hate sorting through this shit,” he muttered as he began to wander through the aisles. 

Simon stood in the doorway for a moment, breathing in the scent of old paper and rotting ink. Usually he never had to go into that room; whatever paperwork that he did have that would go there he’d make someone else’s problem. Even then, he found himself searching, eyes scanning the labels on the boxes. Locations, names, dates, everything. Johnny caught onto his search, and watched him for a moment with careful eyes, but still refused to say anything. 

“Aye, here we are,” Johnny sighed as he flipped the lid off of one of the boxes. He unceremoniously tossed the file into it before shutting it once again. “Right. Ready to get outta here?” 

But when he turned to Simon, he saw the man’s attention was caught by one of the boxes. Salthouse | 8, December. The lid was already opened, and Simon stared blankly into it as if he wasn’t sure where to start. 

“Ghost?” Johnny said softly. 

Simon’s hands dove into the box decisively where his fingers grabbed onto a small, orange envelope. There was a slight thickness to it, like something had to be shoved in there to fit properly, or too many things had been stacked and folded on top of one another. He wasted no time undoing the brass clasp at the top and pouring the contents into his hand. 

A plastic bag full of Polaroids tumbled out of the envelope, and Simon and Johnny were met with the image of your face. Beaten, irritated, and bloody, it was a different image than what they had seen last time, like whoever had collected it shuffled through the images in morbid curiosity. You laid on the ground on your back, no hand gripping your face, but still very obviously out of it. Passed out, probably, or at least on the verge of consciousness. 

He wasn’t prepared for the anger that bubbled up inside of him upon setting eyes on those images again. So many regrets, things that he should have done differently. He should have been stronger, faster, deadlier. Should have made Bukin and Adakskin pay for everything they had done to you with more than just a bullet to the head. Should have ripped up that picture of you the moment he got the chance. 

“Simon,” Johnny said again. It was rare that the man ever used his lieutenants real name, but it left him before he was able to stop it. 

Ignoring him, Simon tossed the orange envelope back into the box before ripping open the plastic bag, nearly scattering the photos all over the ground. He gathered them up into his hands before marching off towards the back of the room, boots hitting heavy against the floor. 

“What’re you doing?” Johnny asked, voice a bit more firm. 

“No one needs to see these,” Simon responded within an instant. “Everyone knows what happened to her. No one needs to see her like this.” 

He approached the shredder that sat against the back wall of the room. It was a large thing, made for shredding stacks of paper all at once with teeth that could eat an entire hand within an instant. A few Polaroids wouldn’t be an issue at all. The thing was, Johnny couldn’t even argue with Simon, because he felt the exact same way. So he stood there and watched as Simon powered on the shredder, gears whirring and whining. 

Without remorse, Simon tossed the photos into the shredder and watched as the metal tore them to shreds with ease. Plastic crinkled and cracked until they were all eaten up and spat out into the bag that stored all the other scraps it had thrown up. The thing was, Simon was never very good at fixing things. No matter how hard he tried to be, he always ended up breaking things. His mother’s vase or a man's arm. He could pull a trigger and end someone’s life and yet he felt something convulsing inside of him at the thought of opening himself to you. 

But this? This felt right. Destroying those pictures. There was enough evidence on your body and in your mind as it was. He tried so hard to be something else, anything else; but in the end, Simon was a brutal man whose hands were only capable of violence; might as well put them to good use.

tags: @ghostlythots @archonsabyss @crowbird @beware-my-thorns @koko-1025 @nessaasstuff @escapefromrealitysm @babygirl-riley @theloneshadow24 @ashableketchup @violet-19999 @paigetaylor628 @curlygirls-world @gaebestie @datlilwrench @ryisghost @suffering-and-happy-about-it @achelois-is-here

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[roseghoul26]

Chapter 7: My House of Stone...

Synopsis: A fic based off the song “ivy” by Taylor Swift. After a startling introduction to the man, Arthur Morgan became the most important part of your life. Married at a young age to an older, wealthy man to help your family, you were trapped in a loveless marriage, your only sense of escape with the rugged cowboy. Will you be able to keep your affair hidden, or will your husband find out, and destroy the last thing that made you happy? Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny, Emotional Manipulative Relationship (not with Arthur), Mostly Follows Timeline of Game, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, First Kiss, Arthur Is Bad At Emotions, Confessions, Tags Updated Per Chapter Author's Note: sorry this took so long i got such bad writers block Taglist: @lokiofasgard12 @ultraporcelainpig @that-one-beannnn @morethantheycansay Chapter List

When Arthur didn’t show up after a few days, you tried to not let it get to you. He was a busy man, no doubt even more busy because of the job involving your husband. You ignored the fact that he proved that he would fight everything to come and see you, consequences be damned. It was almost out of character that he hadn’t come to see you, or had reached out to you in some way.

When a few more days passed with no sign of the outlaw, you found yourself going back over your last encounter, when he had taken you out on Bear. You don’t recall any hesitancy or doubt in his eyes when he was with you, or maybe you were too blind with your own desire to see it. That thought made you reel, panicking that you made him uncomfortable and scared him off. 

But you didn’t let that thought fester for too long. You spent your days doing menial tasks with no real passion, trying to just pass the time. It worked, mostly, but you were getting antsy. How you wished you had an easy way to leave the prison that had become the house. 

Even more days passed, each day becoming more and more anxiety ridden. Instead of worrying that you’d scared him off now, you were worried that he was dead, or in shackles, about to be hung up in the town square. Your nights were becoming restless, images of his dead body haunting you when you closed your eyes. You’d wake with bloodshot eyes, even more tired than you were when you went to bed. 

You eventually stopped counting the days, not wanting to know how long he’d been gone for. You tried to spend more and more time outside of the house, bringing blankets and books from Hans’ office to your garden, waiting to escape the confinement of the walls around you. It helped, for a bit, yet you still found your mind wandering, constantly worrying about Arthur. 

But no matter how hard you tried, you found that you couldn’t hate the man. Upset, sure, angry, definitely, but not hateful. No, your heart wouldn’t allow it. You were still in love with him, and the lack of contact from him was hurting you, both physically and mentally. It was hard to eat, hard to sleep, hard to find it in yourself to take care of your body. You knew it was ridiculous, but you couldn’t help it. He had wormed his way into your very being, and left a hole that couldn’t be fixed. You just hoped that he’d return soon and make you feel whole again. 

It was during this time that you decided to draft a letter to your family, hoping that it would alleviate the loneliness that was once removed by Arthur. You sat in Hans’ office, pen shaking in your hand as you stared at the blank piece of paper in front of you, the task proving to be more difficult than you imagined. It had been two years since you’d last spoken to them, and you had no idea what to say. How much was too much? How honest was too honest?

You decided to keep it simple, and you began to write. It took a few tries, but you eventually produced a letter that you were satisfied with. 

My dear family, 

I have missed you all, incredibly so. Words don’t even begin to do it justice. I apologize for not reaching out earlier, but my circumstances wouldn’t allow it. I do so hope to hear back from you, and perhaps have the pleasure of seeing each other in the flesh soon. 

Your daughter,

You finished it with your name, but just your first name. Tucking it into an envelope, you addressed it with the address Arthur had provided you, and you swallowed the lump in your throat when you saw Arthur’s handwriting, rereading the note he left you.

Making sure to leave the office as you found it, you made your way downstairs, setting the letter on the kitchen table, ready to grab for whenever you decided to go into town. You spent a few days at home after writing the letter, hoping that one night you’d hear the familiar hoofbeats of Bear, but were left disappointed each night. 

Eventually, though, you needed to leave, if just for a short bit of time. It had been roughly three weeks since you’d last left the house, and if you had to look at the same things again you were going to snap, leaving the house as a pile of ash. So, with a small purse with some cash, you took the letter and yourself and left. 

If it weren't for your current mindset, the walk to the main road would’ve been relaxing, enjoying the noises of animals and the cool breeze against your skin. But everything is annoying you now. The wind was causing your hair to blow in your face, and if you had to hear that birdsong one more time, you were going to lose it. Or maybe you’d already lost it. 

The sun blinded you as you left the shade of the thick forest, stepping out onto the main road. You always hated doing this, but you were desperate. Slowly, you began to walk towards Rhodes, keeping a close ear for any riders. 

It took a few minutes, but you eventually heard someone approaching from behind, and you perked up, putting on your friendliest face as you stopped and turned. It was a carriage, and you began to wave them down, but they ignored you, not even bothering to glance in your direction. Rude.

Still, you kept on, not letting one bad interaction deter you. A few more carriages and wagons passed, with similar responses. Everyone looked grim, you noticed, stone-faced and somber expressions. Now you were starting to feel dejected, and you debated just heading back to the house; you weren’t that far anyway. 

Before you could come to a decision, a single rider passed you, glancing at you even though you didn’t wave him down. Something like recognition flashed across his face, even though you’d never seen this man in your life. He had longer, black-brown hair that was tied into a small ponytail, with a mustache and goatee, and a bowler hat protecting his tanned skin. He had a blue denim jacket on, with a red handkerchief around his neck, and you noted that he was surprisingly well dressed for being an alone traveler on the road. 

“Mrs. Kerrigan?” He asked, almost in disbelief, like you were a creature from folklore, pulling his gray and white horse to a halt beside you. 

You braced yourself, ready to bolt as you stared at the man. “Yes?” You asked, suspicious. It wasn’t uncommon for people to recognize who you were, but they’d never acted like they knew you personally. You dove into the deep recess of your brain trying to remember who he was, but drawing a blank; he was a stranger to you.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” He asked, sounding genuinely concerned, which was a tad bit off putting from a complete stranger. Still, you couldn't detect any malicious intent in his words.

Sighing, you answered truthfully. “I’m tryin’ to get to Rhodes. You… you don’t happen to be goin’ there, do you?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he answered, truly sounding regretful, but then his face turned thoughtful. 

“Ah. No worries then. Have a good day.” 

You tried to continue moving, but his smooth voice made you halt again. “But it’s close enough. I can only bring you to the outskirts, though.”

“You’d do that?” You smiled when he nodded. “I can pay, too. Thank you, Mr…?”

“Escuella. But you can call me Javier.” He extended a hand to you, helping you on to the back of his horse. You sat sidesaddle, keeping an appropriate amount of distance between your bodies, your hands resting on his sides.

Javier. You remember Arthur telling you about someone with the same name, and although you highly doubted that this was the same Javier, you wished that he had a drawing of him. “Thank you, Javier.”

“Of course, Mrs. Kerrigan.” Javier gestured his horse forward, setting an easygoing pace; not too fast, not too slow. A small pang hit your heart as you remembered the last time you were on a horse, your body pressed up to Arthur’s, his rough voice in your ears, the playful glint in his eye. God, you missed him. 

“I’ll pay you when we get to town,” you repeated after a few minutes of riding, and you felt Javier chuckle. 

“I appreciate it, but I think Arthur would kill me.” Your blood ran cold, and your heart began to race just at the mention of him. So this was Javier, the one Arthur traveled with in the mountains to rescue John. It makes sense then, why he seemed to recognize you.

“Well, it’s nice to put a face to a name,” you commented. 

“He’s talked about me, then?”

“All good things,” you reassured, and he just shook his head, not believing you. You desperately wanted to ask him about Arthur, if he was alive or not, but you weren’t sure if any answer he gave you would hurt less. “Does… does he talk about me?”

Javier snorted. “Yes and no. He’ll talk about you, sometimes so much that we want to kill him, but then refuses to answer any of our questions. Some of us even doubted your existence,” he laughed, “but I’m glad to see that we’re wrong. You’ve made him real happy. I haven’t seen him this… optimistic in a long time.”

You were glad he was facing forward, so he couldn’t see the way those words broke you. Biting back tears, you kept your voice steady. “How is Arthur?”

“He’s fine?” He responded, very clearly confused as to why you didn’t know. “He’s been, well, ‘helping’ your husband.”

Oh. “So the names he got led to somethin’?” 

“Sure did. We were able to track down suppliers, and disrupt his business there. He’s yet to reach out for help, but Dutch doesn’t think it’ll be long now.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” You weren’t lying. “But he’s well?” You couldn’t help but ask about him again. 

“Yes. It’s been a crazy couple of days, but we’re pulling through.”

Only a couple of days. You refrained from asking what he’d gotten up to earlier, not wanting to appear desperate, even if you were. “I’m glad. And don’t make me regret saying this, but if anyone ever needs a place to lie low for a bit, point ‘em towards my house. At least when my husband isn’t there.” Even though you’d barely met any of the members, you couldn’t help but feel protective over the gang because of how deeply Arthur cared about them. If there was anything you could do to help them, you would.

“I’ll be sure to let them know. Thank you.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Arthur was right about you; you’re too kind for this world.”

You murmured a small thanks, and the two of you fell into an easy silence for the rest of the ride. When the familiar outskirts of Rhodes appeared, you felt Javier begin to grow nervous, his head moving back and forth, like he was on the lookout for something. “We can stop here,” you said once you reached a long abandoned house, the yellow paint chipping and peeling. 

Red dust kicked up when your feet hit the ground, and you quickly took out a few bills, handing them to Javier. “Again, I can’t take this,” he held up a hand, a small smile on his face.

“I ain’t payin’ you for the ride, though. I payin’ you to deliver a message to Arthur,” you countered, but he didn’t relent. Sighing, you tucked them into the saddlebags before facing him with your hands on your hips. “Tell him to come see me. Please.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know. Do you have a ride back home?”

“I can arrange something’. Now go; you look uncomfortable just being here.”

He chuckled, not disagreeing with you. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kerrigan.”

“You too, Javier. Stay safe.”

He nodded, smiling kindly at you before turning, taking off back down the road you’d just been on. Turning toward the town, you began to make your way to the center of town, right to the post office in the railroad station.

It was eerily quiet, more like a ghost town than anything. There wasn’t a single soul lingering on the porches or the street, and the shutters of most of the buildings were shut, which was extremely unusual for the middle of the day on a weekday. There weren’t even any animals out; it was just you and the dust. 

After a few tense minutes of walking, you eventually climbed the stairs of the railroad station, the creak of the old wood almost making you jump. It was just as empty on the inside as it was outside, the other person in the building, the person behind the counter, who smiled tensely as you entered. 

“Good afternoon, missus,” he exclaimed, the chip in his voice far too forced. “Say, can’t say I’ve seen you ‘round here before.”

“You’ve probably met my husband, Mr. Kerrigan,” you responded, making your way to the counter, pulling the letter from your bag. 

“Ah yes. Well, how can I help you, Mrs. Kerrigan?”

You slid the letter across to him. “I’d like to send this, please.”

“Not a problem at all. That’ll be five cents.”

Sliding him a nickel from your bag, you looked around as he stamped the letter, putting it in the appropriate mailbox. “Is there anythin’ else I can help you with?”

“Why is it so… dead?” You glanced back at the man, who had visibly paled at your question. 

“Interesting choice of words, ma’am. Let’s just say we had an… incident yesterday. Nothing befitting a proper lady like yourself.” He explained, clearly not wanting to talk about it.

Ominous. Realizing you weren’t going to get far with him, you wished him a good day before leaving. You made your way to the general store; Mr. Banks would let you know. 

The bell chimed as you entered, and you called out for the older gentleman, and you heard the sound of crashing from the back room, clearly scaring the poor man. A disheveled Mr. Banks peeked around the corner, visibly relaxing when he saw it was just you. You opened your mouth to try and apologize, but he cut you off. “You didn't bring that ‘deputy’ with ya, did you?” He asked, growing tense again.

“Arthur? No, he’s not with me.”

“Good. I’ll kill him on sight if he even dares to step foot in Rhodes again. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Physically, no. “Mr. Banks, what in the world-”

“Him and his buddies shot up the town yesterday. Killed the good Leigh Gray, Lord bless his soul,” he shuddered, and you halted in your tracks, your somewhat amused smile at his ramblings falling. 

“What?”

He pointed to a newspaper on the counter, and you cautiously stepped toward it. Bloodthirsty Gang Kills Dozens was the headline, a few paragraphs of text following below it. Your head spun at the new information, blocking out the words of Mr. Banks. You couldn’t gauge what you were feeling; you weren’t disgusted, or revolted, even though you knew you should be. You weren’t surprised; you knew that Arthur had done things, unspeakable things, and would continue to do so. You weren’t angry at what he did, but you were angry at him for putting himself in harm’s way like that. 

“I’ll take the paper,” you cut Mr. Banks off, sliding him a few bills, and he slid the paper to you. You barely mumbled out a ‘good day’ before you left, nose deep in the paper as you headed back to the railroad station, sitting on the bench waiting for the carriage services, and you read as you waited. 

You read all about the way the gang played both families, something you had no idea was happening. You weren’t hurt that he didn’t tell you; you knew that some things had to remain secrets. But you didn’t care much about the detail, eyes scanning for any telling of death or injury to the Van Der Linde gang. You knew that Javier probably didn’t lie to you, but you still needed to be sure. 

Your heart dropped when you saw that there was indeed one confirmed killing of a member of the Van Der Linde gang, but you didn’t recognize the description they provided. The others, it seemed, were still at large, and unhurt. Knowing how deeply Arthur cared about each member of the gang, you knew that this death was probably weighing heavily on him. If only he would come and see you, just so you could help him.

The sound of a carriage approaching had you standing, tucking the paper under your arm. Getting in, you directed the driver to your house, and you quickie got lulled into the rocking rhythm of the vehicle. You ignored the paper under your arm, even though it felt like a million pounds.

The ride felt like forever, but eventually you pulled into the familiar forested area of Ringneck Creek. The driver helped you out, and after you paid him you headed inside, feeling like you were just going through the motions. Despite everything you’d learned, there was one thing that really bothered you. The shootout had only been yesterday; what had stopped him from seeing you during the previous three weeks?

Even though it wasn’t late, you found yourself getting ready for bed anyway, keeping the paper on the table downstairs and grabbing a book from Hans' office before curling beneath the sheets. Your eyes skimmed the words, not processing them, your brain too distracted by today’s events.

You weren’t quite sure how you “read” for, but you must’ve fallen asleep at some point. A loud noise, like a door being slammed, had you bolting upright, pulled out of your uneasy slumber, the book luckily not hitting the ground. When you didn’t hear anything for a few moments, you thought you had just imagined it, and you went to try and go back to bed. 

That was until you heard the sound of heavy footfalls. Shit. Tearing off the covers, you padded lightly across the wooden floor, wishing that Hans wasn’t so opposed to keeping guns in the house. You had nothing to defend yourself with, so kept to the shadows as you left the room. 

Reaching the top of the stairs, you flinched when you saw the shadow of a man making its way toward the stairs. You began to back away, back into the safety of your room, until you recognized the familiar silhouette of the man. Don’t tell me…

Cautiously, you made your way downstairs, barely making a noise. You had to stifle a gasp once you reached the bottom, your suspicions confirmed when you saw Arthur standing in your dining room, back to you, glancing over the newspaper you’d set on the table. His hair was longer, his clothing unkempt, but it was still the same man you had fallen for.

Too many emotions ran through you, from anger to longing to desire to sadness. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to kiss him or punch him in the face, and so you just stood at the bottom of the stairs, shocked. 

Eventually, Arthur turned, the only sign of him being startled was his eyes widening. Those beautiful blue eyes that had haunted your thoughts, that you longed to see again. You let out a small gasp then, audible only to you. It was really hard to remain still, every fiber of your being craving to be in his arms again, to feel his lips on yours. 

Neither of you knew what to say, just staring at each other. Even in the low light, you could see that Arthur looked exhausted, bags under his eyes and his shoulders sagging. Being on the run would do that to a man. “So Javier wasn’t kiddin’. You’re alive.” You didn’t care that your voice was scathing. 

Javier must’ve said something to him, because Arthur didn’t seem surprised that you mentioned the other man. If you ever met him again, you’d have to thank him for sticking to his word about delivering a message. “I…” he rubbed at the back of his neck, “I’ll leave.” Oh, how you missed his rugged voice. 

Arthur turned to head back out the front door. “Stay. Please.” You called out, making your voice softer, stopping him in his tracks. Don’t leave me again. 

He took a deep breath before turning back around, somethin like guilt on his features. “It’s been three weeks, Arthur.” You sighed out.

“I know, darlin’.” You nearly broke then, his name for you crumbling your resolve. Yet you held, fingers gripping the railing with a death grip. “There was an… incident-”

“The shootout in town,” you cut him off. “Don’t sugarcoat things. I know what you get up to. I know the things you’ve done.”

Arthur didn’t bother to try to disagree, and you were thankful for that. “After the shootout in Rhodes, I couldn’t risk comin’ over to see ya’.”

“I understand, but that was only a few days ago. Arthur, it's been three weeks.” You didn’t bother to hide the pain in your voice. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too.”

“Then where’ve you been?” He didn’t respond, and you laughed bitterly. “I thought you were dead, Arthur. Or you were about to be strung up in the gallows. Or you… I was worried sick, and the only reason I knew you weren’t dead was because Javier told me.”

“I’m sorry-”

“I don’t want your apology, I want an explanation.” You let go of the railing. “Why?” Arthur hung his head, and you began to step towards him. 

“You deserve somethin’ better, darlin’.”

“And you thought the best thing for me was to leave me alone and heartbroken. And who is this ‘someone better’ I deserve? Hans? No, I don’t think so.”

“I ain’t much better! You said it yourself, you know the things I’ve done. I’ve killed people, so many I’ve lost track. Hell, I was the one who killed Sheriff Gray. My whole life I’ve tricked and duped and betrayed people; I ain’t a good man���. You’re too sweet, too kind. You deserve somethin’ better than that, than me.”

“You think I didn’t know that you’ve hurt people, Arthur? You didn’t think when you said you were an outlaw that I wouldn’t, I don’t know, realize you’ve done some unlawful things? I know what kind of man you are, and who you claim to be, yet when I think of you I think of a man that is also good, generous, sweet.” You continued to move towards him, even as he shook his head. 

“A man that would come check up on a sad woman in the woods just ‘cause she asked, that would find her family’s address so she could write to them.” You were close enough to him that you could reach out and touch him.

“A man that’s made my miserable existence feel worthwhile, that has become the best goddamn part of my life.” His hands were shaking, you found when you took one of them in both of yours. Those familiar calloused fingers were oh so comforting, and you brought them close to your heart.

You took a deep breath. “A man that I’ve completely fallen in love with.”

His hands stopped shaking, or maybe yours were. You couldn’t tell. 

Arthur was speechless, but you could tell that he didn’t oppose your confession, because he pulled you closer. His free hand cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “You shouldn’t…”

“Too late now, Arthur.” You breathed out. “I… I love you.”

“You shouldn’t.” He repeated again with more edge, but you could see how conflicted he was. “Nothin’ good is gonna come from it.”

“How can you be so certain?” 

“Because every damn good thing in my life gets ruined. Every person I lo- care ‘bout, I make their lives worse, and they regret ever openin’ their hearts to me. Did ya know I almost married a girl, then I ruined that. I- I had a kid,” his voice grew thick with emotion, “and he’s no longer with us. All because of me, and the life I lead. All because wherever I go, someone’ll be huntin’ down the people I care about, no matter how innocent they are. I couldn’t live with myself if somethin’ happened to you ‘cause of me.”

Oh. You were speechless now, and your heart ached for the man in front of you. “Arthur… I can’t guarantee that somethin’ won’t happen to me, but do you really wanna live your life in fear, pushing away those who care about you?”

“I can’t lose you, darlin’. I can’t.” 

“But you almost did, pushin’ me away like that. What then?”

“I…” he took a shaky breath, his hand sliding down to hold the side of your neck gently. “I don’t know.”

“So don’t push me away. Yes, it’s terrifying, caring about someone like this. You don’t think I worry ‘bout you every time you’re not here? That I don’t worry that we’ll be found out, and this whole thing will come burning down around us? But isn’t it worth it? ”

He sighed, before resting his head against yours, his hat sliding back a bit. “It is.”

“Then mean it. To yourself. To me.” His lips were so close now, and you wanted nothing more than to close the space between them. You let go of his hand, choosing to rest your hands on his chest instead. You could feel his heart beating rapidly under your fingers, just as fast as yours was. “I love you, Arthur, and there isn’t a damn thing you can say that’ll change that.”

Arthur exhaled shakily, and even in the dim light you could see a small smile on his lips. “And I’m grateful for your stubbornness.” You chuckled lightly at his words. “I’ve been a fool-”

“None of that. You ain’t a fool, Arthur.”

“Maybe not. But I’m a fool for you.” You rolled your eyes at his cheesy comment, knees growing weak at the now grin on his face. That dazzling, beautiful grin. But his expression sobered, and you temporarily feared the worst. “You should know that I do feel the same, darlin’. I really do. It’s just, I can’t…”

“You can’t say it back,” you refrained from sounding too crestfallen. You could be content with the fact that he agreed he felt the same. For now. He shook his head, looking ashamed, and you forced his gaze back up to yours when he tried to look away. “Then show me. Show me that you love me.”

“I could spend every last minute of my life showin’ you, and it still wouldn’t be enough time,” he chuckled, his thumb brushing just below your bottom lip. His eyes followed the movement, and something darkened in them. “But I can certainly try.”

He leaned in, finally closing the distance, and you felt like you could cry with relief. His lips felt even better than you remembered, more desperate than you’d ever felt them. You dropped his hand, arms wrapping around his neck as he continued to kiss you, his hat falling to the ground as you tangled your fingers in his hair. He pulled away far too soon for your liking, the hand still holding your face brushing your cheek. “Darlin’, you’re cryin’,” he murmured, his brow creasing with concern. 

“Good tears,” you laughed, a genuine smile gracing your lips. “I just missed you, so much.”

Another flash of guilt appeared on his face. “You promise?”

“Promise.” He regarded you for a few moments, and you nearly pulled him back down yourself, desperate to feel his lips again. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait too long, because he was kissing you again, weeks of pent up longing, fear, and love being poured into it. It made you dizzy, and your fingers tangled further into his hair, eliciting a groan from the man. 

Arthur’s free hand gripped your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he kissed you. They gripped even harder when you ran your tongue against his lips, not expecting you to take control of the kiss. He willingly let his lips part, letting you explore him with ease. 

You hadn’t even realized Arthur had moved until you felt your back hit a wall, the back of your head cradled by his hand. It made you groan, breaking away from the kiss, and Arthur wasted no time trialing his lips down your neck. Your head rolled back, letting out pleased sighs and light moans as he littered kisses across your neck, his facial hair ticking the sensitive skin.

“Arthur,” you groaned, hands still in his hair, and you felt him hum in response. 

“My beautiful girl,” you heard him mutter, more to himself than anything, and you were grateful for the stability the wall provided. The hand on your waist moved down, securing under your thigh and lifting it so that your leg wrapped around him. You inadvertently began to rock your hips, eliciting another delicious groan from Arthur.

“God, Arthur, I need you.” You didn’t care if you were pleading. You’d been plenty patient; you were allowed to be greedy. 

“I’m takin’ my time with ya. We’ve got all night.”

Another groan tore from your throat. All night. “You promise?” You asked, echoing his previous words. If he was promising all night, then you could be patient for a little while longer.

You felt him grin against your skin, nipping lightly at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “Promise.”

Author's Note: surprise javier appearance bam!

[alexiethymia]

a post trimax headcanon

It’s an ordinary day. There isn’t any chaos for once. Vash is enjoying his donuts, while Meryl is enjoying her ceylon tea. Maybe Milly’s outside fixing the camera.

Milly and Meryl are going back to No Man’s Land Broadcasting’s main office. It might be a while since they’ll next see Vash for their segment.

Right after she finishes her tea, Meryl says: “I’m off to work, Vash.” (“Ittekimasu, Vash-san.”)

And quick as anything, all casual-like, without even thinking about it, Meryl kisses him on the lips. Just a peck, she just plants one on him. Vash freezes. Meryl withdraws and she’s talking normally saying something about how many days it’ll take for them to reach headquarters, until she just…stops. Processes what she just did.

For one long moment, Vash and Meryl just stare at each other, until Meryl lets out an unholy shriek and starts blabbing out apologies for what she did. She’s sorry for taking advantage and she doesn’t know what came over her. She buries her face in her hands because she can’t bear to look at him, and she already said she didn’t want him to think crying was the only thing she could do. But she really can’t help the tiny tears because she doesn’t want to see that soft apologetic look as if not wanting to break her heart. She wishes she had Jessica’s optimism or Luida’s fortitude. Fistbumping him would have been less mortifying.

Because she has her face hidden, she doesn’t see Vash’s face slowly turning crimson, mouth gaping. But seeing how tightly Meryl is bunching her fists together, he grows concerned. Slowly, he approaches her, tries to softly remove her hands so he can see her eyes. At first there’s resistance, but Meryl eventually gives way. His eyes soften at seeing her blushing and embarrassed and holding back tears. He hesitates at first. The moment he moves closer, Meryl instinctively backs away slightly, but he crouches and looks at her imploringly. Even though he’s taller than her, it’s as if he’s looking up at her to ask for something. Again, she gives in. She stands her ground but screws her eyes shut instead. Vash can’t help the soft giggle which makes Meryl open her eyes to narrow them at him. Vash smiles, and hand cradling her face, quick as anything, all casual-like, he pecks her sweetly, just one soft touch, lips to lips.

Vash: “Have a safe trip, Meryl.” (“Itterasshai, Meryl.”)

Meryl releases an awed sigh, before she’s matching Vash’s smile with her own.

(And off to the side, Milly is keeping down her squeals as she tapes everything for posterity. She’s sure senpai and Vash-san will thank her for it later.

Little does she know, she was actually broadcasting live, and thus births NMLB’s most popular program to date, hidden-footage style outtakes where after the official program on Vash the Stampede, TV watchers get to see the aforementioned outlaw and the investigative journalist tailing him being sweet on each other. Meryl doesn’t have a clue. Milly doesn’t have a clue. She just keeps rolling the cam. A particular fave was when she caught them cuddling with Vash’s arms around Meryl as she dozed on his shoulder. The after program does wonders for Vash’s reputation. He’s now the most Wanted by teenage hearts all over No Man’s Land. Parents are suing NMLB since their kids are suddenly saying they want to set off to find their own outlaw sweetheart. Everyone who knows them is livid that this is how they get confirmation of their will-they-won’t-they. Vash, Meryl, and Milly still don’t have a clue.)

[lunarsands]

Multi-SMP Fanfic: Which Fate’s Fairest To Us All – Ch 6

Characters: Mythical Sausage (1st), Rusty the Copper Golem, PearlescentMoon, Scott Smajor (1st), Mythical Sausage (2nd), Hermes, Mythical Sausage (3rd), Scott Smajor (2nd), Rocky the Goblin, and a couple of briefly mentioned cameos at the end!

WARNINGS: Character death (but they get better because Afterlife/New Life rules are in play), body horror

Chapter Summary: The group escapes the labyrinth at last only to run straight into a new battle against Sparrow and the sculk. Afterward, fate continues to have other plans for Myth and Smajor as they find their way to Sanctuary…

Sequel to Mirror Tenfold, Beyond the Wall and follows sometime after the events of Thou, O Kings, Fair Be You All.

(Also available on Ao3!)

[ Chapter One ] [ Chapter Two ] [ Chapter Three ] [ Chapter Four ] [ Chapter Five ]

---

Chapter Six

That tide felt like it would sweep Myth himself away.

“It all started when he – well, when I did what guardian angels do, try to defend against evil, and vampires are the epitome of evil, right? My holy water didn’t seem to do much, so I ran away and he chased me down, and I ended up unconscious, and I woke up as his prisoner for him to feed off of whenever he wanted. He had taken my wings to display as a trophy and cut me off from the sky and sunlight. Eventually he weakened me enough that I ‘died’ – in a way – but I returned to life still in that dungeon but as a wither. Maybe there was something to that resurrection magic for choosing that particular creature for me to become, maybe some sort of influence after all, because I now saw the world from his point of view, and teamed up with him to spread despair in the world.

“But we were never fully on friendly terms. I snapped one day and withered my own wings, no longer allowing him that victory but staying at his side to continue down the path of evil. And then one day he came back dying from poison. And then he revived as an angel. And that was when my mind truly snapped, convinced he had stolen my holiness from me so he could turn himself into something more powerful. We both fell into insanity from the overwhelming need to get revenge on each other, and that’s how we ended up going through dozens of lives, all with different powers and different ways to murder each other, ignoring the rest of the world as we sought to kill the other a final time and win.”

Myth drew a deep breath. “I found a little sanity at some point, probably after I suffered five deaths in a row. Then I became a blazeborn, and Smajor became a gravital, and we had a stalemate going, and I led him into the Deep Dark hoping that a Warden would help take him down a few times. But we ended up going through the portal, and found ourselves in that labyrinth. And then we ran into our doubles, and when they got their previous powers back and I saw how my double looked at his Scott with adoration when he regrew angel wings… I snapped again. And instead of three of us working together to subdue Smajor, we all fought each other. It was that Scott who defeated me – subdued <i>me,</i> saying he had no intention of killing me despite knowing the exact weakness that would destroy me, and I came back to my senses.

“The other me dealt with Smajor and even tried to ‘fix’ him – using his wither powers, he temporarily removed Smajor’s soul and used some combination of his abilities to stabilize it, removing Smajor’s insanity and knocking him out, too. Then they flew off to try to find an exit. Which they did, returning to lead me out and that’s how I knew how to get here this time.”

Now he sighed wearily. “But just because Smajor was no longer insane it didn’t take away his need for revenge. So, that’s why he caused the death that made me a seraph. I was foolish to think that it was a reward for working together with the Mythical Sausage who was the complete opposite of me. I thought it was a sign to avenge everything Smajor had put me through for as many times as I saw fit. But I went too far, causing myself to become fallen. The celestial realm rejected me and punished me, turning my wings blood red to serve as a warning for others to stay away, that I wasn’t any kind of savior. But I didn’t care. I kept taking vengeance on Smajor. I took every life he had, in every form. No powers he gained could stop me. And eventually I became something more condemned than a fallen angel – I became a cursed one.”

Myth’s gaze went to Sausage. “That was the me you met. By then I had found the limit of the transformation magic in our world, and Smajor had no powers at all. But he didn’t die a final time, so I kept him imprisoned, because I could never believe he would change his ways. If he was allowed to go free, I just knew he would find a way to be a menace again, and he had plenty of time to figure out how since we’ve both been doomed to miserable immortality.”

Everyone’s attention was glued to this honest disclosure of Myth’s past. Scott and Ghast-sage had expressions of uneasy concern, while Sausage and Hermes had different amounts of sympathy clear on their faces. Rusty was silent, although his antenna did bob a few times.

“One time, the doubles we had met here appeared in our world – this was before Sanctuary, but the other seraph was in his final form and his Scott was some sort of purple sparkly creature that could call down meteor strikes – as you can guess, I fought with them again… but I really just wanted them to leave me alone. I had given up on redemption. Fate had already told me that I was cursed to be Smajor’s warden.”

Myth grimaced at the irony of the term, given what they had just been through. “Then, one day – after the Sanctuary incident – some kind of magical force teleported us to another world. It was the Superhero’s world.” Here, he cast another glance at Sausage. “Smajor’s double found him before I did, and used vampire powers to turn Smajor – giving him supernatural abilities again. Honestly, I’m just glad Smajor didn’t gain ten powers at once like those guys. The Superhero, his teammate, and I stopped them both, but I went too far again and… was ready to kill that Scott because I assumed too much about his preference for his vampire powers. The Superhero stopped me, things calmed down, a portal appeared that had what we thought were obvious signs it would take us home, and we left on unwelcome terms.”

He hadn’t wanted to admit the one part, worried that the Scott in front of him now would no longer trust him – a justified thought, as Scott took a hasty step back. Myth continued to keep his arms at his sides even though the lack of gesticulating as he spoke made him feel weird. “Something happened during the teleport once we went through. I lost sight of Smajor, and then suddenly I was turned into a phoenix. And then I stepped out of a Nether portal into your world.” He gave a nod to Scott and Ghast-sage.

“Everyone who came by assumed I was their ghast mage, so I pretended to ‘forget’ what had happened that made ‘me’ turn into a phoenix just so I could… well, wrap my head around it all. Rusty knew something was up, but he let me adjust to life there. It was… a nice break from the back-and-forth murder. I… had a chance to just live and learn new things, like all that technology you have. I, um, I tried to keep things in good condition for you.”

Myth briefly glanced at Ghast-sage, then lowered his gaze only to glance back again. “Then Smajor showed up. He had changed, too, into a fungal mage. He had accepted being mistaken for their Scott, too, but he somehow grew a conscience and wanted to find the versions of us that belonged there. I told him to go away because I didn’t trust his motives. Then he came back with news of where his investigations had led him: the Ancient City and its active portal. I knew what that meant. And he knew that I was the only one who would know how to get out of the labyrinth.”

Myth sighed regretfully. “I still didn’t want to trust him, and I didn’t know which option was better: both of us going in and unwillingly splitting up to find you, or only me and having no choice but to trust him to not destroy the portal behind me. And then I had no say in it, anyway, because sculk began to attack and he used his powers to fight it – and to fling me into the portal. And now that is what could be waiting for us on the other side.”

Myth brought his hands forward to look at them as he curled and uncurled his fingers a few times. “Guess I also now have what I need to stop the sculk and stop Smajor if he tries anything.” He nodded at Sausage and Hermes. “At least you can safely go through your portal. It will let you out where you entered. My plan is to go through with them, destroy the sculk if it’s still there, grab Smajor, and come back here. All of you must destroy your portals after that, and any others you find in your worlds to stop anyone else getting stuck in this limbo dimension – and stop any of that mutated sculk from escaping here.”

Hermes slowly panned his gaze over the entirety of the portal cluster. “What about the rest of these? And what if there are more spots like this in here with more portals?”

“I’m going to drag Smajor through each one and back to warn the people in those worlds. I’ve got infinite time to do it.”

“Mate, that’s going to take too long.” Hermes began ticking off a list on his fingers.  “You’ll lose him every time you come back in. He could escape through any of the other portals while you’re trying to find him. More people might wander in while you’re busy in just one world trying to convince them. You might meet people who want to stop you.” He shook his head emphatically. “I think you’ll want to leave this to someone who has more experience with navigating the multiverse.”

Myth scowled, all too aware of the logistics; a second later an amused smirk crossed his face. “Ah. So, if the Guardian of Realities’ job here wasn’t to guide us out, it was to learn about this problem and travel around to deal with it. Then I guess there’s no use for Smajor and I after all. Makes enough sense. But I still need to collect him before I go home, so let’s get moving.”

Feeling a little drained from all the talking – as well as feeling redundant yet again – Myth flew up to the portal that once led to his new life. He waited before entering, giving Scott a few seconds to teleport Ghast-sage and Rusty to the inner edge of the portal frame before saying to them, “Escape as soon as you can when we’re on the other side. I’ll still be the one to handle Smajor and the sculk. Protector!” he then called down, watching Hermes pick up his father to make it a little easier to reach their own portal. In an effort to offer the sincerest thing he could think of, Myth said, “Good luck. May the pearlescent moon’s guidance speed your travels.”

He didn’t hear Sausage gasp. The swooshing sound of the teleportation magic was already taking hold.

~*~

Myth was alert for Smajor’s position as soon as the Ancient City came into view through the swirling particles. When he caught movement to his left he spun toward it, spreading his wings to shield Scott and Ghast-sage behind him. He made a shooing motion with his right hand, signaling them to move away. He trusted them to take cover further back or even defend themselves from any encroaching sculk, because he was dead set on catching Smajor before anything else.

With his attention firmly turned away from the portal it was easy for additional figures to slip out of it and also run for cover.

As he leapt toward the suspicious movement in front of him, Myth prepared to utter the unsettling noise that he fully expected to get Smajor’s attention. However, Myth was the one who came up short at the sight awaiting him. At first it seemed Smajor was attacking Sparrow – except he was human again, or human-ish; at the very least, Myth was very certain that Sparrow had been a copper golem the last time he had seen him.

Next he noted the blotches of sculk all over Sparrow’s body, including both skin and clothes. Then there was the distinct fact that Sparrow was standing over Smajor, pressing closer and closer to the fungal mage’s throat with an unusual-looking strand of sculk vein.

Of important note was also that there was absolutely no mycelium near Smajor. His back was against a large unbroken carpet of sculk, and despite the flicker of spores around his hands revealed by the light of nearby soul lanterns, the strand wasn’t converting, either. Meanwhile, there was a visible bubbling effect occurring where Sparrow held it.

When tinier bits of sculk vein oozed out of these bubbles to land on Smajor’s chest and face Myth knew where to focus his attack. He pounced, reaching around from behind Sparrow to grab the strand, grasping it directly next to Sparrow’s hands. Myth registered the wire-like feel of it before activating his powers. Within less than a second the whole length of it was crumbling due to decay.

And as Myth had suspected, Sparrow yelped in pain when the decay touched his hands.

The sculk-possessed humanoid’s instincts were to jump away, but Myth closed his arms around him. He refrained from using any more decay – he needed answers, not a disappearing pile of dust while Sparrow’s consciousness revived elsewhere. He did, however, finally utter the bone-chilling breath of a wither, intending to strike some fear into Sparrow.

It was Smajor who emitted a terrified gasp and began a frenzied attempt to slide away backward. He failed to move an inch. Myth now saw that the fungal mage was not just lying on the sculk but was actually trapped by a sludgy form of it that was clinging to his robes.

Smajor really wasn’t the culprit here. It was Sparrow.

“Let me go!” the now-struggling Sparrow yelled. “Intruders must be eliminated!”

Myth scoffed at the irony. “Well, I guess that means I need to be eliminated, too. Don’t really care for that. How about you settle down instead? We need to talk.” Maintaining a tight grasp on Sparrow with one arm, Myth leaned to the side to grab a fistful of sculk out of the ground. He brought it around to hold it in front of Sparrow’s face. “You might be able to play fungus tug-of-war with him, but I can make it so no one has any ammunition.” He crushed the sculk in his hand. The ashen remains fluttered down before Sparrow’s eyes.

Sparrow thrashed wildly in response, forcing Myth to turn around in an effort to keep him restrained. “No! How could you do that to us?! This is our home! Our domain! You’re the ones who don’t belong here! You can’t stop us! We can keep spreading from anywhere and we’ll keep coming back no matter what you do!”

“You’re right about him and me not belonging. But I think we’re exactly what this world needed: two people who are very good at destruction.” Myth’s gaze flicked to a flurry of orange particles in the distance. In the next second he was shoving Sparrow into Scott’s arms; they disappeared immediately, and once he saw the transporter reappear on top of a sculk-free deepslate wall, Myth plunged his hands into the sculk at his very feet with a roar.

Decay shot across the entire surface in an expanding radius around him. Smajor dropped onto the layer of solid deepslate below as the muck trapping him crumbled away. He coughed from the stale remnants that floated in the air before those, too, dissipated. He stayed where he was, simply watching the wave of decay as it continued ever outward. However, he abruptly scrambled to his feet when he saw other faces peeking out from around a deepslate pillar – one that was partially held up by sculk. He ran toward it and flung his hands out, sending a line of mycelium across the floor and up the pillar, replacing the sculk just as the spreading decay was about to reach it.  Smajor then fell backward, chest heaving before he recovered enough to sit up again.

Sparrow’s distorted voice rang out. “No, no, no!! Where are the guardians of this city?! Rise, Wardens! I command you!” His voice lost all semblance of itself on the final three words.

The ground underneath Myth rumbled and churned. Before he could react, numerous large clawed hands thrust upward out of the resulting rubble and grabbed him, pulling him down through the displaced floor with bits of deepslate cutting at him on the way.

Scott teleported to the spot but even he was too slow to do anything – the deepslate reformed itself into solid ground right before his eyes. Sparrow laughed in triumph.

“Ohmygod!” Ghast-sage shouted from where he was hiding. “Th-They can just do that?!”

Scott squatted to touch the floor. Surely it would start crumbling away when Myth unleashed his powers in order to destroy the Wardens that had grabbed him, and surely he could make deepslate decay just like the sculk…

A sound like the reversed shattering of glass interrupted the horrified silence that had followed. From behind the pillar Smajor had prevented from falling came a small bolt of orange energy that ricocheted rapidly off of thin air. It struck the ground where Myth had disappeared. Scott drew back, startled, but then lowered his hand again. He could swear the surface under his palm was growing warm.

No, it definitely was.

He leapt away a breath before the deepslate turned molten and buckled upward in the shape of a volcanic cone. A blazing form burst from the center – Myth, his wings and upper body aflame in hues of glowing orange. A split-second glimpse of his eyes revealed twin blind embers as he continued soaring straight up. A deafening hawk-like screech rent the cavern. Myth crashed right into the ceiling a second later.

No one saw what happened to him in the aftermath. While they had been watching him, the volcano in the floor had doubled in size and its sides had begun to protrude. It exploded outward, covering the entire area in a blanket of burning lava.

~*~

The next thing Myth became aware of was a voice that sounded an awful lot like Hermes and might have been asking Myth if he could hear him. He lifted his head from the oddly warm ground. At the corners of his fuzzy vision, he could discern the fading light of lava disappearing into cracks before the rest of it began to cool. He was confused by the orange tufts at the top of his line of sight. Groggily maneuvering a hand out from under his prone body to touch them revealed that it was his own hair. He shifted a wing into view. His feathers were orange again.

This universe really was dead-set on wanting him to be a phoenix.

He sat up, keeping his hand to his head, while Hermes kept plying him for a response. Myth’s ears were ringing, so the words weren’t clear, plus he was still processing the fact the young man was there. “Wha… You were… Your own portal…” Myth mumbled. “How’d you… get here?”

Hermes’ voice continued to be muffled by the thankfully now-dulling ring, so Myth tried using his eyes to gain information. He saw the blurry figure of Sausage standing over someone, talking to them. The blur was resolving itself slowly, so Myth squinted at the sitting figure. The red shape that bobbed along with their head movements clarified into a mushroom cap. Myth tried to lunge onto his feet, a warning on his lips.

He fell flat on his face instead. He had been revived once again, yet he didn’t feel particularly refreshed in the energy department this time around.

“Easy, mate,” came a gentle reproach from Hermes as he lent Myth a hand in sitting up again. “You smacked into the ceiling pretty hard. We figured you could withstand the heat better than the others, so we recovered them first. I’ve got to say, the resurrection magic of this world is fascinating to witness.”

Myth looked to where Sausage stood. There were four bodies near him: three laying on the ground with Rusty pacing next to one of them and the last one sitting up as the chat with Sausage continued. Now Myth could tell there was a difference; although there was the white hair under the mushroom cap like Smajor, the clothes were Scott’s.

Myth’s body froze up as a realization began to dawn in his brain, but his gaze was able to slide to the other figures. The identical fungal mage was there, in the same robes as expected with his satchel beside him. Next was Sparrow, lacking the sculk that had marred him before. And then a face identical to his own right down to the orange beard and hair, if not minus the extensive scar, with orange-feathered wings splayed out underneath him, and wearing the Ghast Mage’s robes.

Understanding settled over him. He let a bitter smile cross his face then he slouched, letting an invisible weight off his shoulders. He turned his head as Hermes sat down beside him. “I need you to explain again why you’re here. I didn’t catch it the first time.”

“Sure. We were about to go through our portal but Dad said he sensed something from the Staff and insisted we follow you guys. You were already moving away when we came through, so we took cover to watch what might happen. Dad was trying to figure out what the Staff wanted, then that gemstone in it shattered and released some sort of magic beam out to where you got dragged underground. After that things got kind of dicey because a massive lava eruption happened after you flew out of like, a volcano-looking thing. Or maybe the volcano spat you out and the lava followed. N-Not to say you caused it,” Hermes quickly amended. “I’m not sure how conscious you even were at that point, and that was before you hit the ceiling.”

Myth put a hand to his head as if feeling for a bump, shifting his gaze to his boots. “I don’t remember anything between the Wardens pulling me in and a few minutes ago. But it’s obvious Smajor and I have to go soon. This world doesn’t need two phoenixes and fungal mages.” He started to push himself up, then felt a wave of dizziness, so he sat back down. “…After a little more rest.”

By now Smajor had awakened and was talking quietly to Scott. His movements were sluggish as he picked up his satchel of mushrooms and opened it. However, once he began pointing inside as the two chatted his energy seemed to pick up a bit. Myth kept what he felt was a reasonable amount of wariness, although perhaps he had given enough warnings about Smajor up till then that Hermes and Sausage could handle him.

The former Ghast Mage woke next. He snuck a few glances at Myth between observing the two fungal mages. Myth didn’t feel like chatting with him, anyway, so it was for the best that the other stayed where he was. He instead turned his mind toward composing a strategy for his next move.

As if privy to his train of thought, Hermes asked, “Are you still planning to go back in that labyrinth?”

“Of course. What else is there?”

“Well, I think you should come with my dad and I to Sanctuary. You could rest up a little more so you’ll be in better shape to chase down your unfortunately assigned ward over there when you get separated. It will be more comfortable than sitting around this cave. Plus, these guys will have their hands full going around destroying all the Ancient City portals here. In Sanctuary Dad and I can help keep an eye on Smajor.”

With the amicable-sounding conversation from the two fungal mages floating his way Myth admitted that this would, perhaps, be the better option.

~*~

After swapping clothes with their doubles, Myth, Smajor, and the rest of their new group stood watching from their hiding spot as the rightful phoenix and fungal mage of that universe walked away, Sparrow trudging wearily along between them and Rusty looking over the former Ghast-sage’s shoulder. Sparrow was still dazed from his experience, having been mumbling is distressed sorrow over having fought with his friends, and was apologizing profusely to Scott for trying to kill him.

They all thought it best to not involve Sparrow in the confusion of doubles from other realities; he had no memory of Myth destroying the sculk or of the Wardens dragging Myth underground. All Sparrow said he could recall was some kind of large explosion, comparing it to TNT.

After waiting ten minutes to make sure they were gone, Sausage held the Staff aloft – incidentally showing that it was back to its mossy and red-mushroom bedecked appearance – and a moment later Myth found himself blinking against bright sunlight streaming through tall stands of bamboo. A path with assorted flowers decorating random spots meandered away in front of them, splitting to the left to go up a slope to a small building while the rest of the path passed through a variety of trees, beyond which were the homes and businesses of Sanctuary itself. Myth cast a glance over his shoulder. Behind them was a giant tree stump with a giant white tulip growing atop it. Below the tulip and slightly to the right was a Nether portal.

He assumed this was a coincidence.

Sausage and Hermes walked past behind him, so Myth fully turned to watch and wait for a sign to follow. Now he saw a second, large-ish tree with a hollow in the middle near the roots. Squinting, Myth could see an armor stand inside. It was here that Sausage placed the Staff on one side of the armor stand while Hermes placed his trident on the other. A shimmer appeared over the front of the hollow as they exited.

Sausage smiled as he returned to the visitors, tired wrinkles appearing on his face. “Needs to recharge. Let’s go refresh at the tavern!”

As their host led the way, Myth none-too-subtly tossed glares at Smajor from the corner of his eyes. Smajor peered at him once with a neutral expression then lowered his head, keeping pace between Myth and Hermes the whole way.

The ambience of a breeze off the sea and call of animals hidden by trees and bamboo was a stark contrast to the stagnant isolation of both the labyrinth and the Deep Dark. When they reached the town proper Myth saw people of every race and species going about their day. Some of them called out greetings to Sausage and Hermes. There was a reverence in a few of the tones, as if they were addressing a king – or maybe it was Hermes’ status as a demi-god. Either way, the Protector and his son responded as friends rather than as rulers.

Upon reaching the tavern Sausage flung the door open and cheerfully called out, “¡Regresamos! ¿Cómo están todos? ¡María! ¡Justo a quién quería ver!” He crossed between tables to a person who, to Myth’s eyes, looked like an anthropomorphic rabbit wearing leatherworker gear. She had been helping an Allay change out tablecloths in the booths along the wall, but spoke an excited greeting then began chatting away with Sausage in his native language.

Hermes waved Myth and Smajor toward the bar. The latter hesitated. “Come on. Take a seat. My little brother can mix up some drinks to your liking. Best bartender in Sanctuary! ¡Hola, Rocky! We have newcomers!”

“¡Hola!” said a gravelly voice from behind the bar. From below behind the bar. Myth was about to sit on one of the barstools but curiosity seized him so he leaned over the bar to see what this brother of a demi-god might look like. He ended up making eye contact with a short, green-skinned person wearing similar brightly-colored clothes as the people around town. They uttered a strange sort of chirp in response. “¡Ay! ¡Papá! ¿Qué te pasó en la cara? ¡Y el pelo!”

Hermes laughed. “No, no, hermano– this is one of Dad’s dobles from another reality.”

“Oh. You could have warned me!” The small fellow chirped again. He added a sort of gargling sound afterward, then went about getting some clean mugs.

Apparently replying to these vocalizations, Hermes said, “Something to give everyone a little pick-me-up. No, I think you can leave out the redstone zest for now. We’ve had enough high blood pressure for one day.” He sat down as Myth settled onto the barstool, explaining, “Rocky is adopted from the goblin kingdom. He goes back and forth between languages in the same sentence, kind of an assimilation quirk of goblinfolk when they intermingle with other cultures they’re exposed to.”

Smajor had remained standing, hovering near the end of the bar. When Rocky stepped up onto a wooden ledge to place a mug in front of him, Smajor lightly shook his head. “No thank you, actually. I think I would rather just sleep. Using up my mana twenty times in a row is exhausting.” He continued to avoid looking at Myth – which was difficult, since he wanted to address Hermes.

Rocky uttered a “Prrrt” and stepped down. He then brought the mug over to Hermes and slid it next to where the young man rested his elbow, making an indiscernible comment. He then exited the bar, walking around to where Smajor was. “Follow me, Don Sombrero de Hongo. We offer the most comfortable rooms in all of Sanctuary to visitors.”

“I have no idea what you just called me,” Smajor said wearily. “But, whatever. Show me the way.” As they headed up the staircase Maria followed, one hand casually resting on the pommel of the dagger stuck through a loop on her apron.

Sausage came over to sit next to Hermes. He pulled over the mug Rocky had left, holding it between his hands. “Maria will keep an eye on him. Just in case.” He took a sip from the mug then let out a satisfied sigh. “Ah, it’s good to be home. I’ll start sending explanations about the Ancient City portals to the other empires in a little while. For now, these old bones need to rest!” He sighed again before taking a long, noisy sip of his drink.

Hermes casually cleared his throat. “Speaking of Ancient Cities, I have a proposal for you.” He swiveled his barstool toward Myth. “I have more training to do as Apprentice-Guardian-of-Realities, and obviously that means I have to go visit a bunch more worlds. You want to go around the multiverse in a round-about fashion. So, why don’t you travel with me? Using the Staff to get around will be much more efficient than having to go through that labyrinth over and over again. Sounds kind of lonely to me, really. Might as well have someone along who can vouch for what’s going on in that place. And I can help you avoid any realities that you’ve already been to – by the way, do the mobs in the Superhero’s world have ten powers, too?”

Myth stared back blankly for a moment, confused by Hermes’ blithe tone. The young man clearly hadn’t gotten enough of a taste of how dangerous it was to be around him. “I wouldn’t be alone, technically,” Myth blurted. “I’m taking Smajor. And there is no way I would risk bringing him along with that Staff there to tempt him—”

Sausage, hands resting around his mug again, calmly interrupted, “Well, there isn’t a Scott in this world anymore, so it wouldn’t cause a cosmic paradox if yours stayed here. Under my supervision, of course. Everyone is welcome to take shelter in Sanctuary, after all.” A small smile graced his visage, his age-lined eyes holding gentleness and patience as he looked at Myth.

Old buried resentment threatened to surface until Myth realized that this was a look of understanding and acceptance, not the pleading insistence of a shining seraph who wanted a cursed angel to give up his pain before he was ready. Still, his voice came out in a grumble. “You can’t be implying that I should stay here, too. You and I still make a paradox.”

“I’m the Guardian of Realities! Come on, now! I can cheat a little bit to make an exception for myself! And for whichever of myselves happen to find their way to my doorstep! But, ehhh, it is probably a good idea to leave with Hermes regularly. Just so no overarching multiversal powers-that-be don’t catch on, if you know what I’m sayin’. It’ll be fine! Don’t you worry for a minute! The multiverse has a job for you, after all!”

~*~   EPILOGUE   ~*~

Three months later…

Sausage walked out of the former L.O.R.E. headquarters after bidding everyone farewell, his sunflower-styled walking stick in hand. The items from the rift incident had been carefully packed away to be replaced by an ever-growing pile of charts and arrangements of different colored string across a bulletin board. The latter was to illustrate which realities shared similarities, noted mainly out of the interest in which ones were parallels of each other. The charts recorded spatial coordinates for each reality and the types of worlds that existed within them.

The initial team of two had grown during their travels throughout the multiverse. The debriefing room currently accommodated the likes of Blood Pearl of Mythland, an accomplished reality-hopper herself, who had been seeking a way to save her dear friend the Farmer King of Helianthia from fated doom; a Time Witch named Cleo who was on a quest to fix her own fractured timeline; and Interstellar Paladin Sparklez, who had been attempting to teach the ways of balance to the multiverse after his goddess, Lady Ianite, sacrificed herself to save his world.

Sausage had listened in enough times to acknowledge that Myth had gotten the hang of things, so he felt he could take his leave. He stopped off at the tavern and the bakery, procuring a picnic basket on the way to fill with some supplies, then headed off into a denser part of the bamboo forest outside of Sanctuary. He stopped briefly near a weather-worn stone memorial to check on a patch of unique flowers with an equally weather-worn wooden sign in front of the small border that surrounded them. The two species of flowers, which only grew in that one location in all the world, were thriving as they always had, so he continued on his trek.

A few minutes later the tall bamboo began to be overshadowed by the caps of giant mushrooms. Shorter clusters of them hugged the sides of the path along the way, some of mixed red and brown, some just one or the other at different heights, and even some warped and crimson fungus were there standing out amongst the mundane colors.

Then he reached the main mushroom grove, where the path itself turned to pure mycelium while around it was grass of a rich, deep emerald color. With even more of the giant mushrooms providing shade overhead, the air felt cooler as well as holding a comfortable dew point, making it seem like a completely different biome had been plunked down in the middle of the bamboo jungle.

Sausage leaned on his walking stick as he admired one of the giant mushrooms that had three joined stems, noting how it had the shape of a brown mushroom but with the bright orange specks found on a warped fungus.

A polite yawn behind him made him turn; Smajor stood there holding the last basket that Sausage had brought out, tiny mushrooms piled up to the point they were going to spill out if he tilted it. “Hello, Protector,” he greeted in a neutral tone. He had adopted the title to use for referring to him, never once calling Sausage by name. “What brings you out here?”

“I just thought I’d stop by and check on things.” Sausage held up the new basket, not needing to include this also meant offering his guest some food and drinks.

Smajor gently set down the one he had been carrying then waved a hand, causing two red mushrooms big enough to sit on to spring up behind himself and Sausage.

“Ah. Thank you.” Sausage leaned over to set his basket down on the ground too, then leaned on his walking stick again as he carefully lowered himself onto the provided seat. “It’s looking very nice out here. It feels serene. I’m particularly impressed with that one, there.” He gestured to the three-stemmed mushroom. “It reminds me of a kingdom I once saw. They also had magically-grown mushrooms in different colors, although that was attributed to special crystals that had been planted alongside regular mushrooms.”

“I thought I would experiment a little with the types I can conjure. As for that particular one…” Smajor paused, his eyes seeming to go distant for a second, then he continued, “They remind me of… home. From a long, long time ago. This place is very bright in comparison, so it’s not going to be a perfect imitation. But when the sun sets and the light is just right… It feels like my own little private piece of a twilight forest.”

There was a wistfulness in his voice that reached Sausage’s heart. “I’m glad you’ve been able to make a place for yourself during your time here. You’re always welcome in town, too, whenever you like.”

A frown pulled at the corners of Smajor’s lips, but he didn’t take out any of his bitterness on the well-meaning old man. “No, I’d rather stay here. Talking to nature suits me better than talking to people, and I definitely don’t want to run into Myth by accident. And I don’t want him to come here.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s too busy to pay a visit.”

"Either way, he will never stop looking at me like he thinks I'm going to murder you all if the wind starts blowing from another direction." Smajor sighed in feigned-resignation. "I mean, I still want to see him dead, but since that is extremely unlikely to ever happen, I'll stick with never seeing his particular face again. Out here is my peace, and if you want more reasons to stop feeling obligated to invite me to town, then think of it as me staying out here makes it safer for everyone. I want to keep it that way.”

THE END

[post-A/N: That wraps things up for Myth and Smajor, along with the Past Unmasked timeline! Well, unless I get struck by more inspiration out of the blue. Obviously this went far beyond a couple of darkfics written for the heck of it and an AU based on a friend's artwork, so who knows! But I do want to focus on other Empires S1 stuff and potentially one more fic for Soul Liminality 2, so please stay tuned! I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read these bizarre AUs of mine, with a special shout out to those who left comments! The encouragement is greatly appreciated! Thank you so much for staying with me through the development of these characters and their wanderings away from canon. I hope you'll enjoy the fics I write in the future!]

~*~*~

Translations:

¡Regresamos! ¿Cómo están todos? ¡María! ¡Justo a quién quería ver!  -We have returned! How is everyone? Maria! Just who I wanted to see!

Hola! – Hello!

¡Ay! ¡Papá! ¿Qué te pasó en la cara? ¡Y el pelo!  - Yikes! Papa! What happened to your face? And hair!

Hermano -  brother

Dobles - doubles

Don Sombrero de Hongo - Mister Mushroom Hat

[tongues--and--teeth]

Fuck i fucking love your art smmmm

Berserk boi

QUICK GIVE ME ALL YOUR BERSERK CACAOO HCSSS

Oh my god! Thank you so much! This totally made my day <33333

I'm so sorry this took so long, I've been really busy lately :(

(TW for gore mention)

So actually I headcanon that his berserk form is connected to his soul jam. Kind of like a little side effect. Y'know what use is a sword if not to harm others? If not to shed blood? (and also this sword hurts its owner too!) and it's the soul jam of resolution which is also dictionary definition, literally a firm decision that you're unwavering in. If Dark Cacao ever goes back on his decision to take the sword, guess what! He goes berserk until it consumes all of his life force and kills him. woo. 

He used to be able to control the berserk form a little, being able to turn partially into it to fight and stuff. He did lose the power to do so as he got older. Turning into his half-form and full form basically torturing him every time he tried to use it. It also completely removes pretty much all mental capacity for intelligent thought, so he can't use it in a "productive" way even if he wanted to. Basically just blind destruction with no distinction between friend or foe. 

(^that's actually the concept for the drawing you saw)

Personally, I have his berserk form more or less as kind of an allegory for illness, a physical manifestation of internal pain. He was making it a fuel to keep going instead of actually confronting the “bad stuff” that happened. He was taking how it hurt him and using that to keep going, instead of confronting it head-on and getting it to stop hurting him. Eventually, he couldn't keep doing this, it was destroying him and he was losing control. So now, he couldn’t use it for anything, aka, his pain isn't useful anymore. Anyway, he does still transform into his berserk form (albeit unintentionally) but only during times of extreme stress and triggers like certain sounds, textures, and tastes. It's also triggered through more physical means, if he stands too long his legs start turning to smoke, if he fights too long his eyes glow white, it's torture every time. In very special cases (Pomegranate Cookie) he goes full berserk, it usually takes him out for weeks, unable to do much, hardly able to take care of himself, much less able to make himself useful as a king or as a warrior.

Actually, after he stopped going berserk back in book 14, I think he was cut open pretty much everywhere underneath his armor. His guts were spilling out, and were barely contained by his armor. It basically cut him almost completely in half. He still managed to fight afterwards, obviously at great personal cost, but he was still able to fight. Weeks after, he could barely move, he was stuck in bed, and even small things like sitting up were a huge struggle. The only reason he's not dead is because of his soul jam, the same reason he was cursed in the first place. His immortality at the cost of eternal suffering and the like.

After book 14, he forces enough energy to attend the council of heroes (AKA Cookie Odyssey chapter 1) but the smallest things keep setting him off, turning him slightly berserk every time. He is spending every second he can lying down in his tent. It prevents his wounds from healing, and it also keeps him from thinking clearly. When he tried killing Clotted Cream the, admittedly very little, healing that was done was immediately reversed. He ended up barely functioning, with the only reason he was able to continue with the council was because Hollyberry noticed him limping and had Pure Vanilla heal him. Which only did so much, because it’s…A curse that's both caused by and stopped by his immortality, and you can't just fix that without probably killing him instantly. So, he doesn’t have a permanent solution, and he’s stuck with this until the end of time.

Thank you again for the ask. It was really fun to do! Sorry again for taking so long to finish it :(

[armageddon-generation]

Fixing Netflix's Avatar: the Last Airbender

(Live action ATLA is a fundamentally bad idea because it disrespects the medium of animation and the original is near-perfect. But the wasted potential of this show annoys me, so there.)

This rewrite has 12 x 60 minute episodes, because squashing this story into 8 is insane. Maintaining its per-episode budget, this would still only make Netflix’s Avatar (NATLA) a little more expensive as their One Piece, which it's performing better than.

Each episode of the original show is 22 minutes, so even adapting two eps shot-for-shot per live action ep leaves each an extra 16 mins of runtime. For this new material I'm drawing on a lot of the comics and expanded canon.

If a NATLA change or addition isn’t mentioned (Azula and Ozai, the Cave of Two Lovers, the Mother of Faces, Kurruk’s dumbass knife) assume it’s gone because it’s Bad.

(Also, I recognise that my examples of dialogue are cringier than NATLA. But I’m not a paid for this, so you’ll have to forgive me.)

1. The Boy in the Iceberg

A pretty straight adaptation of the first 3 episodes of the original show smoothed together, removing the Zhao/Zuko subplot from 1x3 The Southern Air Temple

Extra scene- when Katara yells at Gran Gran for supporting Aang being banished, she narrates a version of the flashback sequence from 3x8 The Puppetmaster, showing the slow depletion of the South’s waterbenders, and how the ship Katara and Aang explored got there. This big extra action beat contextualizes how prosperous the South used to be, and Gran Gran’s anxiety over Katara’s bending

Extra flashback of Aang’s tattoo ceremony in the Yangchen chamber from NATLA– his whole class is there, cheering for him- Aang will find their skeletons with Gyatso’s, who died protecting them

2. The Shadow of Kyoshi

Combines 1x4 The Warriors of Kyoshi with 2x5 Avatar Day, where a village prosecutes Aang for Avatar Kyoshi killing their leader, Chen the Conqueror, long ago

Aang rides the Elephant Koi and provokes the Unagi right into a conflict between mainland and Kyoshi fishermen. Contrast how the two sides perceive Aang– Kyoshi as a big celebrity, the mainland as a criminal. He gets hit with the full breadth of the Avatar experience all at once, and naturally gravitates towards those who treat him better

They organize a ‘trial date’ where the mainlanders will return to demand justice, and Aang will defend Kyoshi’s honor This is how word spreads to Zuko.

Sokka’s subplot with Suki is unchanged from the original. THE SEXISM STAYS. The new NATLA stuff with them bonding over their parental issues and being non-benders can go after he’s been humbled

NATLA hyping up Kyoshi at the expense of Roku was bizarre fandom-pandering, especially as canonically Aang basically hates her. Here, Aang is initially convinced Kyoshi couldn’t have killed Chen because an Avatar never would.

This leads naturally into him and Katara reading up on Kyoshi’s past in her shrine as they do in NATLA, but Aang keeps getting distracted by the islanders' celebrity-worship. Eventually Katara leaves him to fend for himself in a huff.

Instead of trying to ride the Unagi, Aang goes to the trial alone and overconfident, but Kyoshi possesses Aang to confess she did kill Chen. Chen dying because he refused to retreat directly foreshadows Zhao dying because he refuses to take Zuko’s hand in the finale– wannabe conquerors crippled by their pride

Kyoshi possessing Aang is not pleasant. While he’s under she rags on him for abandoning his duty and not taking things seriously

Meanwhile, Zuko attacks the island. Sensing this, Kyoshi blasts off and lands in the middle of the village like in NATLA, brutalizing the Fire Nation soldiers.

When Kyoshi sees Zuko she tries to kill him- directly paralleling the flashback of her killing Chen, a moment of genuine fear for Zuko. Aang snaps out of it at the last second, refusing to kill him. Zuko recovers enough to strike, but Katara arrives just in time to knock him back again.

This moment foreshadows Aang’s conflict over killing Oazi– when Zuko says he should do it, Aang reminds him if he’d had that mentality in this moment Zuko would’ve never been able to redeem himself

The Gaang run, and Katara argues against what Kyoshi said– that killing is the only answer, that Aang deserves to be punished for abandoning his duty. This is a key difference to NATLA, which seemed to revel in tearing Aang down at every opportunity

Aang then puts the fires out with Unagi as in the original

3. The Price of Freedom

Combines 1x5 Imprisoned with 1x10 Jet, with a little 1x9 The Waterbending Scroll sprinkled in

Begin with Katara showing Aang her waterbending moves after Kyoshi told him to take things more seriously, and Aang totally outshining her, only for them to bump into Haru doing the same with his Earthbending. This is an initiation into Jet’s gang, using his bending to fight Fire Nation after his dad’s imprisonment drove him here. Unlike the rest of the outlaws, Haru has a mother to go home to

NATLA Jet helping Katara tap into her trauma to power her bending is interesting, but the execution was bad. Here he’s doing the same for Haru, too.

If we emphasize this aspect—Katara letting her rage drive her—her dynamic with Jet foreshadows her conflict in The Southern Raiders.

Playing both Katara’s Book 1 ‘love interests’ off each other contrasts them in an interesting way

Use the extra runtime to build Aang’s relationship with Jet—a Lost Boy looking up to Peter Pan. Jet is the kind of leader Aang wants to be as the Avatar, with his found family and ‘fun’ approach.

Jet’s target isn’t to destroy the dam, but to ‘get onto’ the Fire Nation prison, which doubles as a shipyard.

I liked NATLA’s slimier, more conniving version of Zhao. His introduction would fit perfectly here, replacing Imprisoned’s warden.

When Haru is arrested, Jet and Sokka clash in whether to help Katara go after him

Jet helps Katara because he wants her to see how broken and hopeless the prisoners are for herself.

Bato is also a prisoner here. He and Katara have an emotional reunion, which leads into her failed attempt to rally the other prisoners

Zhao summons Katara to his study after to taunt her and lay down the law. This Zhao is a wannabe scholar, obsessed with learning about and stealing from the other nations. Classic colonial mentality, and hidden in the background is the map he stole from Wong Shi Tong’s library, hinting at his plan in the finale. Katara also spies the waterbending scroll in the study, tying into her inadequacies in the opening scene

The Freedom fighters plot to hijack the Gaang’s escape plan and blow up the prison’s furnaces, killing everyone aboard. Sokka realizes and is captured.

When the truth is revealed, Katara fights Jet– another signature Katara RageTM moment where she summons a huge wave– and draws the guards’ attention. But it’s too late, and Jet triggers their plan.

It’s revealed Sokka escaped the Freedom fighters and neutralized Jet’s plan. Aang arrives with the coal, but the Earthbenders are still unwilling to fight.

Zhao uses the Freedom Fighters to taunt the prisoners- even their own people have given up on them. Then Haru starts the riot.

Zhao is tougher than the original Warden– Aang teams up with the earthbenders to knock him overboard

This shifts the conflict in several ways- Jet’s target is no longer innocent civilians but a shipyard with military, strategic value. At the same time, his willingness to sacrifice new recruit Haru is more callous than the original.

4. The Warrior and the Waterbender

Combining 1x9 The Waterbending Scroll with 1x15 Bato and the Water Tribe, and a dash of 2x4 The Swamp

Picks up where last episode left off; reinforcement Fire Navy ships are closing in on the prison as the prisoners evacuate, but Katara recklessly doubles back to grab the Waterbending Scroll in Zhao’s office. Aang follows.

The Fire Navy opens fire on the prison, triggering Jet’s bomb. The prison is crippled. Katara grabs the scroll and flees with Aang.

Katara’s necklace is lost in the chaos.

Thus we’ve cut the pirates but kept Katara endangering the group to get the scroll. Losing her necklace is now also a consequence of this

Aapa and Momo are separated from the group by the Fire Navy attack. Bato grabs a boat and directs the Gaang into a rapid river to escape the bigger ships- a precursor to Sokka’s Ice Dodging later.

Bato reminisces about similar times with their father and suggests Sokka and Katara join their Southern fleet. He’s headed to Omashu, the biggest Earth Kingdom stronghold in this region, where it’ll be far easier to find them

Aang hiding the map to Hakoda in Bato of the Water Tribe is often seen as his most unlikeable, childish moment, and the ‘Liar Revealed’ conflict is unusually contrived for ATLA. I’m cutting the that element but still exploring Aang’s separation anxiety through Bato

Aang and Katara reflect on last episode. Aang reiterates that violence wasn’t the answer, and her kindness and compassion is her greatest strength. It’s already saved him. He can’t describe how lucky he was to wake up in her arms, of all people.

He gifts her his handmade necklace from The Fortuneteller

This is a crucial way I'd like to shift shift Katara and Aang: In the original Katara does the vast majority of their emotional labor, and though it’s beyond doubt she loves Aang, there’s not *much* to set up her romantic interest, and so it comes off a little one-sided wish-fulfill-y. To improve this without pushing romance early, emphasize what Aang has to offer Katara. Here he’s her emotional support over their mutual betrayal by Jet

It also reiterates how dependent Aang has quickly become on Sokka and Katara, justifying his separation anxiety as their potential departure looms. He focuses on the waterbending scroll to strengthen that connection they have – ‘after Jet, let’s do this the right way’. But his talent only heightens her frustration

At the same time, Katara realizes her necklace is gone– losing a connection to her heritage VS Sokka growing closer to his through Bato.

Appa and Momo get a comedy subplot like in 2x4 The Swamp, because if I get to Book 2, that’s one of the episodes I’d cut

Meanwhile, Zuko investigates the wrecked prison and finds Katara’s necklace. He trails the reinforcement ships, who rescued Zhao and whisked him to a Fire Nation Colony port. They clash, but Zhao has no interest in an Agni Kai

Zhao has hired June to track down his escaped prisoners. Zuko offers her a more lucrative job finding the Avatar

Meanwhile Katara’s conflict from The Waterbending Scroll plays out. June captures her when she’s isolated herself to practice, and they pounce on the others. Sokka manages to get them free by turning June against Zuko over Aang’s reward like he does the pirates. Aang fights Zuko for Katara’s necklace while she uses her waterbending to get Bato’s boat back into the water while Bato and Sokka fight June and the Shirshu– playing on Bato’s stories of him and their dad wrangling wild beasts

They all escape on Bato’s boat– Sokka finally gets his turn at the coming-of-age Ice Dodging, using Katara and Aang’s improved waterbending to pull of an impossible escape

Aang steals the animal whistle that finally attracts Appa from June- mirroring Katara stealing the scroll

5. Omashu

Combines 1x4 The King of Omashu with 1x12 The Storm

Aang is anxious because Omashu was where he was going when he abandoned the Southern Air Temple- to find refuge with Bumi, who never fit in and made his own rules

The Gaang and Bato arrive in Omashu. Desperate to postpone Sokka and Katara leaving, while Bato requests an audience with the King, Aang drags them off to do the mail chutes– a desperate ‘look how fun I am! Please don’t leave!’ and his last chance to relive the high of his friendship with Bumi

Bato’s audience with Bumi is interrupted by news of the chaos the Gaang have caused. He’s cripplingly embarrassed when they’re matched in– ‘you really are your father’s kids’

Aang realizes who Bumi is quickly. He’s overjoyed– but Bumi is aloof, and demands to know why his friend abandoned him. A more personal version of the old fisherman from The Storm

Aang runs off and Katara follows. Sokka defends Aang to Bumi- he didn’t believe in Aang at first either, but the kid quickly changed his mind. Bumi ‘imprisons’ Sokka and Bato

Meanwhile, Katara finds Aang in his and Bumi’s old hangout spot, and he tells her how he learned he was the Avatar and ran away- his half of the flashbacks from The Storm. He understands if Katara wants to leave him and go with Bato now she knows

A royal messenger arrives– Bumi wants to bargain for Sokka and Bato’s freedom

Because Aang already knows who Bumi is, his challenges all link to key memories from their friendship. One was a meetup with Kuzon, Aang’s Fire Nation friend. Even before he was the Avatar Aang brought the nations together

After Bumi is satisfied with their final fight, he reveals he decided to forgive Aang before the challenges even started. They weren’t meant to torment him with the past but help bring lessons from it into the future.

This way we get to explore Bumi having a more critical reaction to Aang like in NATLA without sacrificing the core of Bumi’s character, or the fundamental goodness of their friendship

Bato parts ways with Sokka and Katara at the end

6. The Winter Solstice

A pretty straight adaptation of 1x7 The Spirit World and 1x8 Avatar Roku

On the Fire Nation side, I liked the NATLA addition of one of Iroh’s captors being a victim of his siege on Ba Sing Se. Unlike NATLA, this should be the first time Iroh is ever truly serious in the show.

When Aang sees the burnt-down forest, he flashes back to when he was a small child, and the monks taught him (with the same kids from his tattoo ceremony) how to care for scared natural spaces through Yangchen’s Festival (as featured in post-canon graphic novel The Rift). This more explicitly intwines Hei Bai losing his forest with Aang losing his culture

We follow Sokka when he’s held captive by Hei Bai. Building on his coming of age with Bato, Sokka has visions of returning home a warrior only to see it lain to waste– everyone he was charged with protecting dead. This foreshadows the loss of Yue.

Speaking of Yue, I’m keeping NATLA having her visit Sokka while he’s trapped in the Spirit World, guiding him out of his vision, but when we meet Yue the context of this will be very different

Sokka re-emerges from the Spirit World worried about home, but learning about the comet reaffirms his commitment to Aang

When Aang gets stuck in the Spirit World, he gets properly lost in the shifting, alien landscape we only saw in the original’s Book 1 finale

This sequence is inspired by the scene in The Legend of Korra Book 2 (hear me out) where Korra turns back into a toddler. Here, Aang’s panic turns him back into the age he was in the Yangchen Festival flashback

This story shouldn’t feature Koh, who totally overshadows Hei Bai in NATLA, but as Aang runs through the Spirit World, confused and alone, discontented spirits shout and jeer about the Avatar’s failures– specifically referencing Kurruk’s war with the spirits

Roku’s dragon swoops in to save Aang from himself. When he takes Aang to Roku’s Temple, the Fire Sages sense him and ward him off, to create more continuity between the story’s two halves

Similarly, when meeting the corrupt Fire Sages in person we call back to and contrast with how the Air Nomads upheld their holy sites

When the good Fire Sage is chained up alongside Zuko, he asks if he’s the son of Lady Ursa, and obliquely hints at Zuko’s familial connection to Roku

After his disastrous encounter with Kyoshi, Aang is cautious around Roku, but Roku is apologetic (‘this war is my fault’) and supportive. Unlike when Aang was taken over by Kyoshi, Roku inhabits Aang with permission and after agreeing not to kill anyone

(side-note but I’m not keeping the Gyatso scene because it’s contrived and dulls the personal impact of the genocide)

7. Masks

Combines 1x13 The Blue Spirit with the Zuko portion of 1x12 The Storm

Appa is injured fleeing the blockade and Aang is angry. He draws Zhao away from Sokka and Katara, and gets captured and transported to another of his prisons.

NATLA’s additions work best here. Lu Ten’s funeral, Zuko’s crew being the 41st legion. Lu Ten’s funeral should be the second time Iroh is serious and melancholy all season.

DO NOT have Zuko fight back in the Agni Kai. Stupidest decision in the show

Once Aang has saved Zuko from the prison, add a flashback from his perspective, which I’m adapting from the (honestly pretty good) M. Night movie prequel comic Zuko’s Story:

Immediately following the Angi Kai, Azula visits Zuko to mock him.

Later, she finds him sleeping on the docks after failing to gather a crew, and gets him his crappy ship and ‘crew of failures’, which ties nicely into them being the 41st division. Azula presents it as a mercy, but she’s just sweeping all the trash under the same rug.

This introduces Azula in Book 1 without being OOC or ruining her armor of perfection too soon

8. The Northern Air Temple

Adapts 1x17 The Northern Air Temple with an extra subplot: Conflicted about what to do with the settlers, Aang meditates and consults Avatar Yangchen, the Air Nomad Avatar before him, and they debate Aang’s responsibility to preserve their culture

If you must show the genocide, show it here– in brief, traumatising flashes as Aang explores the Temple. NATLA’s take on the genocide was pathetic. The Airbenders put way too much of a fight– they should be overwhelmed by huge columns of fire, dragons etc- think this fan-comic showing two Airbender boys trying to escape the attack on the North

The Mechanist’s son Teo studies Air Nomad culture. This gives his character more meat and explores the appropriation conflict presented through the Avatar Aang Fan Club in The Promise comic; ‘My culture is not a game’

Katara asks Aang to teach her to glide to pull him out of a dark spiral. Again, building that Aang/Katara dynamic, this should be a fun parallel to Penguin Sledding in episode 1– Aang unlocking Katara’s inner child, giving her a freedom she never had before him. It should really emphasize their trust. Let Aang be confident and encouraging!

The Mechanist is making weapons for Zhao (just like his shipyard), and it’s revealed Zhao deliberately spread stories about Air Nomad survivors to lure Aang into a trap, which is a tactic Fire Lord Sozin used to mop up the Nomads who survived his genocide. This idea is from The Lost Adventures comic Relics, fits with NATLA wanting to be ‘darker’, and ties into the genocide flashbacks

Zhao arrives with a battalion, ready to spring his trap and take the Temple

Now the battle for the Temple directly mirrors the genocide sequence- Aang explicitly defending his home like he never had the chance to before

9. The Old Masters

Combines 1x18 The Waterbending Master with 1x16 The Deserter

Jeong Jeong surrendered himself to the North when he fled the Fire Nation. The conditions here naturally suppress his firebending, as seen in Book 3 of The Legend of Korra

Sokka learns about Jeong Jeong during warrior training. Aang’s frustration with Pakku’s teachings pushes him towards Jeong Jeong to learn firebending too

Contrast the two elements, how Aang struggles more with firebending after getting water so quickly

Aang burning Katara and her discovering she’s a healer intersects perfectly with the North funneling women into the healing huts– is this really what she was destined for?

I appreciate NATLA trying to make Princess Yue a more active character because she’s not given much in the original and Sokka’s love at first sight crush on her is pretty shallow. However, making Yue too active undermines the point of her character in the original; that she lets herself be a passive vessel for duty right up until her final choice to help the Moon spirit

To that end, keep Yue being a waterbending healer– she is the personification of the system Katara is rebelling against. When Yue was young, she had dreams of defending the North with her father that were quickly squashed by her duties. Katara does what Yue wishes she could have

Sokka connecting with Yue because she comforted him when he was alone in the Spirit World is good, but here instead of being a revered spiritual leader, Yue’s trips into the Spirit World are secret, rebellious things, straying outside her strict duties and endangering herself. In this way Sokka is the face of Yue’s own private rebellion. She is both terrified and thrilled by the chance to meet him in person

Her fiance Haan is still a douche

Keep Gran Gran’s betrothal necklace pushing Pakku into self-reflection. People rag on him only letting Katara train with him because of nepotism, but that’s how it be sometimes when pushing societal reform. Personal change first. I did like how NATLA emphasized Katara inspiring other women to fight, so that can continue into next episode, showing how Pakku’s personal reflection led to widespread change

Katara being ‘her own master’ felt like forced girlbossery, especially as her level-up in the original show is already very quick, but I like the idea of her drawing from other bending styles to fight

Instead of the cut pirates, it’s the Yu Yang Arches who assassinate Zuko for Zhao

10. The Siege of the North

A pretty straight adaptation of 1x19 and 1x20

Katara and Aang spar in the opening and she trounces him- a nice progress marker from the stuff with the Waterbending Scroll. The footwork/moves here foreshadow the energy of their dance in 3x2 The Headband

Yue arrives looking for Sokka, having snuck away from Royal duties. Katara asks about her intentions with her brother– wasn’t it just announced that she’s engaged? Yue insists it’s platonic.

Yue: Have you ever looked at someone and just seen… freedom? [Aang’s laughter in the background] Katara: ...Just don’t break his heart

Sokka arrives to pull Yue away. Her brief trips into the Spirit World give her a wider perspective of the war’s impact than the North’s isolated leaders. Sokka taking her up on Appa sets up the possibility of her leaving with the Gaang to become an envoy to the South or a Spiritual Leader, making her sacrifice hit harder

They bond through their mutual anxieties over leadership

Sokka: You’d be a great diplomat. You’re charming, kind, clever but never condescending, even to a Southern peasant like me. And you’re so strong, to put up with everything you do. Yue: What I put up with is hardly comparable to the dangers that Southern peasant has fought through. Sokka: You have so many responsibilities. So many people to protect, so many relying on you– I know how hard that can be. At least a little.

They discuss why Yue’s parents are so protective and controlling, explaining her Moon backstory earlier on. Framing her father’s protectiveness this way emphasizes Yue’s sacrifice as a final act of agency and embracing her true destiny

Instead of Roku, Kurruk leads Aang to Koh because he’s familiar with him, letting him better pace narrating his backstory with the spirits than monologuing straight to camera

Kurruk warns Aang against letting personal attachments cloud his duty, and letting those he loves be hurt- we transition from the face of Kurruk’s dead beloved to Katara frantically searching for him.

Sokka/Katara discussing protecting Aang vs protecting Yue

Show the female waterbenders from Katara's healing class supporting the warriors in the battle, and fighting alongside Pakku

As Zhao marches through the North he finds his old master Jeong Jeong in his cell, and they talk before Jeong Jeong escapes. Follow this with an extra scene of Jeong Jeong crossing paths with Iroh

Now we get the full Zuko vs Zhao Agni Kai, played as a direct parallel to the staging of Ozai’s. Zuko spares Zhao, only for Koizilla to snatch him as he walks away. Zhao still refuses Zuko’s hand.

In NATLA, Katara called out to Koizilla and Aang turned as if hearing her, but it was still seeing the restored moon that stopped his rampage. I’m adjusting things so Katara’s words wake Anatlaang from the Avatar state- proving Kurruk wrong about attachments- and Aang communicates with the Ocean Spirit like he communicated with Hei Bai, pointing out the restored moon. Then the Ocean releases him

We linger on the destruction like in NATLAatla la s, setting up Aang’s fear of the Avatar state in Book 2– ‘Kyoshi would be proud’

[ericmicael]

And the new episodes of "Frozen Podcat" have arrived:

5 - UNREST IN THE ENCHANTED FOREST

It's finally lunch time for the soldiers, but they want to hear the story

At the fire Disa tries to think of a plan to solve the fire, but Elsa uses her powers which again makes Disa amazed when she sees the Snow Queen

While Elsa contains the fire, Anna and Disa find Bruni and the Snow Queen calms the salamander in the same way she did in F2, and with that done the fire goes out

At Arendelle Castle, Mattias reports on the current situation of the kingdom after all this confusion, and in the end he praises Kristoff for his role as leader, leaving the blonde embarrassed

Wolfgang while helping to collect the debris laments Magnus's disappearance, until suddenly Gale returns. The Duke's nephew has to be calmed down by Olaf and Kristoff, and the Lord himself consoles Astrid, the other magpie

Wolfgang once again mentions Kristoff's proposal to become an industrialist, even talking about when he himself would inherit the Duke's titles, but his cousin Albert stole his place and he says that this is the first lesson he will teach Kristoff: be careful with Albert

Astrid, on Wolfgang's orders, begins to help collect the debris, but takes Olaf's arm instead and takes some time to return it, but the snowman doesn't take it personally

And then a rain of frogs begins in the kingdom

Back to the soldiers Mattias explains how a "rain of frogs" is just a situation where frogs are carried by the wind which gives the impression that they are falling from the sky like water, etc.

In the Enchanted Forest, the trio of women find pieces of scorched metal and just seeing one of them irritates Bruni, confirming that they are the cause of her outburst. The pieces are also made of copper like the mechanical spider. Elsa believes that the automatons are visitors from Arendelle that Anna allowed to enter the kingdom, she fears that she will not be able to deal with it and that she needs to understand this situation, but Anna supports her and they promise to deal with it together

The women find a trail of pieces and eventually the automaton that Anna finds very similar to Wolfgang's mechanized lamps, but before they can continue talking the Earth Giants awaken.

6 - MAGNUS' RETURN

The soldiers are very interested in the Earth Giants, which makes Mattias want to tell his story about them, F2, but returns to the current story

Elsa has difficulty sensing the giants and Disa even considers using the vibrations of the ground to find them, but eventually they manage to find them just by looking. They are afraid that the giants will arrive in Arendelle, they don't know if it is possible, but Elsa doesn't doubt it. Disa questions if Elsa can control them, but she just says that she can figure out what's bothering them and fix it. Anna cites the destruction of the dam as an example of the strength of giants

They notice a mechanical reindeer near the giants and, to save it, Elsa creates an ice rink and the three women go skating to get there quickly. Disa even questions why Elsa doesn't move like that normally, but Elsa says that Nokk is faster. But they don't arrive in time and the reindeer is crushed and to the trio's surprise the giants seem to have calmed down and return to the forest

They cut open the reindeer discovering that it had raw copper, implying that it was mining the material, which makes them openly suspicious of Wolfgang. The sisters fear that Kristoff and Mattias could be in danger because of Wolfgang, and even though they believe that Magnus could be a spy, Anna sends a message to Mattias warning him about Wolfgang

At the castle, Astrid laments Magnus' absence while Kristoff coordinates the removal of the frogs. Olaf ends up getting in the way as he adopted some frogs and told him his secrets, but the frog runs away from Olaf

Kristoff laments that Anna cannot see the rain of frogs that he identifies as Gale's actions. As Wolfgang questions Mattia about not going to protect Anna, the conversation soon turns to Kristoff and his idea of making him an industrialist. Wolfgang advises Kristoff to hire bodyguards and official tasters to deal with the dangers of being an ice collector, but Kristoff denies the advice. The ice collector believes that being an industrialist would make him focus only on work, which he doesn't want in life. Wolfgang understands his thoughts, but as he speaks he seems to talk more about himself than about Kristoff

Sven arrives, and soon after the people of Sankerhus who are distraught without their queen. Following Wolfgang's advice, Kristoff goes to talk to the population, but ends up getting complicated, Olaf doesn't help, and ends up being saved by Mattias, who has more leadership capacity.

They return to find Wolfgang playing a musical instrument and enjoying popcorn and cappuccino? (I was confused about it but I think it was cappuccino) Mattias helps himself and so does Sven after some confusion

Mattias praises Wolfgang's musical performance and the Duke's nephew says that his dream was music and opera, but he ended up becoming a man in the industry. He even tries to end the conversation, but Kristoff shows interest, which surprises Wolfgang who talks more about his dreams and desires about music and opera until Magnus arrives. Magnus brings a letter from Anna which he refuses to hand over until Wolfgang intervenes, the letter reveals the discoveries about Wolfgang's machines in the Enchanted Forest which leads Mattias to order his arrest, but the Duke's nephew pleading innocence and orders his birds to collect evidence to prove your innocence

[avatarskywalker78]

OC New Year's Challenge Day Three: In My ＿ Era

For Nicky Connors and Johnny Lawrence, 1984 starts out promisingly before rapidly deteriorating. As he sinks further and further into Cobra Kai, Nicky realises just how bad it's getting and tries to stop things, but this causes tensions to rise until the two have their biggest argument yet - and Johnny says something he can't take back. The result is months of not speaking, even as Jimmy and Bobby try and mediate between the two - Johnny eventually resolves to try and fix things, but then Daniel LaRusso shows up and Johnny takes out his anger on him instead of actually solving anything. After the events of Halloween, Nicky - heartbroken that her friends would've gone this far - calls them all out before shutting them out. This is a wake-up call, especially for Johnny - but it's one that's come far too late, because now there's no way Nicky will speak to him, and he doesn't know how he can ever come back from that even as he realises he must change things. But things aren't as hopeless as they seem - Nicky just knows that she can't be the one to keep reaching out, that if Johnny wants to make amends he's really got to commit to that, and as the AVT approaches everything's up in the air, and not everything will go the way it might've done...

Seperate Ways (Journey)//Breathe (Taylor Swift)//Cruel Summer (Bananarama)// 'Walk Away' by Mili Jain)//Quote (Unknown)//Runnin' Up That Hill (Kate Bush)//'Betrayal' by Dan McDonald////Johnny Lawrence (The Karate Kid)//Bad Blood (Taylor Swift)//Quote on 'Regret'(Charlotte Eriksson)// Quote (Jim Rohn)//Quote on 'Restoring Friendship' (Unknown)//The Moment of Truth (Survivor)

Tagging (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @shrinkthisviolet @dream-beyond-the-fantasy

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober day 15 — New Scars

Something a little different, I was playing around with styles and things. You can always tell what sort of mood I’m in when I write these things, today it was romantic XD

Warnings: mentions of injury, a little blood

Ao3 link

————————————————————

Malon never got used to Link returning to her after getting hurt.

It happened often enough that you’d think she‘d be desensitized to it by now, the blood and pain he always tried so hard to shield her from. But no matter what, the sight of her husband coming home beaten and bleeding always set her heart thudding with anxiety as she worriedly checked where he’d been injured, pulling stitches and tying bandages.

But today was the worst, she thinks.

Because today Link comes back to her with bandages over his face, sharp marks on his forehead, and missing an eye.

He’d been gone for nearly two weeks at that point, and Malon had been trying not to worry too much as she’d done the farm work, despite his assurance of “no more than a week”. She’d been on the verge of sending for someone from the castle when she finally hears the familiar whinny of her favorite horse from down the path.

Relief floods her and she turns to meet him, but she drops the pail of milk she was carrying, looking in shock at his eye wrapped messily with gauze, appearance exhausted and drained.

Then she’s running into his arms as he dismounts Epona and sweeps her into a slightly desperate kiss, his arm shaking where it wraps around her waist. His hand cups her cheek then brushes through her hair, and she breathes him in, reassuring herself of the fact that he’s here, and he came back to her again despite the injuries, despite the markings, even despite the large amount of blood on his tunic.

They eventually pull back, and she traces a slow hand along the bandages that encase the side of his head, caring distress in the motion.

Link places his hand over hers, gently drawing it to his mouth so he can press a kiss to her shaking fingers, and she feels her breath catch as she looks at the angry lines imprinted on his cheek, horribly familiar to them both.

“What happened Link?” she whispers.

He lowers his head and kisses her again, softly brushing her cheek with his thumb.

“Later,” he promises softly, voice full of a heavy exhaustion.

She doesn’t press, knowing he’ll keep his word, instead sinking further into his arms that she’d so dearly missed.

(...)

She pulls him inside after that, and orders him to sit down and rest while she grabs the supplies to fix him up.

It probably says something about his state that when she asks him to remove his shirt while she’s gone, he merely nods, and doesn’t tease her at all for the request, not so much as a wiggled eyebrow. Malon pretends like it doesn’t raise her anxiety even more, and busies herself with figuring out how many red potions they’ve got.

She comes back into the room a few minutes later to find him shirtless and half-asleep, leaning exhaustedly back on their couch.

Setting down the kit, she sits next to him, studying the injuries littering his chest. A few are hastily bandaged, but most don’t have anything covering them at all, except for smears of blood and dirt that’ve long dried. Malon pushes down the worry that’s still making her throat uncomfortably tight, and gently begins to clean and properly bandage her husband, murmuring apologies when he flinches or winces at all.

He takes one of her hands in his at some point as she works, and runs his thumb across her palm, which she belatedly realizes is shaking just a bit.

He’s come back to her in bad shape before now, broken limbs, bloody noses, a stab wound now and then. But something about these in particular, and the fact that one of his eyes— his warm, sparkling blue eyes— is possibly injured beyond repair is frightening.

He’s never been hurt so permanently before.

Malon eventually finishes with all of the bandages on his chest, the smaller injuries banished with the red potion now in his system. She looks up at his covered eye then, steeling herself to check the severity of the damage, but he beats her to it, beginning to unwind the gauze before she can so much as blink.

He carefully pulls the messy bandages off of his face, and Malon breathes in sharply at the uncovered scar.

For it is a scar. Barely messily healed, but healed, a long line cutting over Link’s eye and across most of the right side of his face. There’s some dried blood caking it though, and the full scope of the marks on his cheek and forehead only make Malon more concerned, even though she’d expected something much more gruesome awaiting her.

Link breathes out slowly, keeping his newly-scarred eye firmly closed.

“Link?” she asks quietly, questioningly, and he lowers his head, and begins to explain.

He tells her of a trap, a plot by a man obsessed with the Triforce, who somehow knew of Link’s supposed possession of Courage. Of a seemingly low number of monsters given way to an entire dungeon full to the brim, that he was unable to escape and therefore forced to fight to survive.

He hadn’t been there long before he’d run through nearly all his supplies, healing and otherwise as he’d tried to escape. And then he’d been badly injured, he said, pointing out a particularly nasty wound Malon had wrapped near his ribs. Severely enough that he’d nearly been killed as he was cornered by the hordes.

Backed into a corner and steadily bleeding out, he’d gone for his last resort.

The Fierce Deity mask.

It was his only choice, and he’d plowed through the monsters after that, clearing them with a terrifying ease and thrill. It was a bigger battle and more monsters dead at his hand than he’d experienced in years, the mask pumping him full of magic and power and he... had become drunk on it.

He couldn’t let go.

Link’s voice falters then, and Malon runs her hand soothingly against his arm, patiently waiting for him to resume.

“It was too hard to let go this time,” he says in a low voice, almost as if terrified of what would happen if he spoke louder. “The power was too much. The Deity held on to me, his power held on to me. He consumed me, and I was overwhelmed.”

He breathes out slowly, and closes his eye.

“I had it on for more than a week before I finally broke control.”

“Oh Link,” Malon whispers, clutching his hand.

He clutches it back, and they sit in silence for a couple moments, Malon trying not to think too hard about her husband’s story before speaking again.

“How did you get out?” she asks, dreading the answer.

Link takes a deep breath, seeming to calm himself with the smell of home. “I thought of you,” he says softly, and Malon felt her throat squeeze again. “I remembered you were waiting for me, not the Deity, not the husk I was quickly being drained into, and I fought back. Clawed against the power and the Deity with all I was worth, pushing him back from where he was trying to take me over.”

He cracked his right eye open just a sliver, and Malon saw a small, white glow.

“He succeeded somewhat. I was unable to break his hold all the way. Which is why when the mask wouldn’t release me, I had to... take drastic measures. This...” he gestures to his eye, “...was my doing.”

His voice trembles just a little at the end.

They both fall into an embrace again, Malon dropping the cloth she’d held as he pulls her close, and she can’t help but bury her head in his neck.

She hears his breath stutter a little and he holds her tighter, and that’s the last straw for Malon. Her throat tightens and tears threaten to escape her eyes, and she only holds onto her husband more tightly, the two clinging to each other like the world will end if they let go.

Malon catches a glimpse of the new scar on his face again as they clutch each other, and she feels worry and fear anew squeeze her throat as a tear falls down her husband’s unmarred cheek.

Somehow she knows the scar over his eye isn’t the only one he’ll keep from this incident.

[stainedglassthreads]

I think a story’s themes sometimes get downplayed in theorycrafting. And that can occasionally lead to theories that clash with the source material, whether the theory supporters realize it or not.

For a very ridiculous example that few people probably take seriously, let’s begin with the Coma Theory from the Pokemon anime. The theory is an old one, and basically states that Ash is a boy from our world, who after being electrocuted fell into a coma where he dreamed the entirety of his Pokemon adventure. The presence of real-world animals from our world appearing in early seasons, but slowly being phased out for a world inhabited solely by Pokemon, is attributed to the deterioration of his brain, as is the fact he never appears to age.

I don’t believe anyone takes this theory completely seriously or claims it to be definitive canon, though some may appreciate its creepypasta style. For one, it reduces a story to an ‘all just a dream’ narrative, which is hard to do well and easy to make feel cheap and cliched. But I’ll also point out that it’s very at-odds with the themes of the Pokemon anime. Pokemon has always had strong themes of friendship, empathy, and compassion from episode one, and claiming that all the friends who Ash meets on his journey are mere figments of his imagination feels like the exact opposite to that. As such, even though the world of Pokemon is no stranger to dark subjects such as child death, this specific theory doesn’t feel like it belongs.

For a slightly more recent, but still not especially popular, theory, there is the theory that Gaster is responsible for the Determination experiments, amalgamates, and Flowey. While there is some theory Gaster may have dabbled in dt himself a little (the two strongest pieces of evidence being the DT Extractor’s design and the mention of vague ‘blueprints’, as well as some people noticing that Mystery Man looks melted.), in-game evidence in this video by Dorked proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that Alphys was the one responsible for the Amalgamates and Flowey. Even before I saw this video, though, I thought the theory was full of crap. Why?

Well, because it would render Alphys’ arc in the game entirely moot. Her arc was about the lies she had told covering up her own mistakes, and gaining the courage to tell the truth and fix things for the amalgamates. If it were abruptly revealed that, whoopsy doopsy, it wasn’t her mistake and had instead been the mistake of some mysterious figure who everyone just so happened to forget, conveniently lifting responsibility for the initial mistakes from her shoulders and removing the origin of the guilt that prompted her lies... it would abruptly become a much, much, much weaker arc. For both Alphys and Gaster. Alphys loses much of the power behind her eventually coming forwards, while Gaster’s arc, presently left largely in the background, is dragged into the forefront to be blasted with a glaring spotlight, highlighting the lack of closure and unsatisfaction. What lessons does Gaster learn? ‘Maybe if you blow yourself into non-existence, someone else will come along, be tortured by your mistakes to the point of suicidal depression, and then eventually fix your fuck-ups’?

This isn’t exactly a widely-popular theory, though, so let’s go for a more recent and more popular one. Such as, Chara being ‘pure evil’ and responsible for the No Mercy route. A major theme in Undertale is the effects of your choices on others, how any has the choice to be a good or bad person, and how all the monsters you encounter have much deeper and more complex lives than you initially anticipate. Chara is almost certainly not a saint, but to declare that they’re pure evil with no depth, no motivation, no trauma, and no chance of redemption, who also allows the player a convenient escape from blame, is to refute basically every moral that Undertale tries to convey. Chara’s depth and complexity may not be as explicit as, say, Flowey/Asriel. But by paying attention to themes and parallels, (such as how MK’s admitting that Undyne isn’t the best person, followed by them immediately shifting idolization to Papyrus, is paralleled by Asriel, Chara, and Frisk, or Asgore remarking that Frisk reminds him of Chara only in a True Pacifist run but not mentioning humans or Chara at all in No Mercy.), one can assume that Chara was, at the very least, neither pure evil nor exclusively motivated by power when they began their plan.

I do admit, sometimes a theme can be introduced early on, only for the story to viciously tear it apart and show how it’s a deeply flawed belief. Undertale initially introduces ‘kill or be killed’, only to show two different ways that it’s a very flawed belief: in No Mercy, it shows that this belief can only end in self-destruction, while in True Pacifist the saying’s most ardent supporter is forced to acknowledge it was a flawed ideology fueled by his trauma and hurt. But the point remains.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: INFJ here, I am 14 years old so I am unsure of how to deal with someone who's unhealthy Se dom, can you help me out?

I have an 19 years old ESFP brother who's unhealthy, he tends to shift the blame on everyone else in his life, he is selfish with others sometimes, and if not selfish with me. He lies on me and would always say I am selfish or cold if I don't let him take something or share food with him, I can't handle his problems or behaviors anymore as he keeps making many mistakes and problems in one day, no 24 is passed without 1-4 mistakes in the same day.

He is easily angered and very sensitive, he raises his voice at anyone in the house even if we argue in a normal voice , even tell us we are raising our voice on him. My sister tried to warn him once about something he bought, told him it's gonna affect his health and he started yelling at her and telling her she always wants to point out if he is doing something wrong , when she is very worried for his health. He doesn't think about the consequences of his actions at all , always does what he wants and thinks that things may come to him on a golden plate, I can't handle his actions anymore and I am trying to find a way to deal with him, I know I can't fix someone if they don't collaborate but I want to know how to fix some behaviors and how to deal with it. I want to put him in his place but he is very aggressive and blunt.

He can be sometimes kind but that doesn't mean he will be fully kind or helpful and I can't handle the arguments he makes between everyone in the family and him.

---------------------

Unfortunately, the best way to deal with a toxic person is to distance from them, if not physically, then at least emotionally. Yes, everyone is a mixture of good and bad qualities, and everyone's got some problems dragging them down. However, some people's bad qualities/behaviors are so bad that they mostly just spread negativity, upset, pain, and harm to others. When that's the case, the most urgent thing for you to do is take care of your well-being by removing yourself from their destructiveness in any way possible.

Generally speaking, when faced with a genuine threat to your well-being in relationships, you don't have many options, so weigh the pros/cons based on your capabilities and preferences, for example:

- Option "Fight": You say you want to put him in his place, which is an invitation to fight. If you're gonna fight someone, you'd better be confident of winning. This means you need energy, STAMINA, strength, power, and the ability to continually dominate both physically and psychologically. If you don't have these capabilities or your capabilities do not surpass his, then you won't win the fight. If you can't win, you'll get very hurt, and the relationship problem gets worse. If you can win, there will be a wall between you, but he'll likely leave you alone and go after someone weaker.

If you're not a dominating sort of person, a more intelligent way to fight is to appeal to an impartial authority/power greater than the both of you who can help mediate the conflicts and restore peace as necessary. The natural choice would be the elders of your family like parents, aunts, uncles, or grandparents. This is more of a short-term strategy because elders won't be around forever and you'll eventually have to learn how to handle him yourself. However, if he's so out-of-control that even the elders can't make a difference, then you're out of luck on this front.

Big Picture Result: Fighting isn't likely to change him, his thinking, or his behavior. At best, it just pushes him to hide it better. But what does it do to you? It brings you down to his level, doesn't it? Can you live with yourself being like that? Can you feel good about life when you're constantly in fight mode?

- Option "Fawn": In the context of relationships, fawning is like saying, "if you can't beat'em, join'em". Instead of treating him like an enemy and worsening the conflict, you give in, cave, take it, swallow it, etc. Why do people fawn? The hope is that, if you are nice and always accede to his needs and demands, he will like you, so you will not be the main target of his blame and anger. Unfortunately, the reality is, the more you try to appease a bully, the less they respect you, and the more they feel it's okay to abuse you. Even if he decides to spare you because you worked so hard to save your own butt, it won't be pleasant to watch him target other family members.

Big Picture Result: Fawning basically rewards the bully for their bullying behavior, so there is absolutely no incentive for them to change. If anything, the negative behavior will get worse over time.

- Option "Freeze": In the context of relationships, freeze usually means resignation to the status quo. You try to blend into the background and hope for the best or pray for a miracle. This is not really a strategy but rather what happens when you have no strategy. It's the strategy of the truly powerless.

Big Picture Result: Freezing usually means the cycle of violence just continues indefinitely until someone finally decides to do something different.

- Option "Flight": In relationships you can't easily get out of, flight often means drawing and enforcing boundaries that strictly limit or end contact with the toxic person (see previous posts on the topic). Toxic people are game-players in the sense that they constantly want to draw you into their machinations. Their ego drama makes them seek out "enemies" to fight so that they can feel like the "hero". One way they do this is to keep baiting you until you react the way they want, so that they can prove some stupid point they imagine needs to be made. When you take the bait, you become the supporting character in their play with no real existence of your own, i.e., they control you.

The advantage of boundaries is you no longer play his game, because you are actively setting the rules for how to conduct the relationship in a way that honors everyone's well-being. Boundaries aren't about trying to blame, change, and control others in retaliation. Boundaries are there to protect you from harm by removing you from the relationship equation as necessary. Boundaries help you avoid taking the bait and getting entangled, but only if you are able to abide by the rules you set and carry out the consequences to anyone who breaks your rules.

Yes, being estranged from someone you love is hard and it hurts, but does it hurt more or less than being their victim? Only you can answer that. Keep in mind, when you set strict rules and boundaries or cut someone out of your life, it doesn't have to be forever. You can make it clear that you love him and you'll allow him back into your life on the condition that he changes the negative behavior. Sometimes, the best way to battle a childish person is to be the "adult" and walk away. It's hard to do this in a sibling relationship when you're the much younger sibling, but it's possible. You can look at it as an opportunity to build strength of character. There are lots of bullies in this world, so it's good for you to learn how to stand up for yourself sooner rather than later.

Big Picture Result: Limiting contact may or may not change his behavior depending on how badly he wants to resume the relationship with you. If he chooses not to change, you'll lose the relationship for good. If he decides to change, you can meet him halfway. In any case, you've put a cap on the amount of pain and damage he can inflict.

.

I hope this has given you some ideas about how to approach the situation. It should also help you have a better understanding of the various relationship dynamics he might have with the other people in your family. It's very unfortunate that you have to deal with a toxic family member. Family should be a place of safety, support, and love. You're not alone, though, since many people are forced to grow up in a dysfunctional family. The most important thing is you learn how to make things safe for yourself when others can't/won't.

If the situation with him ever deteriorates to the point where you really feel as though you can't bear it anymore, reach out for help. It's hard to make good decisions when you're in the middle of a very stressful situation. It might be a good idea to have someone in mind you can escape to, someone who can provide a safe space for you to calm down, talk things out, and think things through at your own pace. This person can be any adult you trust such as: aunts, uncles, grandparents, neighbors, your friend's parents, teachers, mentors, spiritual counselors, mental health professionals, etc. If you don't have anyone right now, then maybe get to know more of the adults in your orbit and cultivate a trusting relationship with at least one of them. Or, if you think it's enough to go some place quiet to catch your breath now and then, maybe try a friend's house, a local cafe or mall, or a public library or park, etc.

[jodilin65]

Ugh, another nightmare—this one particularly worrisome. We were living in a large house, with the bedrooms upstairs and a basement below. The lock on the door was broken, and when Andy wandered in and woke me up, I was far from happy.

Tom wasn't home. Eventually, I got out of bed and found that I had received some strange texts. I wasn't sure if they were direct threats against me or a warning from someone else about threats to my life. I was a bit nervous but not truly worried until I received a phone call from a woman with an English accent. She told me they wanted to beat me up. I had no idea who "they" were or why I was a target, but it seemed like it might have been a gang looking to make headlines with their violent crimes. I also didn't understand why the woman told me to get to the emergency room, but she did.

A split second later, Doc A appeared, wanting to check on me. I told her I was okay but started worrying about having to open the door to let her out, so I decided to arm myself. I searched for a knife but couldn't find a single one in the kitchen.

After I let her out, I closed the door, wishing we had fixed the broken lock sooner. I felt trapped, and genuine panic started to set in as I realized I had no means of escape. I wasn't sure if Tom could save me even if he was home. He might actually become a target as well if he were.

I woke from the dream knowing it meant trouble was ahead and couldn't fall back asleep for over an hour. I got up and told Tom about the dream, and he suggested maybe it meant I wasn't a candidate for the Inspire. I told him no—it was one of those dreams. Now, I just have to sit and wonder what it means until it happens and hope it's nothing too crazy. I swear I hate being psychic! It could be anything from my crown falling back out to getting sick to an infection to who knows what. I highly doubt I’ll get bad news from the glaucoma Doc I see in less than a month so I don’t know what it is.

When I awoke from the dream, I knew that Tom was going to be donating plasma and had a fleeting fear that something might be wrong, even though it was me they were after in the dream. I reached for my phone, checked the cam, and saw that the car was still there, which helped ease my mind a bit.

Last night, I noticed that my eyelashes seemed to touch my glasses when I blinked. I got up, looked in the mirror, and OMG, this stuff really does work! I couldn't see it in the regular mirror, but when I looked in the magnifying mirror, it was obvious that I have two really long lashes on my right side. Nothing new yet on the left side or lower lashes, but wow. Just wow. At first, I thought they were loose lashes, but when I tried to remove them, I realized they weren't loose at all. I don't know exactly what's in this stuff, but now I'm curious to see how long they'll get, even though I already have long eyelashes. Thicker would be nice instead. Head and body hairs definitely thin with age—at least mine did. I tried to take a decent picture of my lashes, but for some reason, I just can't get a clear shot. I'm going to try a shampoo with similar ingredients.

Since one of the lucky bamboos I had died and the other looks like it's on its way out, we got another trio of bamboos through Walmart. They came down from New York and look nice and healthy.

Anyway, I'm even more tired today because my sleep was broken up twice. We had a thunderstorm right as I was getting up, and we're in for rain over the next few days. I wonder how much more sleep I'll lose before I can catch up.

[edapparently]

Yall Remember That Story?

So I posted a story summary recently about an idea I had and was worried about it being really bad.

Yeah, it has a sequal story now that is probably just as horrific.

Enjoy. Or don't. Idk, no one reads these...

Human Error:

Even after starting a new survey of a peaceful and harmless seeming planet, Ed is still struggling with his self doubts and anxieties of being a burden. He realizes that his feelings are slowly building up and soon he won't be able to control them if he keeps them bottled up.

While conducting the survey, he meets an alien who has had an Emotional Suppression Chip (ESC) embedded in their neck. Which allows them to control how much of a certain emotion they're capable of feeling. Ed believes this is the solution to his build up of paranoia and asks where he could get one for himself.

Later, Cabins is impatiently waiting at the foot of their space ship. When Ed returns, now with his own ESC, it's evident than something has gone very wrong. He's not controlling how much of an emotion he can feel, but instead he's completely emotionless. Cabins is hesitant to accept this, but tries to respect it as Ed's choice as he is unaware that this is not the intended outcome.

They continue to the next planet on their survey list and an incident occurs where Ed nearly walks directly into danger, but is completely unphased since he isn't able to provoke an emotional response. Cabins realises that the ESC is only going to make Ed more likely to hurt himself since he no longer has any kind of reaction to anything.

And so they return to the planet where Ed got the ESC installed and Cabins demands that it be removed. The people there explain that the type of malfunction Ed's chip has needs to be fixed before they can remove it safely and that it can only be solved by a direct link to its interface. And that the only equipment they have that can do that is under repair. Cabins suggests that they connect his positronic brain to the chip and have him perform the fix, and the people agree.

Once the connection is made, Cabins enters a representation of Ed's mind. A town square that is populated by different versions of Ed that represent his thoughts and feelings. All of his emotions appear to be homeless and claim to be "out of the job" because of "the machines". While his thoughts, such as the "Memory Librarian" keep a low profile in fear of also being replaced.

Cabins now has to try and band them all together in order to rebel against the robotic duplicates of themselves that represent the ESC. Eventually Cabins makes it into the town hall, inside is a white void and a single version of Ed that he hadn't seen before. This is the conscious side of Ed's brain, where all the decision making and emotional processing is done by this one version of himself. The representation of his inner voice.

He tells Cabins to go away, that he isn't worth the effort. But Cabins refuses. Telling the inner voice that Ed deserves the chance to live and experience what the galaxy has to offer. The two are locked in an argument about allowing Ed to feel his emotions and live to grow past them or to suppress them because he doesn't believe he deserves to have any.

Eventually, Cabins is able to help Ed face his issues and the two are able to return to real life. They go back to their ship and Cabins tells Ed that they'll be taking a short break before continuing their survey and that he would like Ed to take the time he needs to feel what he needs to and work through it rather than around it.