#how did i manage moments of complete clarity

[mattatouilletkachuk]

So excited for the summer series! The prompts you chose were perfect! It was impossible to just pick one! May I please request 5 with Jack?

Hazy Clarity || Jack Hughes x reader

Prompt: 5. “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

WC: 2.1k

A/N: I really am trying to get through these requests. Promise. Anyways I hope you like this.

Warnings: drug use (for medical reasons)

Summary: You thought you knew what you were getting into when you volunteered to take care of Jack after his surgery.

When you volunteered to be with and take care of Jack after his surgery you thought you knew what you were getting yourself into. Dating Jack for a year and knowing him for a year beforehand meant that you had seen him injured before and that usually, you would skip going to your apartment in favor of spending your time in his to make sure he was okay. Perhaps being there after Jack had his surgery was more so to calm your anxious mind but even though he wasn’t completely awake and coherent, he still seemed to appreciate the company.

Antsy. That was the best way to describe Jack. Since you met him it seemed like he always had to be doing something, even if it was just sitting down, if he wasn’t talking he would bounce his leg or constantly tap his fingers. It was like watching a child try and contain a sugar rush. So it was a little off-putting to watch as Jack sat on your couch, still as could be. He had several pillows cushioning his arm as he dozed quietly.

Quietly, so you wouldn’t wake him up, you grabbed the thickest throw blanket you had and covered Jack with it. He barely stirred as you tucked the blanket loosely around him. You stifled a giggle as you watched him twitch his nose at your actions before going still again.

When it was clear that he wasn’t waking up anytime soon you checked your phone only to see several dozen messages from his teammates, friends, and family. They ranged from asking how Jack was feeling and if he was doing better to asking how you were managing. You replied to all of them, letting everyone know that Jack is doing fine and recovering well. When you got to Jack’s family you gave a little more detail, telling Ellen that there was no need to worry and that he’s mostly been asleep because of the pain medication. Luke had asked if he should come to visit after the season ends to help with everything but you reassured him that he would see Jack soon and that you had everything under control. You wished him luck on the few remaining games the Devils still had to play and made sure to let him know that you and Jack would be watching them.

Once you managed to respond to every text you plugged your phone into the charger in the living room and made your way into the kitchen to make something for dinner.

When he was awake, Jack proved to be rather ravenous. It didn’t surprise you at all, even when he was healthy and uninjured he could still eat you out of house and home. You didn’t want to test the limits of his medication and end up having him throw up the food you made later. So you finally landed on making the salmon you had just recently bought and tomato cucumber avocado salad.

Your apartment wasn’t all that big. If you poked your head out of the kitchen you could see directly into the living room. So halfway through cooking you heard it when Jack woke up. You didn’t immediately rush to him, choosing rather to stay in the kitchen and finish the meal you were making.

You were filled with anxiety since the moment he got injured. I’m fact, you felt rather positive that if you went back to the hospital waiting room, where you sat as he had surgery, you would see a hole in the floor that you caused from the nonstop pacing you did as you waited to hear from the surgeon. Even when Jack was finally allowed to come home you couldn’t stop your mind from racing. Was your apartment clean enough? Did you have enough space for him to get better? What if he tried to do something that only made his injury worse?

You weren’t a nurse or a doctor. You had no background in medicine so the task of taking care of your healing boyfriend was daunting, to say the least. What you did have, though, was two years of knowing Jack. You could read his mood and body language better than anybody else. You knew when he was hurt, stressed, or upset and you knew exactly what to do to help. At least most of the time.

So when you heard some light shuffling from the living room and a quiet cough you knew he was awake. When you heard the television being turned on and the soft noise from it you were only proven right.

It doesn’t take you long to finish cooking and once you’re done you make two plates and head back out to the living room. You smile at the sight that greets you. Jack added another pillow to prop up his arm and found another throw blanket the wrap around himself. He blinks a bit sluggishly from underneath the blankets but the soft smile that adorns his face when he sees you makes it feel like butterflies are fluttering around in your stomach.

You smile back at him and set the plate of food on the coffee table. When you sit down you immediately feel Jack's cheeks and forehead for any warmth. The doctors told you to keep an eye out for any signs of a fever in the first few days after his surgery. His cheeks were warm but nothing that should have you worrying. It was only the warmth of sleep that still clung to him and made his cheeks rosy red.

Before you could pull your hand away Jack nuzzled into your touch. His eyes slipped close again and a sigh left his mouth. You ignored the way your heart beat faster and pulled your hand back gently.

“Hey, pretty boy, how’re feeling?” You asked softly.

Jack quietly groaned before forcing his eyes back open. His eyes were still red and glossy from sleep and when he spoke his voice was husky and his talking slow. “Still in a lot of pain.”

You glanced at the clock you had hanging on your wall to see how much time had passed since the last time you gave him any pain medication.

“You can have more medicine if you eat,” you gestured to the plate you had brought out. Jack followed to where your fingers were pointing. “It’s not good to take medication on an empty stomach.”

Jack hummed in acknowledgment before trying to sit up to eat. You watched him as he winced in pain but he didn’t say anything so you decided it was best for you to not bring anything up.

Halfway through eating and watching a rerun of The Office that was playing Jack sighed and put his fork down.

“I love your cooking,” he said almost wistfully. You glanced down at his plate and saw that only half of it was eaten, which was better than yesterday when he refused to eat anything.

“I would say thank you but I know that you routinely eat cold leftover pizza,” you huffed out a small laugh. That didn’t mean that Jack didn’t know how to cook. He could make something to sustain somebody but you couldn’t count on both of your hands the amount of times you had gone over to his apartment and saw a fridge with no food and just Gatorade and beer.

“I’m pretty confident you're the best cook I know.” He said as he burrowed himself back into the couch and under the blankets.

When he winced again you didn’t hesitate to reach over to the end table and grab the bottle of medication that he was prescribed. When you gave him the pills he immediately tipped his head back and swallowed them without water.

“I’m probably biased, though,” Jack said once he could.

You raised your eyebrow in curiosity. You finished chewing the food in your mouth before asking, “Biased how?”

“I love everything you do.”

Warmth floods your cheeks at his declaration. You hoped Jack wouldn’t notice it or that the medication would make him forget about it tomorrow. It’s not that you were embarrassed to let him see the effect he had on you, you just knew that if he was more coherent and present he’d probably tease you and perhaps it was self-absorbed or vain but all you wanted was to bask in his affections for you right now.

“Oh?” It was all you could think to say. Jack wasn’t the most affectionate when it came to words. It was obvious that his love language was physical touch so it’s not as if you had much experience in dealing with him saying sweet things randomly.

Jack hummed and nodded his head slowly. The pills you had given him were starting to kick in, you could tell as his eyelids grew heavier with every blink and the way his head slightly bobbed around as if he was trying to keep himself awake.

“Yeah,” his voice was low and slightly stirred but he kept his blue eyes trained on you. “I love everything about you.”

A bashful smile bloomed on your face and you didn’t try to hide it from your boyfriend. You placed your plate back on the table and kissed his cheek, “I love you too, Jack.”

When you pulled away and looked at Jack you were surprised to see a frown on his lips. He didn’t look upset or angry at what you said. Instead, he looked like he was thinking hard about something.

You didn’t lean back in for a kiss but instead, you lifted your hand to his face and rubbed your thumb over the wrinkles on his forehead. “Tell me what you’re thinking about otherwise you’ll end up with wrinkles from all that frowning.”

“You don’t get it, baby,” he spoke so softly you had to strain to hear him. “I love you. I love everything about you and I know you love me but it’s not even a comparison because I know I love you more than you love me.”

“That’s not true,” his words had left you feeling breathless but despite his sweet words, you needed him to know how much you loved him. “I can’t even put into words how much you mean to me.”

Jack’s eyes slid close but his soft and sleepy smile stayed. “You don’t get it, you’re like…” he paused for a long moment to find the right words. “You’re like the sun and I’m like a plant. I’m always seeking you out and I wouldn’t be able to survive if you were gone.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. A part of you wished that you had gotten it on camera because even though Jack was never one to shy away from talking about anything, he had never said anything remotely close to what he just told you.

However, it didn’t seem like he was looking for a response because less than a few seconds after his head dropped onto one of the many pillows behind him.

You say still on the couch for a moment waiting for your racing heart to go back to its regular rhythm. Once you felt stable again, you grabbed the plates as quietly as you could to not wake your boyfriend. When you stood from the couch to bring the dishes to the kitchen you were startled by the light grip on your arm. You looked down to see Jack had reached out to stop you from leaving.

“You know, I meant what I said right?” He asked, his eyes were still closed and his grip on you was becoming more and more loose by the second.

You grabbed his hand and set it down on his chest. “I know, Jacky.”

When he spoke again his words were slow and slurred, “Good, because you're the best thing to ever happen to me.”

The last few words were almost inaudible and before you could reply Jack was asleep. You smiled down at your sleeping boyfriend with a fond smile.

You brushed a piece of hair that was in his face away and leaned down to kiss his forehead softly.

“Trust me, I feel the same way.”

You know he couldn’t hear you but it felt important to you to say it out loud. When you finally left the living room and placed the dirty dishes into the dishwasher you couldn’t help but think that volunteering to take care of Jack after his surgery was a better decision than you originally had thought.

[mystictimemachinedream]

Irrevocably Yours

a/n: I always wanted to make a yandere x yandere fic. I feel like it didn't come off as dark as it could have been lmao.

Cw: Yandere x Yandere(which means usual talks about killing, love potions, confinement, etc), Yandere!Levi, Yandere!MC(but you're trying to do better), Double Penetration, Rough Sex, Levi having two dicks, some dub-con(there's protests at first but MC actually wants him), Fem!MC, kinda ooc.

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It was becoming too much—how you felt, the way your emotions churned inside you like a storm you couldn’t control. You were trying so hard not to give in to your usual behavior, to be normal, to keep it together. But the obsessive thoughts, the relentless impulse to take, to control, to own, were beginning to creep up, growing stronger with each passing day.

You’d managed to keep that side of yourself under wraps—relatively speaking—by focusing on anything and everything else. You buried yourself in distractions, anything to keep your mind off the darker urges. That was why you avoided relationships, why you pushed away any romantic feelings.

But that wasn’t enough anymore, because you were in love. Completely and utterly in love. The target of your affection was Leviathan, the shy, awkward, but endearing otaku. You hadn’t meant for it to happen; you’d kept your walls tall and unyielding, only offering detached friendship to the demon, just like you did with his brothers. But somehow, that detached friendship had morphed into an actual friendship.

You reasoned with yourself that it was okay to have a friend, as long as it didn’t become more. Friendship was harmless, right? You could handle that.

Wrong.

You quickly went from being just another normie to becoming his Henry, and with that came a shift you hadn’t anticipated. He started dragging you into his room more often, refusing to let you leave with those big, sad eyes and that lovely blush on his face. He’d ask you to stay just a bit longer, his voice tinged with a plea you found impossible to resist. Maybe your mistake was relenting so often, convincing yourself that you were doing it for the sake of your friendship, feeding into the denial that you weren’t crossing a line.

It was during one of those many nights spent gaming together that the truth hit you—like a bucket of ice-cold water. You were infatuated with him. The realization came when you found yourself wondering how you could keep him isolated, how you could ensure that no one else could be around him but you. The thought startled you, made you question everything. You were trying to be good, to do better. You couldn’t possibly be infatuated. That wasn’t you, not anymore. So you decided you needed to distance yourself from him, just a bit, so you could get over whatever it was you were feeling. It should have been easy, right?

Wrong again.

You didn’t anticipate Leviathan’s persistence. You thought of him as too shy, too easily flustered to chase after anyone, least of all you. But he never gave up. He whined in your ear, his voice desperate and needy, tugging on your clothes like a child afraid of being left alone. He even went as far as staying in your room with you, refusing to leave your side. It was so out of character, so unlike the Leviathan you thought you knew, that it rendered you speechless every single time. (And maybe, just maybe, another mistake you made was not paying closer attention to the hidden obsession lurking in his eyes, the way they darkened with something deeper, something more dangerous.)

Seeing such persistence warmed your heart, though. It showed you that he was willing to fight for you, to keep you close no matter what. Infatuation quickly turned into love—so completely in love. But just because you were in love didn’t necessarily mean it had to be obsessive or controlling, right? It could be a pure love, right?

Completely and utterly wrong. (And you wondered, in those rare moments of clarity, was anything you decided ever the right choice?)

The thoughts about being the only one around him consumed you. The maddening jealousy you felt when you heard him talk to his friends online, the burning urge to destroy all of his Ruri-chan merchandise—because how dare he love anything else but you?!—the overwhelming need to check all his electronics to make sure there was no one else… it all started to eat away at you.

All you could think of was him: Leviathan, Leviathan, Leviathan.

But still, you tried. You tried your best to fight it, because you were trying to do better. To be good. You wanted to love him in a pure, wholesome way. You didn’t want your love to be so obsessive, so twisted. But it was getting harder and harder to suppress the urges. (But were you really even trying hard enough, or were you just kidding yourself?)

It took all your willpower not to give in, but even with that, there were small things you did without his knowledge—like taking articles of his clothing, savoring the way they smelled of him. You took harmless peeks here and there at his computer and even his phone (and it wasn’t like he made it hard to figure out his passwords when he put it in right in front of you). Occasionally, you’d discourage him from going outside, convincing him it was safer, better to stay in. But it was all harmless, at least that’s what you wanted to believe, because at least you hadn’t snuck in a love potion to make him yours. (Not yet, at least.)

Still, you knew deep down that you couldn’t continue like this. The thought of hurting Leviathan twisted your heart—but you would, without hesitation, if he ever so much as looked at someone else. HE WAS YOURS. The intensity of your love for him made it clear that you needed to try again to put some distance between you, even if it meant spending time with one of his brothers instead. (It was almost laughable how desperate they were for your attention.)

That decision is what led you to your current predicament. It was your fault, yes, but your intentions were pure—at least, that’s what you told yourself. (Or was it that you were just too afraid to surrender completely?)

“I can’t,” you repeated firmly, holding your ground as you rejected Leviathan’s invitation to hang out. “I have plans with Beel.”

“P-Plans?” he echoed, his voice thick with disbelief, as though the word itself was foreign to him. His tone softened into a desperate plea. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Beel will understand if you cancel.”

The way he looked at you—so sweet, so hopeful—almost broke your resolve. But you knew you had to stay strong. “I already said I can’t. I’ll hang out with you afterwards.”

With one last, fleeting glance in his direction, you turned and walked away. If you had only looked back, you would have seen the dark, ominous scowl that had settled on his face.

When you returned from your outing with Beelzebub, who was sweet but unbearably boring, you found yourself debating whether to go see Leviathan. But you decided against it, reminding yourself of the need to maintain your distance, no matter how much it hurt. You clung to that conviction even as you ignored the constant stream of message notifications chiming from your D.D.D while you got ready for bed.

And maybe—just maybe—if you hadn’t been so completely lost in sleep, you would have noticed Leviathan standing silently at the foot of your bed, his demon form fully revealed, with slitted, orange-glowing eyes fixed intently on your figure.

This pattern continued for an entire week. You spent time with one brother after another, each day rejecting Leviathan’s invitations with an ache in your heart. But then, something strange started happening. Random pieces of your clothing—mostly your panties—began to disappear. Objects like your notebooks, chapstick, hair ties, and even pillows vanished without a trace. By that point, you knew it wasn’t just your imagination.

It made you want to scream. Someone actually had the audacity to take your things—and how dare they covet you when you belonged to Levi! The thought burned in your mind, making it nearly impossible to focus as Satan tried to engage you in conversation at the cat café. The soft meows and gentle purring of the cats around you did nothing to soothe the growing anger bubbling inside. Every time you saw a playful swish of a tail or felt a soft nuzzle, your thoughts drifted back to the house, to the annoyance you were going to have to deal with. You knew you’d have to investigate more thoroughly the moment you returned.

Once the two of you finally arrived back at the house, you were on a mission. Barely muttering a goodbye to Satan, you made a beeline for your room, your heart pounding with anticipation. The hallways blurred as you stormed through them, your mind solely focused on getting answers, to check and see if anything else went missing. Reaching your door, you flung it open with a force that made the hinges creak. But the sight that greeted you stopped you in your tracks.

Leviathan was sitting on your bed, his posture casual yet somehow possessive, as if he owned not just the bed but the entire space around him. His presence filled the room, and for a moment, you faltered, the anger you had felt earlier mixing with surprise and something else you couldn’t quite name (was it excitement?). You closed the door behind you, the click of the latch sounding louder than it should have in the stillness.

“Levi?” you questioned, your voice wavering slightly. The intensity of his gaze when he finally looked up at you made your breath catch. His usually soft and shy demeanor was replaced with something far more focused, almost predatory.

“Did you have fun with Satan?” he asked bluntly, his voice low and steady. The stillness of his figure, the way he didn’t move a muscle, made you instantly cautious. It was like he was waiting for something—for a slip, a crack in your composure.

“I did,” you lied easily, though the words tasted bitter on your tongue. The truth was, you had hated every second of your time with Satan, and it wasn’t just because of him. You loathed going out with any of Leviathan’s brothers.

Leviathan tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he observed you. It felt like he could see right through your lie, peeling back layers to uncover the truth you were trying to hide. The intensity of his scrutiny almost made you shiver. But then, as quickly as the tension had arisen, it dissipated. Leviathan looked away, his fingers beginning to fidget with his D.D.D. The shift in his demeanor was almost surreal.

“W-would you like to come to my room? We haven’t s-spent time together,” he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. When he looked at you again, his eyes were no longer sharp and probing but soft and vulnerable.

You hesitated, weighing your options. It should be fine to go with him this one time. You told yourself you’d make it quick—just a few minutes in his room, and then you’d leave. The sudden foreboding feeling you had should had deterred you yet you chose to ignore it (or maybe you just didn’t want to see the signs right in front of you).

“Sure.” A word that sealed your fate.

As you walked with him through the dimly lit hallway, the anxiety grew stronger, tightening its grip on your chest with every step. Leviathan was close enough that you could feel the occasional brush of his arm against yours, and each touch sent a jolt through your body, heightening your unease. The closer you got to his room, the heavier the air felt, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. You wondered if you would be able to bolt if things spiraled out of control, your mind already calculating the distance to the door and the speed you’d need to escape.

When you both stood in front of his door, the tension in the air was palpable, a suffocating presence that made your skin crawl. It was almost ominous when he opened the door and gestured for you to step inside, the sound of the door creaking open like a warning you were too stubborn to heed. As you walked in, your eyes darted around the room, searching for anything out of place, but everything looked the same. His usual setup, the familiar clutter of manga and figurines… So why were you feeling like th—oh.

Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze landed on his desk. Those were your items scattered across it, some new things that you hadn’t even realized were missing yet. And there, in his tub, nestled among his many sheets and body pillows, were your clothes, panties and pillows, arranged almost reverently.

You stood there, paralyzed by shock, even as you heard the door close behind you, the sound of the lock sliding into place echoing loudly in your ears.

“Levi, that’s… my stuff, my clothes,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper, but you knew he heard you. He was standing so close behind you now that you could feel the heat of his body radiating against your back, making you shiver involuntarily.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” he asked, his voice low and eerily calm, completely ignoring your statement as if it were irrelevant. His breath tickled your ear, sending another shiver down your spine.

This wasn’t what you expected. Leviathan wasn’t supposed to be like you, caught in the same struggle, battling the same obsession. The thought made your heart race. That wasn’t good—you didn’t want to be pulled further into obsession, into depravity. You wanted to be normal, to be better, to be good. You chanted those words to yourself like a prayer, a desperate attempt to cling to sanity, even as you finally turned to look at him.

He was looking at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch, his eyes locked onto yours as if you were the only thing that existed in his world.

But you couldn’t give in. You were determined to have a wholesome, pure romance with him. You had to resist, had to keep things from spiraling out of control.

“Don’t make me ask you again,” he growled, his voice dropping an octave as he grabbed your chin with a firm hand, his hold almost bruising in its intensity (and his aggressiveness shouldn’t have been so arousing to you).

“Things were getting too… intense. I just wanted a bit of space so things could mellow down between us,” you answered hesitantly, your words stumbling over themselves as you tried to make him understand. But even as you spoke, you could feel the flimsiness of your excuse, the way it barely held together under the weight of the truth.

“Intense?” He grinned, a smile that was more a baring of teeth than anything else, with an almost maniacal edge to it. His eyes gleamed with a knowing light, as if he could see right through you, as if he knew all the things you’d done behind his back, all the secrets you thought you’d kept hidden.

But you stubbornly kept your mouth shut. You could do this—you could talk him down, make him see reason. You would keep your distance and regain control (liar, liar, liar. All you did was lie).

“I know you want me. At first, I couldn’t believe it because why would you want me? But then, you started taking some of my clothes.” He looked deeply pleased as he let go of your chin, bending down to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as he spoke. “I could even feel your envy, your jealousy when I’d game with my friends or when I gave too much attention to anything else that wasn’t you.”

You sucked in a breath as he slowly nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent a jolt of sensation through your body, heat pooling in your core despite yourself.

“I thought things were going well,” he paused, his voice darkening as he continued, “but then you started spending time with my brothers. You were ignoring my messages and invitations to come to my room.” As those words left his lips, the nipping grew harsher until he bit down on your neck deep enough to leave a mark but not enough to draw blood. The sudden sharp pain made you yelp and squirm in his grasp, but his hold was unrelenting.

He snarled at your attempts to break free, the sound vibrating against your skin, and you froze again, your body betraying you as a wave of desire crashed over you. You wanted to give in so badly—you wanted him to be yours. You wanted to be his. This side of him was so unexpected but definitely not unwelcome.

“I need you to explain yourself. Now.” His grip tightened as he fisted his hand in your hair and yanked it back harshly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

You licked your lips, trying to steady your breathing. “Levi, this just isn’t… healthy. I’m trying to do better.”

He scoffed, as if your answer was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “We want to be with each other. Does anything else matter?”

His words were tempting, far too tempting. But you wanted your love to last, to be built on a solid foundation (but really, you were just a fucking coward).

“It does matter. How about you let me go back to my room so we can think about this?” you suggested, your voice trembling slightly. The grip on your hair tightened, pulling at your scalp, and you winced in pain (but you wanted him to be even more aggressive, to show you how much he loved you).

“You, better than anyone, should know that you aren’t going anywhere. If I have to tie you up, then I will.” He released your hair with a sudden force and pushed you down onto the floor. The impact was harsh, and you barely managed to catch yourself with your hands before your head could hit the hard surface. He stood over you, a blank expression on his face as he watched you struggle to steady yourself.

“L-Levi, just calm down. We can talk about this,” you pleaded softly, your voice trembling as he dropped to his knees, caging you in his arms against the cold, hard floor. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, mingling with the coolness of the floor beneath you. If he kept pushing, you knew you would give in.

“For someone who wants me just as badly, you’re protesting too much.” His voice was low, dangerously calm, as he leaned his forehead against yours. His breath ghosted over your lips. “But don’t worry, I’ll fuck the fight out of you. And if that doesn’t work, well, I don’t mind using other methods if it means keeping you with me.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help the way your body reacted. Heat pooled between your thighs, your panties already soaked through. You almost moaned at the sheer threat in his voice, and you wondered just how much rougher he’d get if you kept resisting. Would he lose control entirely? (You hoped he would.)

“Levi, please. We can’t,” you whined weakly, your resolve wavering as his lips brushed against yours. You somehow managed to turn your head away, but the gesture felt futile. The air around you shifted as he pulled back, his energy darkening. When you glanced up at him, his demon form was already out—scales glistening under the dim light, his tail swaying predatorily, and his glowing orange eyes fixated on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“Fine, I guess we’ll do this the hard way,” he growled in your ear. The words sent your mind spiraling, and before you could fully process what was happening, everything became a blur of heat and sensation.

You gasped, eyes widening as his hand slid under your skirt with purpose, fingers expertly finding your soaked core. He moaned—a deep, guttural sound that sent a thrill through your body—when he felt how wet you were even through the thin fabric of your panties. It was the only confirmation he needed, the last bit of proof that you truly wanted him, needed him, despite your feeble protests.

With a heated urgency, his hands tore away your panties and skirt, ripping through the delicate fabric like it was nothing. Your shirt and bra followed, shredded under his impatient touch, leaving your skin exposed to the cool air and his hungry gaze. He didn’t waste a second, pulling you into a smoldering kiss that was all heat and desperation. Just like that, your resolve shattered, crumbling beneath the weight of your desire. You returned the kiss with equal fervor because you wanted—no, you needed—him so badly it ached.

He smirked against your lips when he felt you go pliant in his arms, the tension leaving your body as you surrendered to him. His mouth broke away from yours, only to descend upon your chest, his hot breath trailing over your skin as he left a path of bruising bite marks in his wake. Each nip sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through you, drawing breathless moans from your lips.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as he zeroed in on one of your nipples, his mouth hot and eager. He sucked on the small nub, his tongue swirling around it before his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh, sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core. Meanwhile, his thick fingers pumped into your wet, warm cunt—two at first, then three, and finally four, stretching you open with a pace that was fast and merciless. The sensation was overwhelming, the roughness almost too much to bear, but you craved it. You needed more.

He didn’t give you a moment to adjust, didn’t let you catch your breath as he fucked you with his fingers, driving them in deep with each thrust. His thumb found your swollen clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles that had you crying out, your body arching off the floor. The pleasure was intense, almost unbearable, but you loved it.

You hugged him closer, your whines and pleas for more filling the room, mingling with the sounds of your slick arousal as his fingers moved in and out of you with relentless speed. He was going to make you cum already, and you hadn’t even gotten started. His mouth finally released your nipple, leaving it glistening with his saliva, and he pulled you into an almost desperate kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth as he curled his fingers just right inside you.

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with a force that left you breathless. You cried out, the sound muffled by his mouth, and your cunt clenched around his fingers, gushing wetness all over his hand. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, riding you through your orgasm as if he wanted to wring every last drop of pleasure from you.

It was all so rough, so fast, but it felt so right, like this was exactly how it was meant to be. You could only watch with half-lidded eyes, your breath coming in short gasps, as he finally pulled his fingers out of your throbbing cunt. Your juices coated his hand and he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a look of pure satisfaction.

But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

He leaned back, his glowing eyes never leaving yours as he reached for his zipper. The sound of it being pulled down was almost deafening in the silence that followed. He didn’t bother fully undressing, only tugging his jeans down just enough to free his cock—no, cocks. He had two of them, thick and throbbing with need.

Your mouth watered at the sight of him, and your cunt clenched on nothing as you imagined the sensation of him fucking you open on those thick, pulsating cocks. The mere thought made you shiver. You spread your legs wider, a silent plea, an open invitation that had him settling between them eagerly.

“This messy cunt belongs to me,” Leviathan rasped, his voice low and gravelly, as he rubbed both of his cocks against the slick folds of your cunt. The friction sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making you gasp as he gathered the wetness on the heads of his cocks, teasing your entrance with slow, deliberate movements. “You belong to me. I need you to remember that because I will kill anyone you so much as look at for too long. I don’t even want you leaving my room at all.”

You mewled softly at his words, the sound escaping your lips involuntarily, and you knew in that moment that there was no going back. You couldn’t deny it anymore—couldn’t even pretend to care how twisted your love had become, how unhealthy it likely was. All that mattered was that he was finally yours, and you would do anything to keep him that way.

“Do you understand?” Leviathan’s tone was harsh as he gripped both of his cocks firmly, positioning them at your entrance. He pushed forward slowly, just the tips breaching your slick, swollen folds. The stretch was intense, borderline painful, but the pleasure that accompanied it was undeniable. A high-pitched moan tore from your throat as your eyes became teary at the sensation.

“Levi!” you whined, desperation lacing your voice as you attempted to roll your hips down, to pull more of him inside. But his tail coiled around your waist, holding you firmly in place.

“I asked you a question. Do you understand?” Leviathan remained still, his gaze dark with lust, waiting for your answer. When you didn’t respond quickly enough, his hand moved to your breast, fingers tugging one of your nipples harshly. The sting made you gasp, a mixture of pain and pleasure that sent a jolt straight to your core. “Or are you so cock-drunk already that you can’t even answer me?”

“I—I understand,” you panted, finally finding your voice. You reached up, your hand tangling in his hair as you yanked him down, bringing his face closer to yours. “But that also means you belong to me. I will kill you and myself if you ever try to leave me.”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and you felt his cocks twitch at your words. His lips crashed into yours in a sloppy, heated kiss, all teeth and tongue, as if he was trying to devour you whole. The kiss broke only when he pulled back to latch onto the side of your neck that was still unmarked, his teeth grazing your skin before sinking in, marking you with more bruises that would be visible for days. And then, with a snap of his hips, he thrust both cocks fully inside you.

The stretch was overwhelming, the sensation of being so utterly full making you sob with pleasure. He didn’t give you time to adjust, his pace punishing as he pounded into you, each thrust harder and faster than the last. It was as if he were releasing all the pent-up anger from the week you had avoided him, taking out his frustration on your body. But you welcomed it, craved it even. You’d always loved the bite of pain with your pleasure, always been a bit of a masochist for it.

Your moans mixed with cries of pleasure, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. It was loud, lewd, and unmistakable, and you knew anyone within earshot would know exactly what was happening. But the thought only fueled your desire for him, making you arch against him, desperate to take him even deeper.

You felt another orgasm building, coiling tight in your core as one of Leviathan’s cocks hit your sweet spot with each thrust, while the blunt tip of the other bumped against your cervix, making you see stars. The sensations were overwhelming, your mind going hazy as you babbled incoherently, slurred pleas and moans spilling from your lips.

Leviathan’s eyes were glued to your face, watching every expression, every reaction. The sight of you—completely fucked out, cock-drunk and lost in pleasure—sent a surge of smug satisfaction through him. He moaned loudly, the sound almost desperate as he lifted your legs, pressing your knees against your chest, and somehow, impossibly, drove even deeper inside you.

You wailed as another orgasm tore through you, your cunt clenching and throbbing around him, the pleasure almost too intense to bear. He whined at the sensation, his own pace faltering as he neared his release. With a final, forceful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you and came, his hot seed flooding your cunt. The feeling of him filling you, marking you from the inside out, made you moan weakly.

He panted heavily as he finally stopped cumming, his breath ragged as he slowly pulled out, even as you whimpered from the overstimulation. Cum leaked from your thoroughly used cunt, trailing down to your ass as he admired the state he’d left you in.

For a moment, he just looked at you—as if memorizing every mark, every bruise, every inch of you that he’d claimed. Then, with surprising gentleness and a now adorable flush on his face, he picked you up, holding you close to his chest. He carried you to his tub and he climbed in, laying down with you on top of him, his arms wrapped securely around you as he pulled a soft sheet over both of you.

You snuggled closer against his chest, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion washed over you. The romance between you two was never going to be pure, never going to be simple. It was twisted, dark, and even dangerous—but it was real. You belonged to each other, and that was enough.

You would do anything to keep him because Leviathan was finally yours. And really, this was the best outcome you could have hoped for. Now, you didn’t have to go through with your darker plans of somehow knocking him out and trapping him somewhere. You only hoped he took you seriously about never leaving, because you truly would kill him if he tried. He belonged to you, after all.

[imagineimagineimagine]

Of Six People, Three Must Pay A Price (Jingliu x reader)

"There used to be a statue of you here..." Jingliu noted silently as she gracefully walked through the bustling market street.

Even while wearing a heavy blindfold, Jingliu moved with complete confidence and grace; never once stumbling or colliding with another person.

Returning to The Xianzhou Luofu after all this time was bring back many forgotten memories for the old forgotten Sword Champion. While many were just mere flashes to days gone by, a small handful were memories so clear, (so precious), that for a moment she could almost forgot where she was; and what she had done.

No matter which type of memories they were however, all the of them included you.

'The Shield Of The Alliance'

Many centuries ago, everyone in the Alliance knew about the (man/woman) who held that title. But to her, you would always simply be (Your/Name); the childhood friend she had grown up, and the (man/woman) she had fallen in love with.

Once when you were both still children, Jingliu wondered why you decided against learning how to wield a weapon like she and the other trainees were doing. And even while wrestling with madness that Mara-sickness brought, Jingliu could still remember the answer that you gave her that day.

"Honestly? It's cause I think there more than enough people on this ship who are learning how to fight. But to really give people hope again, what everyone really needs right now is a protector. A...shield that will keep them safe."

Naturally there were people who mocked you for that. Afterall, how where you supposed to fight the abominations of Plague Author with just a shield?

But no matter what they said you always stood tall. While the others were busy fighting, you were the one who made sure that they would all get back home alive.

And no one dared to mock you again after you had managed to singlehandedly holdoff an attack from the Reignbow Arbiter.

Most people if they heard that story would have called you a liar. But thousands of ships had born witness to that awe-inspiring moment, and thousands more were saved because of your actions.

You and Jingliu fought side by side for hundreds of lifetimes. And the things the two of you did became the stuff of legend.

But now, her beloved was forgotten by the world. Hidden away from everyone as though they were some shameful secret from Luofu's past. (And all because of your connection to her.)

Your place among the honored dead was another thing that she had robbed you of.

When the Mara inside her body became too much for her to bear, Jingliu went on a rampage. She massacred the Cloud Knights under her command and everyone else in sight. There was a reason why she was known as the Sword Champion. Her skills with the blade were unparalleled, and anyone sent to stop her would've died a fool's death.

And so, the task was left to the only people who did stand a chance; (Your/Name) and Jing Yuan.

For hours the three of you fought, and you and Jing Yuan did everything you could to take Jingliu down without killing her. But when (Your/Name) hesitated for just a single moment, it was more than enough time for Jingliu to strike.

With expert precision, her blade tore through your chest and came out your back. And it was only the spray of your blood landing on her face that gave Jingliu a moment of clarity; as she awoke to the horror of what she had done.

As she stood frozen, you used the last of your strength to wrap your arms around Jingliu, and then she heard you tell to Jing Yuan to finish it.

Look over your shoulder, she saw the pained expression on her student's face before it was replaced with grim determination. And with the Thunder Lord having been summoned, the world became a sea of thunder.

Jingliu closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around you as the end approached. She knew she didn't deserve forgiveness for all the lives she had taken, nor did she deserve the comfort of your embrace.

But when you tightened your hold on her, and said one last "I love you", Jingliu closed her eyes and whispered it back.

That day should have been the end for the two of you, but purely by accident, you saved her one last time.

A life time of being a protector had engrained it into your body to protect others first. Entirely unconsciously, you shifted slightly so that your back was turned towards the on-coming attack. You bore the full brunt of the attack's power, while Jingliu, (though battered and broken), survived.

For centuries there on, Jingliu journeyed from planet to planet; attacking everything and everyone in sight. She became adrift in the galaxy, and now without you there to ground her, she was now entirely consumed by the Mara-sickness.

For centuries Jingliu spiralled out of control; spending whole decades as something no better than a rabid beast. The Mara-sickness was all consuming, and it made it impossible for her to think or remember who she truly was. It was only the flashes of your time together that gave her any peace.

But slowly she found a way. Somehow over the years she managed to regain just a tiny bit of control over her fractured mind. She knew it wouldn't last long however, so before she lost herself to the madness once again she returned to the Loufu.

Of six people, three still needed to pay a price.

And Jingliu was one of them...

Once her business was taken care, she would pay the price for everything she had done to you.

She only hoped that you could forgive her...

[nayatarot777]

Quick Messages From Spirit • 3-Card-Pull

If you’d like a personal 6-card-pull, then feel free to purchase one through my Etsy shop! Full email/audio readings can be found on this pinned post here. I’m trying to slowly move the method of purchasing my readings to a much more structured and easy-to-use platform that showcases reviews, breakdowns of my readings, etc - all in one place. Many thanks! 🫶🏾

• Pile One •

9 of Swords

Queen of Swords

King of Swords

You’re in deep mental turmoil because of a deep imbalance between your masculine and feminine mind. There are many ideas, thoughts, and opinions that you’re swaying to and from extremes with. What you need to work on right now is that you need to find a way out of this mental limbo that you’re in. You’re only experiencing this because you’re refusing to trust your own judgements so, in a way, you’re causing this mental turmoil for yourself. You need to gain clarity and what you actually think and stick to it. Don’t flip flop and don’t go back on your personal opinions and beliefs. Write down your opinions if you need to and act on them. Speak your truths once you figure out what your truths are.

• Pile Two •

8 of Wands

Death

The Lovers

This energy is either representative of the recent past, present, or near future.

There’s something here about very fast movement towards a permanent ending of something. Most likely a connection to someone else (a romantic relationship more than anything, but it can definitely be a deep platonic relationship too). I’m feeling an ending that you did not see coming. However, every death moment is followed by a rebirth, and what’s rebirthing itself is some form of true and genuine love. Specifically for yourself. This shocking communication has the purpose of pushing you into an ending that was going to happen inevitably. The Grim Reaper just came through and sped up the process so that you didn’t waste any unnecessary time drawing this out. This connection to this person was energetically dead already. The actual death of the connection just hadn’t manifested into reality yet. This was a push from the universe to really get the ball rolling in your life again, although it may not feel like it.

• Pile Three •

Page of Pentacles

Justice

10 of Cups

You’ve been in a time period of learning how to manage something in relation to your practical world - money, your daily routine, self-care, etc. The truth about your life in general seems to be setting in, and I feel like you’re realising that what you thought would make you happy is only going to give you a false sense of happiness. There’s a completion to some type of hopes and wishes that you have - not necessarily because you’ve achieved them, but because your perspective on them is changing. You’re really looking at the earthly things that you’ve been lead to believe will make you happy and you’re seeing that they’re less significant in comparison to other things. To other things that’ll truly align with who you are truly and in actuality. This seems to be an awakening of your higher mind in relation to what life has to offer - which is way more than what can be seen and felt.

[morganas-pendragons]

ease | celebrimbor

honest to god, I got this concept in the shower and it would not leave me alone. the prompt was found in the depths of the celebrimbor x reader tag (disclaimer: I am not a Tolkien reader, but I did grow up watching the movies and have done some research into the Silmarillion as I've been watching ROP) and this was born.

I've just found out some of the fates of these characters and I kid you not... I have a full fledged idea for a Celebrimbor/OC fic if my brain keeps this up

set during s2 of ROP, light spoilers ahead

prompt is here / this reader is a half-elven female who is gifted with magic. like I said, I am new to writing for this verse, so please be gentle.

***

You don't remember much about how you ended up in Middle Earth. There are glimpses, sweet fragments of memories that surface every now and again, but that is simply all they are. Glimpses of a time that has long come and gone.

Glimpses of who you were gone with it, like the receding tides of the ocean drifting further and further away.

The one thing you do remember with astounding clarity is your arrival to Eregion. You remember the front gates and how tired you were, and more importantly, you remember Celebrimbor. His complete and utter astonishment at your arrival was puzzling.

You didn't figure out why until later.

"Forgive me, but my healer tells me you have difficulties with remembering where you came from," He's standing in front of you where you sit in the healer's chambers of Eregion. You're surprised that they even let you in. Maybe he took pity on you. "Your injuries are minimal given how long he believes you were out in such conditions. Given your physical attributes, I would say you are at least Elvish. That would explain some of this. Do you remember your name?"

You didn't. The only things you had to remind you of who you were was the cloak around your shoulders and the circlet in your hair. A fine thing, crafted from what Celebrimbor later told you was pure silver.

"No... no, I don't." You shake your head and wrap your arms tightly around yourself. He can't help but soften. You seem very lost. Celebrimbor is not one to take in lost souls, but there is something about you that draws in rapt fascination, and he is not willing to turn you away. "But you were kind enough to take me in. Why did you do that?"

"You are no threat upon us. Now come. Let me introduce you to the great kingdom of the Elven smiths."

He extended his arm to you hesitantly. You found yourself taking it, staring up at him through a curious gaze as he dove into the history of Eregion.

Weeks passed. You noticed the longer you were present in Eregion and in the forges that Celebrimbor was very particular about who was allowed to remain in his presence for long. There were his smiths, and his servants, but there were very few who were truly allowed to know him on a more intimate and vulnerable level.

You found yourself wondering why.

On a quieter day in Eregion's forges, you venture out of your room in search of Celebrimbor. Most of the staff is familiar with your presence by now. You've heard the whispers. They wonder how a forsaken Elf has managed to find her way into their King's good graces after such a short amount of time.

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd arrive. Come. I have something to show you." Celebrimbor greeted. You followed him around the edge of the forge to a table in the center of the room where a familiar silver circlet sat. Your eyes widened. You had been wondering where it went. "I was given enough moonstone from a recent discovery to restore your circlet and add a singular gem to the center. What do you think?"

Again the eyes and ears are drawn to the pair of you. You can feel their questions burning through the air: Why her? Why is she in his good graces? What does a forsaken elf have to give to the King of Eregion and the Master Smith?

"Might we have a moment in private?" You ask. There is no hesitation in his response. Celebrimbor dismisses his smiths, and in mere minutes, the two of you are alone. He seems perfectly content to be with you where no other eyes can see. "I don't understand. We've only just met, and I don't even know who I am, but here you are reforging and creating something so beautiful for a stranger," You pick up the circlet with delicate fingers, turning it over to gaze at the gem in the center. It's a very delicate design that incorporates much of the Elvish culture within it. "Why?"

There's a beat of silence that you interpret as apprehension. Answering this question requires a certain sense of vulnerability that he so often shies away from.

What he does instead surprises you.

''Because," Celebrimbor's voice drops to a whisper as he settles the delicate circlet in your hair, and you can't help but smile at how gentle it is. "You are.. different."

That's all he leaves you with. You're left to wonder what about you is different. What about you puts him so at ease.

***

You know something has changed when you start to have premonitions of a tall, regal Elvish man with blonde hair calling himself Annatar. You watch Celebrimbor look on in complete and utter fascination of the glory that stands within his Forge. They're talking about more rings. Rings for Dwarves and Men.

Rings just like the three Elvish ones you had helped name. You'd been privy to their creation and had overseen the preparations yourself with Halbrand. This Annatar... That is not Halbrand, and he is certainly not someone you'd trust.

Not after Galadriel's warning.

Celebrimbor had not told anyone outside of Galadriel, Elrond and The High King of your origins. What little the two of you could come up with about them. All the five of you are aware of is that you hold a great power with magic that brings the skill of healing and persuasion of any life form, and that you fell to Middle Earth within its vast oceans and found yourself destitute mere miles away from Eregion.

"It's almost like your coming was a sign."

Your visions turn out to be correct, much to your horror. Annatar calls himself Celebrimbor's partner and again urges the need for creation of more rings. It's suspicious. Part of you wonders why he is so insistent upon more rings when just the rings for the Elves has proven to be more then enough.

It saved them from having to leave Middle Earth.

After Annatar's brief disappearance, you find yourself lingering in your chambers with your circlet poised in your hands as you internally fight through all the evidence you have lingering in your head. Celebrimbor doesn't know what to make of it, and neither do you.

That turns out not to be your concern once you see him trudging past your bedroom, muttering to himself in Sindarin as he attempts to massage his shoulder with his hand.

"Celebrimbor?" You call, mindful to call quietly so that his smiths and the staff do not hear you. He always hears you. Always has, always will. "Are you alright?"

His aspect says one thing, but his eyes say another. "There is always tension that builds within the muscles and tendons of the body after working vigorously in the forge. I am just stiff. It is not a concern you need to bother yourself with-"

You raise a brow at his veiled attempt to console you. It doesn't work. Glancing over your shoulder, you quickly follow on his heels to his chambers where you slip inside just before he can shut the door.

He freezes. The two of you are alone. Properly alone.

"This is quite.." You falter in search of the right word. "If anyone knew I was in here, it would arouse suspicion. I can tell you're in pain. We both know that you cannot alleviate that on your own." You pause to interject, "Only if you truly want the help. I would be happy to serve."

Realization dawns in his eyes. Neither of you are properly aware of how close you really are to each other, much less the fact that your hand is pressed against his heart. It flutters under your touch.

He's nervous.

Your creased brow softens when Celebrimbor winces again at the turn of his head, and your eyes focus on his neck. "I am in a great amount of pain," He confesses quietly. It's quite a feat for him to be so willing to be vulnerable with you. Especially when you have yet to see him ask for help from anyone else, including Galadriel or Gil-Galad. "And I would be much appreciative of the help."

Celebrimbor would never admit it out loud, but something swelled within him at the sight of your smile as you rushed back to your chambers to gather the oils you had stored there. He had come to care for you a great deal. That was dangerous. There was too much at stake with his House and his past... A past that he would rather never speak aloud for fear of having to truly relive it.

"You'd be more at least if you lie down," You remark softly, laughing as his eyes snap open in alarm. "The oils only work with skin contact. Are you okay with that?"

It takes him a moment to realize what you're doing: You're both asking for his consent, and you're giving him the opportunity to say no. It's just another thing that draws him to you.

You turn away to grant Celebrimbor a modicum of privacy while you prepare yourself and the oils you brought. By the time you turn around, you nearly drop the vials. You should have assumed he'd have scars. That there would be old burns and far more muscle that he could hide under those robes.

The only piece of clothing he was wearing covered very little.

"Celebrimbor," You whisper. He cannot help the shiver that runs down his body when your fingers come into contact with his spine. It has been centuries since he had last allowed himself to be touched, and to be touched in such an intimate and positive way was foreign. "Are you in pain?"

You already know the answer to this question. He lays down on the bed and tucks his hands under his forehead. There's several moments of silence that pass before you hear him murmur, "I have been in pain for quite a long time, nin tinu. There has only been one thing that alleviates it."

The Sindarin that rolls off his tongue rings clear in your head. My star.

"What eases your pain, My Lord?"

Your oiled fingertips, doused in lavender oil, have just made contact with his shoulders when he answers: "You. It has been you from the moment you entered my gates, and it will be you for however long you remain here, if you wish to remain here in Eregion with me."

You mull over his words as your fingers travel his skin. You mark your touch with firm yet gentle presses against the valleys of his back, dragging your fingers across raised scars that arouse much curiosity within you. Celebrimbor melts into the bed beneath you as he allows himself to absorb a touch he had not realized he craved so deeply for an entire lifetime.

"You have introduced me to such a peace since I have been here. A peace that comes from being in the presence of people who truly care about you, of people who truly want the best for you. That's why you have not told anyone of my heritage. That is why you keep me so close to your side. To protect me." Feeling emboldened, you bend your head to lay a gentle kiss at the space between his shoulder blades. Your ministrations have had their desired effect, because the moment you dig your fingers into where he'd been trying to massage earlier, it elicits a low groan from his chest. "Never has this destitute elf felt such peace as I haven learning how to love from you. I would be honored and privileged to remain in Eregion with you."

He's thankful in that moment that his face is hidden. Celebrimbor grimaces as tears prick the back of his eyes, blurring the sight of the blankets beneath him. He'd never experienced something as trivial as being loved in such a gentle, genuine manner.

"Dorth... nev na nin."

Again it rang clear as day. You were realizing the longer that Celebrimbor spoke in the Sindarin tongue that you were most definitely familiar with it.

He's asking you to stay with him. Permanently.

"Roll onto your back," You whisper. He complies with ease, showing you a stunning shade of hazel in the eyes that look back at you. "I-"

It's right there on the tip of your tongue as fingers stained with lavender oil linger right at the hair on his temples. You know you've loved him for a while. It's not the hesitation in confession, it's in his response.

His lips part of their own accord as you bend your head to press your forehead against his own. You both want to kiss the other, and badly, but this act alone is intimate enough.

"Don't say it. Not yet." His breath fans over your face as he shudders, eyes flickering upward to meet yours through the hair that veils your face. "Just let me..."

Celebrimbor parts your hair to tuck it behind your ear and lifts his head just enough to graze his lips against yours. It's barely a kiss, more the ghost of a kiss then anything, but the way it puts your body at such ease speaks more then a real kiss could've.

You're laughing when you part. He doesn't know why. What Celebrimbor does know is that the stiffness in his muscles is gone, replaced by an inexplicable warmth he's never quite felt before.

The shade of your eyes has been illuminated by a silver the same color of the jewel in your circlet, which is now glowing from where it sits upon your head.

He'll have to question that later.

"Why are you laughing? It's quite inappropriate to laugh in such a circumstance-"

You press your fingers to his lips. Celebrimbor is blushing so hard you're sure that his cheeks will stay that color for the rest of the night.

"If you wanted to get unclothed in front of me to have me touch you, all you had to do was ask."

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

in the sombre season

Old Deuteronomy knows what must be done - knows there is a lesson to be learned - but he is old now. Old and tired. But Jemima is not. Posting my piece from the @namingofcatszine, in which I participated in as a guest writer. Thank you to everyone on that project for your hard work and dedication to getting everything off the ground and making this a wonderful experience.

Cats, skittish creatures as they were, were not easy to regroup when splintered. Easy to startle and easy to offend were not the most practical traits of cat kind, Deuteronomy had to admit, but he knew as surely as sun turned to moon, they would return. Ruffled and put out, surely, dignity barely balancing on its knife’s edge, but eventually they would come back, heads high and with more put-upon nonchalance dripping from their jaws than they knew what to do with.

All it took was a bit of patience, and if Deuteronomy had developed an abundance of anything in his centuries of astral existence, it was patience.

The silence in the clearing is loud; it crawls beneath the Jellicle Leader’s skin and rings mockingly in his ears as they pulse with the sound of his own blood. As a younger cat, he had hated the quiet - it was a lonely, sobering thing that opened too much of an opportunity to consider things he could not even begin to understand. He much preferred the hustle and bustle of everyday life, and all the noises that came with it that managed to drown everything away. Anything, he had reasoned, for any semblance of distraction.

As he had aged, he grew to appreciate the quiet for what it was, and often sought out its incense tinged comfort to recentre the constant mental bombardment that had become his general state of mind; however, as it stretches on, he finds much of his previous distaste returning to him. A soft voice restarts its murmuring in the back of his mind, words too faint and shapeless to discern, but noise too prominent to ignore.

In an effort to drown it out and fill the yawning, painful spaces that had torn within him, Deuteronomy finds himself pondering mirrors as the abstract fractals of his thoughts begin to settle themselves into a more discernible whole than the shards they had been reduced to. Strange things, they were, showing realities that were completely opposite of what was with such confidence and clarity, they managed to convince most who peer into their polished surfaces of an entirely different truth. 

All that to say mirrors were not sentient displays of what were, but could very easily become reflections of what could be. There was an old queen’s tale regarding how pieces of glass could alter what a cat’s memories were, confusing what they believed to be true with what actually was, though the Jellicle Leader was near certain their magic did not quite work in that way. Nevertheless, Deuteronomy had always felt perturbed looking at his reflection too long, though he could never put his paw on why. 

It was a similar feeling, in a roundabout way, to what seeing Grizabella again had felt like after so many years with another’s face in the foggy crevices of his mind. The opposing images warred with one another, but were far harder to reconnect into something that made sense; he vaguely recalled a young thing with gaps in her smile and a host of human pearls tangled in her ears, singing up at the moon and being met with silence. She had been full of life and full of herself then, with ribboned curls cascading down her back in the most peculiar fashion. Deuteronomy remembered that cat quite well, as though he had seen her galavanting upon stonework fences only moments ago; as it was, he remembered every cat that left - he could not forget them if he tried. 

This cat was a shell; a hungry, empty thing that had been left starving too long, standing on rickety legs that barely held her upright. Her face is gaunt and pale and scraped clean from the inside; not plump and healthy as it had once been. She wears even more human oddities on her person - stars plastered to her skin and feathers matted and drooped from her shoulders - yet remains…incomplete, in some way. There are still gaps in her mouth, but they are no longer shot through with the innocence of kittenhood. To see her like that, in broken, half formed fractals warring with her being before, caused the Jellicle Leader great pain in both mind and spirit. But as it was, there was nothing he could do about it. 

That the Glamour Cat had returned to them at all that evening had the potential to be surprising, and perhaps it was to the others who had barely given her a second thought when she’d flounced out on her heel, but Deuteronomy knew it more as a conclusion to a feeling that had been distantly brewing within him since the last lunar cycle. Her persistence in the face of adversity was equally unsurprising; Grizabella had never shied from things that were perhaps not in her best interest. It was admirable, in its way.

What had been surprising, Deuteronomy thought, was how her cries had echoed in the night, exactly as they once had before, but how - this time around - the moon had finally cried back.

Deuteronomy had reached out in response, electricity needling its way down his arm, but he could not reach. He cannot fix anything - the cracks are too large; she had walked away and left him behind. 

"Old Deuteronomy?"

The new voice suddenly at his side - stopping all others in its tracks - is small and delicate, but it is an old voice. One heard centuries ago on the edge of a breeze, and only yesterday under the web of her whiskers, covered in milk. It carries innocence in its purest form, but weighed heavily with a weariness that should never touch anycat so young. Deuteronomy knows it before he even catches the sugarcane tendrils of her scent in the air - not the first cat to arrive, he notes distantly as shadows swim at the edges of his vision, but the first to return.

"Hello, Jemima,” he greets her with fondness and warmth. “Are you enjoying the Ball?"

The queenkitten is wide eyed, appearing suddenly as though the outlines of her being blurred between this life and the next. Her perchant for confliction tinged oddity reminded the Jellicle Leader much of himself at that same age, or so he had been told, existing in a world that was always on the cusp of elsewhere. Wherever it was, Deuteronomy still had not determined for certain. He likely never would.

Jemima, truly in her grandfather’s fashion, completely ignores his query in favour of her own curiosities. "I have a question."

"I may have an answer for you."

Jemima crawls carefully up the tire, but stops just shy of sitting on his level and instead settles with her chin perched firmly on his knee. Her expression is serious and severe, contemplating her words before they escape from her and disappear. 

"Why is everyone so upset?"

Deuteronomy tilts his better ear towards her, curiosity piqued. "Upset?" 

"About…" Jemima purses her muzzle, pointing up. "About her."

“Ah,” he affirms, patting her back. “A troublesome question indeed.”

“Yes,” Jemima agrees. She stares up at him from beneath her lashes, laying impatiently in wait while Deuteronomy considers. 

"Sometimes," Deuteronomy begins, attempting to wrangle the complexities of life into something tangible. Normally a simple task, being as it were that he - in some way or another - had lived longer than the majority of the cats under his care combined. But he was brought to a pause with this particular conundrum. It was a simple answer, in theory, but it was not an easy thing at all. "The way things are, are not the way things should be."

"Why?"

Deuteronomy cannot help the chuckle that escapes him. Why indeed. "A good question; why do you think?"

"I don't know," Jemima responds, too quickly, the tail edge of a kitten's whine serving as a sobering reminder of her age. Though she remained, at most times, remarkably composed for a cat so young, she was still carefully tiptoeing through her days like a newborn deer, trying to figure as much as she could in the little time she had. All kittens - regardless of circumstance - were the same flesh and blood beneath their fur. "That's why I asked you."

"Ruminate a moment."

Jemima obeys, furrowing her brow. "She’s…a bad cat?"

Deuteronomy shakes his head, strangling the thought in its tracks. "There isn't such a thing,"

"There isn't?"

Deuteronomy thinks for a moment, reflecting upon the weight his words would carry. He considers what he has seen and what he has not; what he knew and what he never truly would. They are at a stalemate. "Not in these cases."

“Then why?” the queenkit asks again, drawing on her well of patience as though she were the put upon adult rather than the other way around. 

Deuteronomy ponders the question further. “Oftentimes, in life, cats pick the wrong path to walk along, even if it seems like the right one at first, and make mistakes along the way. Some mistakes…are larger than others. Some mistakes are very hard to forgive.” Deuteronomy sighs. “Some cannot be forgiven at all.”

“Even if they say sorry?”

“Even if they say sorry, yes.”

"I don't like that," Jemima mutters, tugging absently at her collar. "It makes my insides feel bad."

"You've a better heart than most, then,” Deuteronomy soothes, stroking her head to ease the agitation away. He feels it tingle up his spine; settle unpleasantly at the base of his skull - it prompts a new coil of thought. 

“When cats believe or feel certain things about one another - even if they know nothing at all - they will dig holes,” he continues after a moment. “The bigger the feelings, the bigger the holes. Sometimes, they get so big and so deep, by the time they realize what they’ve done, they cannot crawl back out again. Sometimes, they even forget why they dug them in the first place.”

Deuteronomy drops his chin to catch Jemima’s attention. "Do you understand?"

Jemima wrinkles her nose and shakes her head, but there was a sheen in the cloudy blue of her eyes that suggested otherwise. She blinks one at a time; switching from one mind to another. Deuteronomy offers the same in turn; they reach the same, unsatisfying conclusion. 

“It is wise,” he says softly instead, half to the wind. “To avoid digging holes at all in the first place.”

They watch together as the others slowly begin to reconvene in the clearing, just as Deuteronomy knew they would. Jemima's ears perk up when two identical shadows slink into the clearing, followed very closely by the pale reflection of the lily white moon, fur strung through with diamonds. He feels the joy pulse through her body at the sight of them; how her little mind in its tangled knots reaches for their own as though one and the same. They are the catalyst centres of all things this evening, it slowly dawns on the Jellicle Leader, yet carriers of none; just as the carrier of all things had spilled her bearings to the ground in the dark, but had left empty handed. They are the same, even as they are wholly different. There is nothing - Deuteronomy thinks, tinged with despair - to fuse them all together. 

But there could be, the voice murmurs through his ear. You just need to show them.

Deuteronomy is very old - as such, his mind turns its circles far slower than it once had many moons ago. Still, the idea comes to him in a weak flash. Just a spark, but enough to kindle something tangible to flame. That was it. The pieces were all there, but they had no synergy - no reason for connection. The mirror was in shards, but the reflections remained, splintered but fixable with the right dedication. 

"Come, Jemima.” Deuteronomy motions for her and she turns back to him, whiskers perking with interest. “I have something for you. It'll help."

The tendrils are gentle and fragile things; the older Deuteronomy gets, the weaker they are. Someday, perhaps even someday soon (though he is hesitant to admit it), he will no longer be able to control the magical abilities he was blessed with. Perhaps they will leave him as everything else had, but in the meantime, they were just the things he needed. 

"What is it?" she whispers, touching the soft of her temple with curious claws. Deuteronomy manages a smile, hoping it is enough to encourage what must be done. He hopes it does not hurt her; understands that, as most acts of cosmic disturbance and forgiveness, it likely would. And he hopes, above all, as he notes the looming figure of the disgraced in his peripheral, that a small amount of discomfort is worth the far greater pain she will help him heal.

That's all that remains, then: hope.

"You'll see,” Deuteronomy whispers right back, feeling altogether older than he ever has been, and younger than he ever remembers being. “Now, off with you - it's time to begin anew."

[suppose-i-was-worm]

Iceberg Siren pt 4

The first thing Danny did after Jason stepped aside to let him in was point at Jason’s chest.

“Eeeeey, chest scar buddies!”

Jason looked down at his scars, and then back up again at Danny, whose eyes had traveled farther down, noticing the slowly bleeding wound on Jason’s side.

“Oh! Damn, that’s gotta sting. Do you want some help with that?”

Which is how Jason found himself in the bathroom with Danny chattering away on his knees in front of him, in a vastly different context with how Jason would prefer Danny on his knees.

Bad brain.

“And really, you can’t keep running around with that corrupted ectoplasm in you- it’s stunting your growth! Should I pull it out?”

Jason looked down, straight into Danny’s wide, hopeful eyes. Taken by a sudden fit of brain fog, he shrugged, despite the fact that the other man was stitching his side closed.

“Sure, I guess?”

Danny smiled, big and brilliant, before tying off the last of the stitches.

“Great! Let me-” he hopped up, guiding Jason down to sit on the edge of the tub. “This shouldn’t hurt much, but fair warning, I’ve never done this before.”

Jason nodded dumbly as Danny pulled off his bloody gloves and discarded them before lifting one of Jason’s wrists to his face.

He couldn’t help the goosebumps that prickled his skin as he felt Danny’s warm breath ghost across his pulse point, nor could he help jumping as Danny sunk his teeth into that self-same pulse point.

Something in him kept him from yanking his arm away, something hungry and longing for freedom.

Danny pulled away after a few moments, wiping something dark from his lips with the back of the hand not holding Jason’s arm. Jason was pretty shocked to notice the blue eyes that endeared him so much were, for a few seconds, a toxic Lazarus green.

And then the blue was back and Danny was sticking out his tongue with a grimace.

“That was rank, Red. You should find a better source.”

Jason felt dizzy, and in his last moments of clarity, watched Danny’s face morph into one of panic before the darkness overtook him.

~~~

Danny fluttered nervously around Red Hood as the man groaned awake- he’d managed to catch him as he slumped forward and carry the man to the couch, but other than that, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

Red wasn’t dead, at least, not completely. It was like he started forming a core and just stopped halfway through. Probably due to the corruption in the ectoplasm that helped him form a core.

“What hit me?”

Danny chuckled thinly and helped Hood sit up.

“Uh, me? Technically? I didn’t realize you needed an extra boost of clean ecto when I took out the bad stuff, but congratulations, you’re now a- whatever the hell I am, I guess. There was never a consensus on the naming.”

The other man looked at him sharply.

“I don’t have the meta gene.”

“No, no, it’s not about being a meta, I just picked up the term when I got here. I don’t think you’ll have powers quite as extensive as mine, your introduction to ectoplasm was a lot different, but we’ll have to see.”

He was trying very hard not to word-vomit, but Hood looking at him with those pretty cobalt eyes and that sharp-jawed face just made his brain buzz like thousands of spectral bees.

“Aliens?”

“No, although I’d love to meet one! More like-” Danny paused, parsing through his own words before he said them. “Glorified lab accidents? Or, not really, in your case, but essentially.”

He realized that didn’t really sound better, but it seemed to make sense to Hood, who sat brooding on the couch. Was he supposed to call him Jason now, since they’d met out of masks?

Without thinking about it, he chirped an inquiring noise to get the other man’s attention.

“Please don’t tell me we’re part cricket.”

Danny laughed, less nervous since Jason was apparently joking around with him now.

“No, just prone to vocalizations. Can I call you Jason?”

“Sure, Cricket.”

~~~

Clockwork smiled as the last few pieces to his plan fell in to place- Princess Danielle was starting on a new adventure, and their young King had finally found a reason to live after the torture inflicted upon him by his parents.

All of the Infinite Realms had noted that the king was unhappy, trapped in the land of the dead with no haunt or home- several of them had come to Clockwork, and together they had devised a plan.

A dimension familiar enough for Phantom to slip in unnoticed, but removed enough to not need his particular brand of heroism.

A dimension that was doomed without intervention from someone far more powerful than their eyes had ever seen.

Danny might not notice, but his very presence was protection for this dimension, sating his Obsession without endangering what was left of his life- Clockwork had to work hard to find this place. A place with enough factors leading toward the emergence of a strong and confident King, not held back by the sins of his genetic donors.

Clockwork would call himself Danny’s parent before he would refer to the Fentons as such.

~~~

Dick knew this was the place. Well, he knew it was the Iceberg Lounge, that was a no-brainer, but he also knew that this is where Jason’s mystery friend worked.

They hadn’t managed to figure out what the target did here, but Robbie Malone was about to find out.

He strode in, all quiet confidence, nodding at the bouncers as he made his way to the VIP lounge. The Malone family had a table near the balcony, with perfect sightlines to the door and the stage below. Stephanie was already there, dressed to the nines.

“Cousin! I didn’t know you were coming!” Dick leaned down to kiss Steph on both cheeks, as dictated the Malone family cover.

“The next act is supposed to be on soon- I hear the singer is divine.”

Sitting down elegantly, Dick signaled a waiter for a drink, and then turned to look down on the stage. A willowy blond woman was finishing her song and bowing to the crowd. There was a polite round of applause- until the young woman left and the next singer appeared.

The applause was thunderous throughout the lounge. The young man on the stage held up a hand, and the applause stopped instantly.

He chuckled with a deep voice, and leaned close to the mic.

“You all like my dress that much?”

Dick would admit it was a lovely dress, a dark blue flapper style dress with an unusual plunging neckline.

Stephanie kicked him under the table, tilting her head down towards the singer. Ah, so he was the target.

The music started, and moments later the singing did, too. A smooth baritone voice, crooning out a song. Deciding to listen to the lyrics instead of chat with Steph, he was quite shocked at the contents of the song.

It was a beautiful song, but it spoke of heartbreak and betrayal, longing and fear.

It made Dick sad for the person who wrote it. By the end, the club had long gone silent, entranced by the song. Some patrons were surreptitiously wiping their eyes on their napkins.

Dick turned back to Steph, who was watching the singer with sharp eyes.

“Cousin?”

Steph glanced up at him, none of her cover’s light in her eyes.

“He’s got bad scars on his chest. You can see them under his dress when he leans forward from this angle.”

He looked, and sure enough, there was the tell-tale puckering of skin, right underneath the line of the dress. It would take a trained eye to notice it, but Dick and Steph were nothing but trained eyes.

Danny Nightingale, Singer at the Iceberg Lounge, was more than he seemed.

~~~

Damian noticed that Jason had a bandage on his wrist first. Of course he was first to notice, he was the only blood son.

“What incompetence caused that, Todd?”

Jason, instead of getting angry, just looked down at his wrist and shrugged.

“Vampire cricket.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as he said it. Todd tended to be quick to anger, and being questioned would probably set him off. Much to Damian’s surprise, however, Todd’s eyes lit up with mischief.

“Then beg, Demon Brat.”

Damian would have attacked Todd if Father hadn’t swept by in that moment, handing him a file.

“Robin. Arsenal has brought a new member to the Titans. I expect you to zeta to the Tower and meet her as soon as you have finished reading her file.”

He opened his mouth to protest, and then thought better of it. Flipping open the file, he caught a glimpse of a young girl with dark hair and blue eyes, smiling cheerily at the photographer.

Phantom Unknown Civilian Alias. Claims to come from a place called the ‘Infinite Realms’- contact John Constantine or Justice League Dark for more information. Powers include Density Manipulation, Flight, Invisibility, and Construct Creation (green). She says she is looking for her brother, but will not disclose a name. Met Green Arrow on a roof in Star City, volunteered to be a superhero upon meeting Arsenal. Denied DNA sample.

[punkflower11]

Choose Your Own Adventure: Miles Morales - Part 3

Prev | Master List

————

“Okay, so what’s our story?”

Situated side by side, Hobie and Miles glared at the piece of wood before them; the only thing separating the pair and doom. Behind it, the single greatest trial either would ever encounter lay, patiently waiting.

Miles had dreaded this moment for weeks. But not even spider-man could evade the fate. 

Dinner. With his parents.

How ominous.

First, having Hobie and his Dad sit together in one room was definitely a mistake. Chances that the two would hit it off were so slim that you had to mentally squint just to imagine it. And unfortunately for Miles, the universe wasn't planning to break the laws of space and time any time soon.

There was no way he surviving tonight. It just wasn't possible.

Not to distract from his impending death, but Miles was slowly coming to the realization that he was also about to out himself to his parents, the funny part being that he didn't like Hobie. Ish.

See, that there was another thing.

Miles may have had a thing for Hobie back a few months shortly after the two had first met. Initially, he had thought the punk to be little more than disruptive, reckless, and frankly, a pain in the ass.

He loved every bit of it.

Enamored his distinct personality, Miles had became drawn to the other like a moth to flame (and in some ways that he'd rather not think about).

However the feelings had vanished almost as quickly as they arrived. With time, the clarity between his various affections for Hobie became blurred.

Sure there were times that Miles feelings for the other were a little less than platonic, but there were also others when he was certain that it felt like normal friendship and nothing more.

Either way, this was not something Miles was planning to poke around with, least of all tonight. Did Miles realize that he was probably sabotaging himself by asking Hobie, of all people to help him out?

Yeah. He did.

But it was fine. He was probably just overthinking it, and everything had actually been completely normal. Besides, everyone becomes helplessly infatuated with their best friend at some point, right?

…Right?

Yeah, Miles was beginning to panic.

“You're just asking me this now? That’s some pretty shite time management.”

“Well we need something, unless you just want to waltz in there unprepared!” Miles whisper-shouts.

He couldn’t just explain to his family that he had met his boyfriend while traveling through an alternate dimension whilst fighting multiples of his alter ego. If they hadn’t had a heart attack once they met Hobie then they'd definitely have after one hearing that.

And no, Miles hadn’t told his parents that he was Spider-Man. His dad was alive and that was all Miles could really ask for, no need to complicate things further. 

Miles knew what really awaited the punk at the event innocently disguised at a dinner. Spoiler alert: it wasn't just free food. In reality, it was a glorified interrogation; a setting in which his parents could finally lay into his mysterious 'Girlfriend', and in a seemly domestic environment. It was too perfect.

He felt slightly guilty subjecting an unsuspecting Hobie to the absolute shitstorm that awaited him beyond the door, but he also knew that the sooner they got the over with, the faster both their souls could be put to rest. Miles just hoped that Hobie was strong enough to make it through the night in one piece.

“Hey, what was that thing we talked about on the way?”

“You mean Miguel's ass?”

"The other thing."

"Don't piss yourself, I remember."

“Oh yeah? Then humor me.”

“'Don’t call your parents by their first names. Absolutely no swearing, which is not limited to', as you put it, 'sneaky British expressions.'" He recites.

“Fantastic. I should probably also warn you about-" Miles was cut off by Hobie's fist colliding with the door.

“Hobie!” The teen waves him off.

“You worry too much. Relax babe, we’ll be fine”.

The door swung open to reveal Miles’ father, who's gaze fell upon Hobie who was adorned in leather and numerous pieces jewellery.

“Who's this punk?” he asks, distaste evident in his tone. Welp. Now or never.

“He’s my boyfriend. Hobie.” The following silence is palpable. Miles can feel his insides turning.

“He's your what?” a stunned Jefferson parrots.

"Boyfriend. His name is Hobie."

"Hiya." Hobie waves.

“Is that you Miles?” A voice pips up from behind the officer’s shoulder. 

“Hey mom,” Miles gestures awkwardly to the teen at his right. “This is Hobie.” He watches his mother pause as she takes in the sight.

“It’s nice to meet you, come on in!” She pushes past Jefferson, ushering the teen inside. "You''ll have to excuse my husband. Miles left out a few details about you so he's just a little surprised."

Well wasn't that the understatement of the year.

To be fair, Miles had told his parents a perfectly normal amount of information about his 'girlfriend' he could manage without giving himself away. What was he supposed to tell them? Hey, so I'm actually dating an anarchist who wants abolish the police. Like you Dad. Yeah no.

In hindsight, it probably made all the difference but it was too late to change things now. Similar thoughts continued to circulate through his mind as the false lovers stepped inside the residence.

“Mom. I am begging you. Don't scare him off."

Miles wasn't sure of how much energy it took to genuinely frighten Hobie, but he figured that it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Miha. You have nothing to be worried about. He'll be fine, we won't hurt him too badly,” She tossed a casual wink in Miles' direction before returning to the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Hobie was busy looking at the wall to their left occupied by various picture frames. Expression softening, Miles moved to join him but half way through was confronted by his Rio who at present was carrying a large red tray.

“Here, take this to the table,” She orders him, pushing the dish into his arms. “And you,” Her eyes find Hobie. “Comes and help me flip the plantain.” The teen gives Miles a playful salute before joining Rio in the kitchen. Grumbling, Miles beings the trip to the dining table where he finds his is dad already seated.

“Mom, he just got here. Can't you give us a little space?” He calls out to her, exasperatedly setting down the dish onto the table.

“I don’t mind!" pipes Hobie from the stove just as Rio comes out to join Miles in setting the table.

“Hear that Miles? He doesn't mind.” She pats him on the shoulder before lowering her tone. "Also I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I wouldn't call Hobie a girl." She tells him wryly. Slightly panicking, Miles begins to laugh awkwardly.

"Ha. Yeah-no, I wouldn't either." Rio raises an eyebrow.

"Have anything you wanna tell me?"

Miles stiles. Hopefully never, his mind supplies, unhelpful.

At his silence, Rio shakes her head, expression fond. "No-we don't really have talk about it. But in case you’ve forgotten, I'm proud of you. Always.” A sudden wave of relief crashes over Miles. At hearing the sentiment he feels something warm swell in his chest.

"Thanks Mom, I appreciate it. Really."

"I would hope so. Now go join your Dad, he's been waiting patiently." True to her word, there he is situated at the diner table, glaring at Hobie from afar.

No doubt the man was already very concerned as to what Miles was seeing in such a person, but also that Hobie quite literally looked like he was about to jump him. He certainly had the build for it.

Hobie’s appearance wasn't very encouraging either. While Jefferson appreciated a strong display of personal expression, he wasn't so sure that he was as enthusiastic about someone who's personal expression screamed yo let's flip over that car.

In short, Jefferson thought that Hobie looked like trouble, and for his own piece of mind needed to make sure that his son wasn't seeing some sort of radical anarchist.

Where was Miles picking up all of these bad influences anyway? That girl Gwanda had already given him a bad vibe, but Hobie was a whole new level of shady.

"Hi." Miles smiles nervously. Jefferson inhales sharply.

"Look, anytime you'd like clear the air-" the cop is cut off by Rio and Hobie emerging from the kitchen carrying several pots.

"Jeff move your phone so I can put down the stew."

"Can't you just put it over there I'm trying to have a conversation with my-" The deathly look he got from his partner made any protests he had die in his throat.

He could reason with Miles later, but to do that he had to survive dinner first.

Soon, the four were seated comfortably at the table. Hobie next to Miles, Miles next to Jefferson, and Rio at the opposite end.

"Pass the beans, would you Miles?" Miles drops his fork and lifts the dish into his mom's reach. Meanwhile at the other end of the table, Jefferson clears his throat.

"So, Hobie," He addresses the teen. "How are..."

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not owning up to reporting my coworker?

I no longer work with the people in question, but I've been wondering if I should have done something differently. For clarity, I don't regret reporting my coworker at all, but some of the stuff he did afterward makes me wonder if I should have made it clear to him that I reported, rather than someone else. (Names are fake and ages are as close as possible)

Ad (M38), Le (M35), Ra (M61), and myself (F24) were all coworkers with Co (M28) as our direct manager. Ad and I never got along. He was rude, dismissive, and often yelled at me at work (an office job). The only other coworker Ad was rude to was Ra (who, along with being the oldest of the group, was not originally from the US which might have made a difference in how Ad acted towards him). The rest of our coworkers (all white American men) Ad was friendly and respectful to.

Le and I were having a discussion regarding work that Ra was doing without Ra in the room. Our jobs were technical and Ra often had a hard time, but he worked hard. Without warning, Ad inserted himself into the conversation and said, "His (Ra's) work looks like a five year old did it." I made it very clear that he went too far with that comment and he just doubled down. It was near the end of the day, Ra was already gone, and as I was leaving I stopped by Co's office and let him know what happened, as well as a few other things Ad had said about Ra that I can't remember at the moment. I hadn't previously complained about Ad's behavior towards me, but I didn’t like him being rude to Ra. I didn't hear anything else about this until a few weeks later, and this is where I'm not sure if I'm the AH:

Ad had stopped talking to me by this point because I had reported him breaking a (completely unrelated) rule to the security team. I heard through Le that Ad was complaining about his end-of-year performance review. Turns out Co told Ad directly that his interactions with Ra were unprofessional and Ad started blaming Ra for his bad performance review. (I don't blame Co for being direct here, he had A LOT going on in his life that I won’t get into.) Ad then proceeded to be even more rude to Ra until Ad finally went to a different team.

So, am I the AH for not owning up to being the one who went to Co? I didn't say anything to anyone about reporting Ad despite being pretty sure that he was taking petty revenge on Ra for reporting him. I was already on Ad's bad side, so him being more angry at me probably wouldn't have made a difference, but it might have made things easier on Ra. I also know that I'm biased against Ad, so I'm also interested in hearing y'all's opinion.

What are these acronyms?

[masterqwertster]

Ok don’t publish it if you don’t have to but man this weekend is bumming me right out with this “

Yeah, there is certainly some aggression going on against people wishing for resurrection because others find it a poignant narrative that a sacrifice can't be undone, that it lasts and has consequences, that it puts weight to the stakes. And they think that coming back to life after specifically doing something you know will 100% kill you cheapens sacrifice.

Personally, I think that being brought back after you willingly and knowingly and successfully gave your life for others tells a story of how much you're loved. It's your friends saying "Fuck that. You're going to live. We're all going to live. We'll keep dragging each other back until we can't anymore, so fucking be here and fight."

It also adds another level of desperation to be stronger, smarter, to not be caught like that ever again because who knows if you can get them back next time (and however many times you fail after that). Resurrections get harder ever time a person is brought back. This is part of what bit Scanlan's ass right before Bard's Lament: the Revivify didn't take, so the rest of Vox Machina brought in his daughter to call him back during the Resurrection (which he hated) and got the chance to be dicks about bringing him back with the dumb pranks, all of which led to setting Scanlan off. And sure, Bells Hells had that desperation to keep each other alive from the Bassuras fight, but that doesn't mean that the sentiment can't be further sharpened even when you've managed to steal back all the lives of your party members that she took.

Honestly, I think that just having Chet and FCG die against the Murder Machine of Otohan after Bells Hells specifically and successfully went to efforts to get stronger still ups the stakes even if both end up revived. "All our might and we still faced that loss. It would have been all of us if FCG didn't make that play. We still cannot face the enemy leadership head-on as we are. We must get stronger still."

And I really think there's some fun character development to be had in giving FCG a flesh body. Will he actually like what they've envied about the others? How does one handle a completely new body that they're grateful for (that they should be grateful for, otherwise they'd be dead) but is just so different from what they know? Yes, FCG had that last moment clarity that he was in fact already fully alive, but there's definitely some "alive in the flesh" things to explore.

And more faith to explore too. Like, did he get to meet the Changebringer and talk with her in the afterlife? The Raven Queen? Speaking of just being in the afterlife, what about meeting Eshteross again? The other members of the Division of Public Benefit that he killed?

Also, I'm not sure how big a fan I am of the heavy breakdowns that will happen if FCG isn't resurrected. Bells Hells is suffering pretty good as is and I'd like them to have some happiness inbetween all the Moon Bullshit. Conflict drives a story, but you need soft moments to wind it down between heavy moments.

Because truthfully, most of what you get from keeping FCG dead is a bunch of breakdowns in the party without it's most optimistic member who actually advocates for communication, which they all suck at for various personal reasons. And a push towards the Villain Arc path that, honestly, a few are walking just fine without FCG staying dead and/or can still be pushed further down it just by the fact that he decided to kill himself to save their asses when no one wants to let any of the others go.

I do think that as far as martyrdom goes, what FCG did took a nice step away from "giving my life because it's worth less than any one of theirs and I think dying for a cause will give me absolution for the people I rage killed" and into "giving my life because it will save them and I don't know what else to do that will save them." There are certainly posts that get into the distinction between those choices better than I have. Which is where I think the "best ending for FCG" idea comes from, as it happened under the "best" reasoning for FCG to martyr himself. And to a certain degree, people have decided that martyrdom was unavoidable for FCG or that he was just highly prone to it and this was a good time/way to do it.

Still doesn't change that a self-sacrificing character did in fact sacrifice themself, though. Or that it didn't have to be the end that FCG met.

And I understand to some degree how Everyone Comes Back to Life if You Try can feel like it undermines the stakes. Because if no one stays dead, what do you have to fear from walking into mortal danger? Everyone will be fine right? Which is wrong. There is still trauma in dying, even when you're brought back. The realization of mortality, the struggle to steal back a life when it's not just a quick prayer in the heat of battle. And the ever looming possibility that you do it right and it's still not enough to steal them back.

Also, from the wider in-the-game-world's perspective: Resurrection is rare as shit and only people with immense wealth, connections, and/or power even have a shot at it.

Even mechanically it's not easy. You have to mind time limits, expensive costs, body conditions, spell levels and slots, not to mention that the dice can always say no.

So yes, Bells Hells probably needs to go to less effort to Reincarnate FCG than they did to resurrect Laudna because all they're missing is components while they have the likes of Keyleth who kind of owe them for Moon Scouting and killing Otohan and should be able to provide.

[sylvies-chen]

I can smell the criticism of this finale from a mile away and can already see a few flooding in, and don’t get me wrong some are very valid (i.e. the pacing, because it was very fast like literally over in an instant and they managed those insanely tight pivots from one emotional beat to the next well given what they had but like… yeah it was too fast, I blame max)

but also straight up if I hear anyone else talking about how it was out of character for stede to stay with ed in the end I’m going to lose it!!!!

like NO, his character motivations did not completely disappear in that moment, because episode 7 was about showing how stede’s trauma leads him towards toxic masculinity, not how it’s his overarching goal!! I think maybe it would have made more sense to people if stede hadn’t been making those comments about his performance, like little jokey jokes of him lying about his contributions, seeking approval/praise, etc. but like… that’s not a sign that his shit behaviour from episode 7 still lingers in my opinion. it’s about how he still at the end of the day is just Some Dude who really wants acceptance in this community.

stede’s overarching goal going into piracy was community. he wanted to change things for the better and operate under a new work ethic. he wanted to build family, and though pirates have been able to do that under harsher, more traumatizing and ruthless circumstances, like izzy and ed, we see how the violent nature of their circumstances permeated their relationship for a long time and makes it very charged, perhaps not gaining true vulnerability and clarity until it’s too late. THAT WAS STEDE’S GOAL. he wanted to be a famous and celebrated pirate, yes, but he also wanted to change the game. he lost his way a little, but episode 7!stede was a phase.

because he came into it for fame and community, but he left knowing he’d helped his found family as much as he could, recognizing that zheng is a competent leader and that his teachings were going to carry on through his crew and on his ship. and he left for LOVE. that is the core of stede bonnet and I will never let all you grumpies and grouchies forget that.

[quailxcrossing]

7, 11, 19, 38- Etcetera! (B, D, or A!)

38, 4, 21, 12- Auï!

6, 1, 13, 28- Ruse!

HIIII PIXEL i am finally sitting to answer these I'M SO EXCITED thank you for the queestions :3

ETCETERA (i'll be doing Before as D/A are under comic revisions!)

7. What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling? For his childhood nostalgia; rubber staircases, the smell of Lysol, floor-length mirrors. he was a theatre/choir kid and even the slightest thing that can remind him of that is nostalgic

11.How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)? Absolutely pretend to understand, or just rolling with it and failing spectacularly. Etcetera misunderstands things a lot; either because he just straight-up wasn't focusing/listening, or something too fancy flew over his head. He'll sometimes ask them to come again with a "what huh?" but if the words are just jibberish again, so he'll try to manage with context clues! (icon by @/krembearry!)

19. What is their favorite number? 22! It's his birthday, he likes how the repetition of an even number feels, and he has a connection with his daughter that has made him like 22 even more

38. What memory do they revisit the most often?  Hard to say! He's got plenty! I wouldn't say Etcetera sits on one thing too much, he rotates through a lot of jumbled thoughts at any given time, he's got a memory that can't remember what he said 5 minutes ago but it will randomly pull up a scene he hasn't thought about in years and he'll be vividly replaying a day from 13 years ago. but he not much of a ruminator!

AUÏ

38. What memory do they revisit the most often?  Auï IS a ruminator. and i know for certain that the memory that he rolls around the most is the one of him leaving home- the one that I made a comic of the second half with Aria! its a much larger scene, with that comic being the tail end of it.

this is the memory that his mind likes to bring up when he is quiet, or whenever he feels so comfortable, or has a moment of clarity that needs to be dampened. he uses this memory to justify his abuse to himself, although he hasn't yet realized this exact moment was a direct infliction of his abuse. i mean to say, like, Auï believes this moment is what started his downward spiral and he deserved it because of that moment - instead of the truth, which is that his spiral and abuse started long before this day, and the reason he acted the way he did was because of it. AUGH

4. How easy is it to earn their trust? its not super easy! it took a while for him to trust Cian and Vega when he first met them, and he's still getting more comfortable with them day-by-day. The only reason he does trust them at all is because Turrie and Goat do, and he completely trusts those two. When they said Cian and Vega were okay, Auï was inclined to believe them. As for outsiders, he doesn't trust most's good intentions, although he would like to be able to, someday.

21. Why do they get up in the morning?  In a literal sense, Auï gets up and out of his room in the morning so Goat can sleep. He'd often want to do nothing more than lay there and rot, but if he sees his roommate is finally sleeping, he will move out of there so he doesn't wake him. the little guy is lucky to get 4 hours a night, he's extremely restless and a very light sleeper. goat desperately needs to take melatonin but he is even more sensitive to taking anything that will change his behavior. augh. ok hold on let me see if i can find an sketch in goat's gallery

goat has no idea lol

12. How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach? also speaking of goat, Auï probably just goes and whines at him. there's soooo many places Auï can't reach, he's the least flexible person on the planet. if goat isn't there, he just suffers- he's too embarrassed to ask anyone else

RUSE yayyyy

6. Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable? Immovable! and she is regularly miserable about that. she is very pessimistic about social change, although she is immensely passionate about it.

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do? not very long!! for her tired disposition, Ruse is quite active, and she likes new adventures and going out to do fun things. she's a party girl!! genuinely!! she likes exciting and social activities, even if she is pretty quiet and shy herself, and she doesn't like being in DANGER- but she doesn't want to just be sitting around! At least, she would like something to look forward to!!!

13. What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color? Ruse believes she looks best in the same colors as herself- black first, and then white, and orange. She is very particular about fashion, and really deeply loves putting together outfits from a variety of hues and styles- so I would be inclined to say she's correct. I do think she looks best in black, white, and orange! i think she looks great in anything though - I also think she looks very nice in navy, to bring out her eyes.

28. Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?  Ruse will always prefer the truth. She thinks lies are ridiculous- they're just a waste of time. What are you supposed to do with a lie? She used to be very strict about this, but is learning that a white lie can be used to placate situations, although she still thinks the truth would be more honorable and useful.

[hello-nichya-here]

Just watched final episodes of Buffy and my spuffy heart is insanely happy about Spike's speech in touched and how Buffy finally seems to understand just how much she means to him.

And you right, the Bangel kiss was so forced and Buffy basically told him to get out of her show 'cause she had a new man lmaoooo

Spuffy in "Touched" is on a whole other level of greatness. Everything about Spike's speech to Buffy is perfect.

For starters, Spike told off everyone for being absolute dicks to Buffy and daring to kick her out of her own home and wander through a completely apocalyptic Sunnydale by herself. Not wanting to go along with her plan was one thing, but stabbing her in the back like that was horrible - and Spike calling them a bunch of sad traitors was PERFECT (plus, him giving Giles a piece of his mind after the plot to kill him was so satisfying).

Spike is just so sweet to Buffy during the entire conversation - with the ocasional "You're insufferable for not believing how awesome you are" and "Want me to kill Faith for you? 'Cause I would totally kill Faith for you."

(Compared to the time Angel told Buffy to get out of his show because he had a new slayer girlfriend, and it's just soooo clear who Buffy and Angel should be dating instead of each other XD)

The most important part of the speech is not even how it makes Buffy understand the depth of Spike's love for her, but how, like he said, he truly understands her like no one else did.

"I love what you are, how you try. I've seen your kindness and your strength, I've seen the absolute best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You're a hell of a woman. You're the one, Buffy"

Spike was Buffy's sworn enemy, reluctant ally, willing ally and supportive friend, toxic boyfriend, sweet boyfriend she mistreated, and now he is her champion, the one that will help her save the world - again. OF COURSE he knows her in a way nobody else did.

Him calling her "the one" - both as in "his one true love" and "the chosen one" - is also perfect, because Buffy's entire conflict is feeling she will never have a fullfiling life, with meaningful relationships, because, like the first slayer said "The slayer doesn't walk this world" and "death is your gift." She fears she's too much of a hero to be a person.

And then in comes Spike. The dude that regularly calls her just "Slayer." The guy she's treated worse than she ever treated anyone else (including herself, which is saying a lot) BECAUSE of her struggly to deal with being the Slayer AND in love with anyone, let alone a souless vampire.

And he just embraces both sides of her. The kind, vulnerable girl longing for connection. The ruthless, powerful hero that doesn't need anyone. He LOVES both sides of her.

But, more importantly, said love is at it's most selfless on that moment.

"I'm not asking you for anything. When I say I love you, it's not 'cause I want you, or 'cause I can't have you. It's got nothing to do with me"

It doesn't matter that Buffy isn't perfect, that she mistreated him in the past, that she feels she doesn't deserve him. Hell, it doesn't even matter if she can't reciprocate Spike's feelings (even though we know she does). He still loves her, and his love will always be hers regardless of anything and everything.

Spike is being incredibly honest and vulnerable in this scene - and it allows Buffy to finally accept not only his love for her, but to give him her heart too.

I've already said over and over that I don't think Seeing Red worked, but my God, it is such a big deal to have Buffy ask Spike to come to bed with her after it, especially since the episode deliberately compares it too all the other couples in the show having sex. It's the proof that she has not only forgiven him, but also managed to fully trust him to never hurt her again (remember her saying to Giles "You sent away the one person who's been watching my back" and her chosing him as her champion instead of Angel).

But THE thing that makes me insane about this moment, and that the Spuffy fandom surprisingly doesn't talk about nearly enough, is the implications of their conversation about their night of cuddles.

Everyone is always going on and on about how that was the best night of Spike's life, and how that would have been his moment of "perfect happiness" if he was under the same curse as Angel - yet I haven't seen nearly enough people going crazy over tha fact that Buffy then confirms to Spike that SHE FELT THE SAME WAY, IT MEANT JUST AS MUCH AS IT DID TO HIM.

Buffy went through hell that night, as being pushed away by all of her loved ones confirmed her worst fears - and it was still what led to her moment of "perfect happiness" just because Spike was there to support her through it all. She even goes as far as saying she only got the weapon that will help her defeat the bad guy because of the strength Spike gave her that night.

Also, the way she gently touches his face during that talk, AAAAAAHHHHHHH!

Anyways, they are soulmates and if you don't agree, you're wrong.

[scifikimmi]

wip wed 7-10 tpp window

@anyctibius

“Hey, I’m sure you are just, like, so incredibly confused right now, but I need you to give us some kind of sign that you aren’t braindead or actively dying.” A siren blared to life overhead and the medical lab’s computer flashed a warning to evacuate the base immediately. “And I need you to do it fast.” 

Slip Jackson did nothing but blink up at me stupidly. Which, was honestly fair. I mean, if I had woken up from a two decade long medically induced coma to a lady I didn’t know yelling at me while sirens blared, I would have probably done the same – that, or come out fists swinging.

@trappedinmymind

“Slip,” Nureyev said, in that wet and warbling tone that he reserved only for the man in question. “Slip, it’s Petya. Can you say something for me? Tell me if you are alright? If you are in any pain?”

“P-” Slip struggled to get any sound out. A dry tongue came out to lick dryer lips. But his swimming pupils focused in on Nureyev’s face with a sudden and startling clarity. “Pe-ya,” Slip managed when he tried again. “You-?” 

@1attheedge

His brows furrowed and his eyes raked over Nureyev’s face like a blind man thumbing braille. I didn’t have to be a detective to figure out that he was noticing the differences, taking in the fact that Nureyev looked older than he remembered. I couldn’t imagine what it would have been like, going to sleep at seventeen only to wake up pushing forty, having missed so much of your own life. He wondered if Slip had dreamed of the life he’d been missing.

“Yes, Slip, it’s me,” Nureyev blubbered, hands clutching at Slip’s hospital gown. “It’s okay. You’re safe. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“Where-?” 

“No time, Nureyev,” I reminded him when he opened his mouth to answer. “Unlatch his bed and we’ll roll him as far as we can. This place is gonna blow soon and I wanna be on my way out before it does.”

@post-and-out

Nureyev glanced up at the flashing lights as if noticing them for the first time and jumped into action. While he unlocked the bed, I figured out how to detach Slip from the IV’s that were still stuck into his veins. Or, at least, I attempted to. I really wished I had my comms on me still; I was sure that Rita would have known what these numbers and codes meant or how to hack the console into letting him go but to me it looked like the computer was singing nursery rhymes in binary. 

Too afraid to rip out anything important, I used a laser scalpel to slash through the tubing and bundled it up on top of Slip’s lap leaving the ends still attached to him – better to let the medical professionals worry about that once we made sure we survived the imminent explosion.

+ bonus (cus I ended up writing a fair amount):

Together we wheeled Slip out into the hall. I prepared myself for a fight, but the hallway was completely abandoned. The red emergency lighting bathed the place in a rusty glow that reminded me of Maratian nights spent bar hopping with Mick. Ironically, home had never felt farther away. 

Looking back, it was that moment when I decided to return to Hyperion. At the time we were all a little too focused on finding a way out for me to consciously realize that I was already on my way out but, if I’m being honest, it had been a long time coming.

[liauditore]

aight i think i'll be releasing all my whumptober drabbles whenever i finish all the prompts (cus i am NOT finishing on time lmao) on AO3 as a collection but until then have this 👍👍

limlife martyn hurt/comfort with some treebark/solidwood/zombiewood if you squint (not explicitly romantic, just very affectionate, u can read it however u'd like)

// detailed violence, character death, light gore, implied insanity, implied mind break, swearing, hallucinations

The first thing Martyn knew was that it burned. The second thing was that he should’ve been dead.

As he dragged himself across the gravel, leaving a trail of red behind him like paint off a paintbrush, he wished he was.

His legs had given up on him, that much was clear. He was almost thankful he couldn’t feel them, if the splitting pain that ran down his torso from chest to stomach was any indication of what they would feel like right now. Not that there was much left of them anyway.

He grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut and claws himself forward another few inches, dragging the rest of his body behind him. The gravel scrapes at his exposed skin, leaving long, raw scratches running down his forearms. A hundred tiny needles digging into his fingertips.

He does it again.

And again.

And again.

Involuntary grunts escape from his lungs. He yanks himself forward. Something sharp cuts into his side. He yelps. His arms give in, his form falling down onto the coarse earth with an unceremonious thud. Forehead pressed against the coarse earth, Martyn chokes out something between laughter and sobs.

God, where the fuck was he even trying to go?

He remembers now. The game, the timers, the way Scott looked at him as he pulled the sword back through his ribs. He finds it funny now, thinking back, how fast he got to die. Martyn had won.

He remembers now. The moments after he killed Impulse. The clarity returning to his mind, the smell of blood and sea water in the breeze. The fact that nothing happened at all.

Whoever had Watched them, made them fight to the death in this sick game, didn’t offer any congratulations or reward for Martyn after his victory. He got nothing. Nothing but the continued beeping on his bracelet as the seconds continued to tick down.

He’s… Not sure what happened after that. There was an hour and more left on his timer. Then there was suddenly less. And it hurt. A lot. But whatever it was, it didn’t manage to finish him off.

Martyn laughs til his throat could take no more.

All of it. Everything he did. For this?

The least they could do was kill him right.

Martyn stops trying to move. His breath weakens and shallows.

Maybe if he manages to stop thinking, he’ll be okay.

Time passed.

The waves kept crashing.

The birds kept singing.

The leaves rustled in the breeze.

Something crunched, far off in the distance.

The ocean sung.

A dull noise sounded somewhere far off.

Blades of grass brushed up against each other, propelled by the winds.

Another crunch. Closer.

A larger wave crashed, the very edge of it brushing up against Martyn’s hand.

The crunches speed up. Closer. Closer. Closer.

Footsteps.

That noise again. But clearer. Closer.

“Dude, hey!” it was a voice. Martyn’s eyes re-focused.

“Dude, are-are you okay?! Oh, jeez…” the voice was right next to him now. If he rolled his eyes all the way up, he could make out the bottom of the person’s boots.

This was… Impossible.

It can’t be him.

“Come on, babe,” the voice spoke. “Let’s get you someplace safe.”

The man lifts Martyn up into his arms, resting his head on his chest. Suspenders, Martyn noticed, as he nuzzled up to his mystery saviour.

“Eager there, lad!” the voice chuckled softy. Martyn doesn’t have the energy to smile back, but something about the way this guy is trying to brighten him up… Feels right. Familiar. He lets his weight sink completely into the man’s arms. Warm.

He doesn’t know when the tears began or when the wet splotch on Ren’s shoulder formed, but he didn’t care. He doesn’t know how Ren is even here. Or why he’s helping him. Or if he remembers him. But he doesn’t care.

“That’s right, there you go,” Ren whispered as he carried Martyn… Somewhere. “You can sleep if you want, my dude.”

Martyn woke up in a bed with way too many pillows.

“R-Ren!” he shot up to a sitting position, taking in his surroundings.

He looked down on his legs. Wriggled his toes. He was… fine. It didn’t hurt anymore. The bracelet with the timer on it was gone.

He was… in his usual t-shirt and shorts, not that gaudy outfit with the broken buttons.

“Martyn?”

Not Ren’s voice. Pitch was higher, accent was different, but familiar-- he knew this voice.

“Jimmy?!” Martyn’s eyes went wide, his breath hitched.

“Martyn, are you—”

He dived out of bed, tackling his former friend a little bit too hard. He squeezes him, burying his face into Jimmy’s chest.

“M-Martyn, jeez!” Jimmy exclaimed, a half-laugh accompanying his words. “Not that hard, jeez! Let go!”

He tried to kill Timmy. Martyn remembered. He set up that trap, he was so mad at him for… Everything.

He watched him die.

Babbling resembling apologies started to escape between gasps for air, incoherent yet visceral.

“You should be dead,” Martyn whimpered. “I watched you die, I would’ve killed you, you—”

“Martyn,” Jimmy sighed. “It’s-- It’s not-- I’m not mad, Martyn.”

Another figure approached, Martyn could feel the presence behind them.

“Oh, someone’s up!” Ren exclaimed. The dog-man squatted down. “Martyn, was it?”

Martyn just stared, unsure of what to do or say.

“You’ve, uh… Been through a lot, haven’t you?” Ren tilted his head. “You’ve probably got a million questions, huh?”

Martyn nodded, looking back and forth between Jimmy and Ren.

“I don’t… really understand what’s happening either,” Ren said. “But, uh, couldn’t just leave you there, y’know?”

“Ren,” Jimmy spoke up, still holding Martyn close. “I think… I think you should grab Cleo.”

“Right, right!” Ren bounced back up. He looked Martyn in the eye, grinning. “You should’ve seen the look on her face when I took you home, dude! I don’t know what you did to her but-- Sheesh!”

Cleo. Cleo was here too?

Martyn didn’t catch the rest of what Jimmy and Ren said. His head spun. Wooden floors, he noticed, and a huge window on the side of the house. Sunlight beamed down on a cute little dining table, littered with crumbs and dirty plates. It must’ve been lunchtime not too long before he woke up. This was… a house. That much was sure. A home, even. Multiple rooms. Bedrooms. Lived in. Ren and Jimmy, did they live here? With Cleo too? For how long?

Could he… stay here with them? Forever?

The distant sound of waves crashing ashore could be heard, a little more violent, a little angrier.

But Martyn felt safe.

And as his body finally grew cold, as his heart couldn’t keep up any longer, his entire body went numb.

Waves. Crashing.

The moon rose, full and bright and beautiful on the shore.

This is okay, he’s okay.

He’s going to go home.

A wave crashes over his body, dragging it towards the ocean’s jaws. He doesn’t even feel it.

As he dies, as the last beeps on his timer sound, his mind is not alone, cold with mangled legs on that deserted shoreline with the bodies of his former friends just metres away. He is having freshly baked carrot cake with people who care for him, hold him, love him around that tiny dining table in that cabin off by the cliff side.

Even as his body is carried off to be washed ashore someplace far off in the future.

Inthelittlewood fell out of the world.

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Pan Says... (5/?)

Summary: After waking up in a strange room with a naked stranger, Emma and Killian must endure the twisted game their kidnapper insists they play in order to gain provisions and avoid punishments.

A/N: I know, I know, I KNOW! I’m sorry. I’m a bad, bad writer, making y’all wait so long for this update. I truly apologize. My muse took a bit of a sabbatical, but hopefully she’s back and ready to work. I have things pretty well mapped out for this fic from this point on, so fingers crossed I can keep her on task. 

Lots of love to @ultraluckycatnd and @kmomof4 for their exceptional beta skills on this one! 

Rated E /Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me! / Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

Part Five

Consciousness returned slowly. The buzz of the fluorescents, the warmth of the blanket, the soft caress of fingers carding through his hair, the scent of his Swan, the dryness of his tongue as it stuck to the roof of his mouth, all points of awareness that were sharpening with clarity as he broke free from the confines of sleep.

“Killian?” Emma whispered, having sensed the change in his breathing. “Killian, are you awake?”

With effort, Killian managed to pry his eyes open and focus on the concerned pinch in his Swan’s brows. Reaching up, he intended to soothe it away with the pad of his thumb, but when he opened his mouth to respond, all that came out was a croaked, “Aye,” before he erupted into a fit of coughs from the cool air hitting the aridness of his throat.

“Hang on,” Emma said, scrambling from their bed so she could fetch him a glass of water. “Drink this.”

Bringing the cup to his lips, Killian took slow sips. Once his thirst was adequately slaked, he handed the cup back to Emma and asked, “What happened?”

A look of distress flashed across her features as she responded, “You don’t… what’s the last thing you remember?”

Rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger, the memories of what had happened before he’d blacked out began to flood his mind. A maelstrom of emotions bombarded him: fear, anger, lust, guilt, terror, euphoria, and relief. His pulse began to race, his heart hammering against his ribs as he reached up and felt for the small puncture wound in his neck, even as his body began to respond to the memory of Emma on her knees in front of him.

“I, um…” His cheeks began to feel warm, and the tips of his ears were practically on fire. “I remember you… you saved me. When Pan had me injected with poison. You…” In an attempt to even his breathing and slow his libido, Killian sucked in a deep breath and sat up further in their bed, only to realize he was still completely naked. Ignoring how that realization spiked his arousal, Killian refocused his thoughts. “I remember them administering the antidote, but everything after that is… how did we get back here?”

Seemingly oblivious to his current turmoil, Emma tucked her legs beneath her and told him, “Whatever they gave you knocked you out pretty fast. One of the Lost Ones helped me get you back to our room.”

Killian sat up from the headboard, his eyes raking over her for signs of harm. “A Lost One? Did he… Did he hurt you? Pan didn’t--”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, reaching out and taking his hand in her own. “He just carried you back, put you in bed, then…”

“Then… what?”

Emma chewed her lip, her eyes cutting towards the camera that monitored them. Scooting towards him, she lowered her voice and shared, “He told me something, and I… I think he knows you. I think he--”

“Knows me?” Killian balked. “What did he say?”

Running her tongue over her lip, Emma flicked her gaze once more to the surveillance, giving Killian a moment to try, once again, to calm his body’s reactions.

“When they took you away,” she began, her voice still low, but tight and halting, “he told me that if I cared for you at all, then I had to do what Pan said. There was something in his eyes. He looked, I don't know… scared. For you. Then, after we got you back here, I confronted him about it, and he said, ‘There are only two reasons people find themselves here. Because they have either crossed Pan, or because they are the punishment for those who did.’ He said our being here is a punishment for someone who crossed Pan.”

“And you think I am that Lost One’s punishment?”

Emma opened her mouth, but was cut off by the crackle of speakers, preempting her reply as Pan’s voice echoed through their room.

“Oh, good! You’re awake. I was afraid you’d sleep the rest of the day away.”

“We wouldn’t want to put a damper on whatever sick or sadistic plan you have in mind for us,” Emma muttered sarcastically, earning her an amused huff from Killian. He was gladdened that she hadn’t lost any of her fire, despite the ordeal they’d both been through.

“Now, now, Emma,” Pan tutted. “I’m here to offer you a reward.”

“A reward?” Killian parroted, dubiously.

“Why, yes!” Pan declared, a little excitedly. “You both took your respective punishments for breaking my rules in stride, so I thought a nice hot shower might be in order.”

Killian met Emma’s gaze. He could see the desire for such a luxury swimming in her eyes, and despite his current state, and the fact he would not be able to keep certain matters hidden from her, he nodded his agreement. Emma left the bed to begin taking off her clothes, and Killian swung himself around so he was seated on the edge of the bed with his back to her, willing his erection to subside.

An exercise in futility, for any progress he might have made was quickly forgotten when she called out to him that she was ready and he had to join her at the door, both of them completely naked. If she noticed his arousal - and honestly, how could she not - she said nothing. Simply took his hand and led them along the line that led to the shower room.

“You go first, love,” he told her, knowing that only one shower actually worked. Grabbing her caddy from the bench, he handed it to her then picked his up and held it in front of him, hiding himself from her view even as he turned around in an attempt to give her some privacy. An action that would also prove futile.

“Oh, one more thing before you begin,” Pan’s voice grated from overhead. “I’m sure you’d like a towel this time, so Emma, in order for you to receive yours, Killian has to watch while you bathe yourself. You won’t mind, will you Killian?”

Grinding his teeth together, Killian peered over his shoulder and willed his gaze to remain fixed on hers. She gave him a small shrug, but he could see in her expression how she didn’t want a repeat of the last time they’d defy Pan’s “offer” to earn towels.

“It isn’t as though you haven’t seen it all before,” she said, clearly trying to justify her willingness to comply while still leaving it up to him. “But I don't need a towel. I can just drip dr--”

“No,” Killian sighed, turning around while keeping his caddy firmly held in front of him. “You’re right. A small price to pay to ensure your comfort.” Even if it robs me of my own, Killian thought to himself as he adjusted his stance.

Though he was tempted to set his focus over Swan’s head and onto the back, tiled wall, Killian knew Pan would not come through with the promised item if he felt Killian had not made good on his end of the deal, so he watched as Emma lathered shampoo into her hair, the suds sliding down her neck and collecting atop her breasts before slipping between and continuing on in their descent down her body.

Shifting his stance again, his buttocks clenched and a groan caught in the back of his throat. Each movement of her hand as it scrubbed the soap filled loofah along her skin brought forth a memory of how she had pleasured herself beneath his gaze earlier that day. His hardened cock bobbed, brushing against the plastic of the caddy he was still clutching at his groin, and Killian felt ridiculous for the way his lust was running away with him. It wasn’t as if she were putting on a show. There was nothing overtly seductive in the way she was showering, but the mere fact she was wet and naked, with suds covering her body while within arms reach, coupled with the memories of her splayed out before him, which were seared into his mind's eye, were enough to have him rigid and weeping by the time she’d finally finished.

“Okay,” Emma said, collecting her items and stepping out from the hot spray. “Your turn.” They quickly switched places, and Emma inquired to the open space around them. “I don’t suppose you’d go ahead and give me that towel so I can dry off while taking my turn to watch, huh?”

“Funny you should mention that,” Pan answered, in that tone that always made Killian’s gut tighten with apprehension. “I think you’ll want to wait for your towel since the only way Killian will be earning his is if… you wash him.”

“Fuck,” Killian muttered under his breath, his groin throbbing at the mere thought of Emma’s touch running over the wet planes of his body.

From behind him, Emma sighed. The splash of her feet against the wet tile preceded her presence, and Killian was hyper aware of how close she stood as she squeezed his shampoo into her hands.

“Wet your hair for me,” she instructed. “ And you might have to crouch down, so I can…”

Killian obeyed and tried to center his focus on anything other than the way the scratch of her nails on his scalp sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. When she told him to turn around so she could begin washing his front, he studied every tile, every faucet, every crack, every water stain within the room so as to try and ignore the feel of the loofah scrubbing him clean. His neck, his chest, his shoulders, his arms, his torso, just to the waist, before she instructed him to turn once more.

His efforts were futile, though. The hot spray beating down on his cock nearly sent him over the edge as she continued her thorough cleansing. His back, his buttocks, the backs of his thighs, his calves, his heels.

“Turn,” Emma said, crouched down at his feet and working her way back up his legs.

He shouldn’t have looked down. He shouldn’t have taken in the sight of her naked, wet, and practically on her knees before him once again. For with the image came the memory of her mouth wrapped around his cock, her tongue teasing his tip, and the way she swallowed around his length. When her hand brushed against his balls he was lost. Unable to keep himself from coming, he grabbed onto his cock and managed to turn away from her; a pained, guttural noise reverberated from his chest from the ruined orgasm she’d inadvertently given him that was spilling over his hand.

“Killian? Are you okay? What’s… oh.”

“Fuck!” he shouted in anger, slamming his hand against the tile wall. Humiliation and shame burned at his cheeks, and when Emma’s hand lightly grazed his shoulder, he bucked it off, turning his body further away from hers. “Don’t,” he clipped out on a huff of breath as a shudder ran through him. “Please, I…”

What the hell was wrong with him?

“I-I’m sorry, love,” he panted. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Hey,” she soothed. “It’s okay. Will you… will you please look at me?”

His shoulders slumped as he complied, turning to face her even though he couldn’t yet look her in the eye.

Her hand cupped his cheek and he nuzzled into her touch on instinct, his eyes slipping shut until she said, “Killian, we have no idea what Pan actually gave you earlier.”

His eyes flew open and he jerked back, his mouth agape as he stared at her. That possibility had never crossed his mind.

“I was thinking about it while you were asleep,” she confided. “I know Pan said it was poison and an antidote, but… he could have given you anything. For all we know, he gave you some sort of hyped up aphrodisiac or stimulant for this very purpose.” Stepping forward, she closed the space between them and took his face in her hands once more. “He wants us to suffer. He wants to make things awkward between us. He wants to force us into situations that are humiliating and vulnerable and harmful. None of this is your fault.”

Killian swallowed hard and took in a shuddering breath.

“And just for the record,” she continued on with a soft yet coy smile, “the fact that I turn you on in no way offends me or makes me uncomfortable. You don’t have to hide that fact from me.”

Before Killian could respond, the sound of something being rolled into the room caught both their attention. A cart, ladened with towels, had been pushed through the door. Emma grabbed Killian’s hand, prompting him forward so they could grab the towels before they might be whisked away again, but he resisted.

“Hang on,” he said, a fresh blush coloring his cheeks. “Let me just… clean up first.”

“Right.” Gesturing towards the cart, she said. “I’ll just grab us both some towels.”

Killian quickly rinsed away the remnants of his orgasm, giving himself a few extra moments to simply stand in the calming waters of the shower, allowing his heart rate and breathing to normalize before joining Swan by the towel cart.

“Here,” she said, handing him two towels. “I wasn’t sure how many you’d want.”

An amused sound fell from his lips as he wrapped a towel around his waist before draping the other over his shoulders. Swan was currently swathed from head to toe in three towels, with a fourth clutched against her chest. Clearly she was taking no chances of being left cold and wet like last time.

They were both relieved to find that, unlike last time, everything was exactly as they’d left it when they returned to their cell room. Once they’d finished drying off and getting dressed, another surprise was in store for them.

A meal. An unprompted and unearned meal. A tray of their favorite foods appeared behind the food panel without any warning or strings attached. Or so they hoped.

“Tell me more about what the Lost One said.” They had been quietly consuming their meal for several long minutes before the silence had begun to further unnerve him. A wry smile rose at the corner of Emma’s lip prompting Killian to ask, “What?”

“I’d tried to bring up this topic in the shower, but you appeared to have other things on your mind.”

“You did?”

Emma nodded, an amused expression set on her face as she took another bite of her grilled cheese sandwich. “Mhmm,” she hummed, waiting until she’d finished the bite before adding, “I asked if you had any ideas as to who the Lost One might be, but you were too… focused on the task Pan had set that I don’t think you even heard me.”

Pawing at the patch of skin behind his ear that always seemed to flare up when something embarrassed him, Killian mumbled a half-hearted apology, knowing her teasing tone and the mischievous glint in her eye were in an effort to keep the subject light-hearted.

“Yes, well,” he said, popping a grape into his mouth, “Any task of Pan’s worth doing…”

He left the statement unfinished, allowing it to hang between them for a moment before turning serious once more.

“Honestly, I haven’t a clue who it could be,” he confessed. “I can’t imagine my being here would be a punishment to anyone in my life other than Liam, and neither of those men is my brother.”

“You’re sure?”

“Aye,” he stated with confidence. “Liam is broader, more solidly built, and besides,” he took in a deep breath, calming himself as the memory of the last time he’d heard his brother’s voice filled his mind. “We heard that voicemail. He thinks I’m on some sort of trip, and the thought of it obviously gave him comfort. Plus, I can’t really see Liam getting involved with someone like Pan. He’s too… noble and self-righteous.”

Emma snorted at Killian’s exasperated tone. “Sounds a little like David.”

“Speaking of David,” Killian hedged, picking at the remains of his meal. “Any chance he might be--”

Emma cut him off with a shake of her head. “Neither of them are David, but…”

“But… what?”

She chewed her lip for a moment, guilt pinching her features as she whispered, “I have wondered if my disappearance and presumed death isn’t some sort of punishment for him or Mary Margaret, but honestly… like you with Liam, I can’t imagine either of them getting caught up in some sideways deal with the likes of Pan. And I have no idea who I would be a punishment for, besides the Nolans.”

Killian scratched his fingers through the scruff at his jaw. “I suppose we’ll have to wait for an opportunity to ask them outright.”

“Yeah…” Emma hedged, collecting their tray of finished dishes and depositing it back on the exposed shelf. “That’s if Pan hasn’t done something to them in retaliation for talking to me about it.”

As if on cue, the speakers overhead crackled, signaling the impending voice of their captor.

“I take it you both enjoyed your shower and dinner?”

Neither of them answered, seeing as Pan’s questions were generally rhetorical. However, it seemed he’d hoped for some sort of response this time.

“Come now,” he pouted. “No thanks or show of gratitude for my generosity today? Might I remind you that I required nothing of you in exchange for both the showers and the meal? Not to mention my leniency regarding the towels… considering Emma never finished completely washing you, Killian.”

Mutters of ‘thanks’ begrudgingly fell from their lips, followed by startled gasps as the room was suddenly plunged into darkness.

“Perhaps a good night’s sleep will help you both gain some perspective on my indulgences, because rest assured… tomorrow our game will be back in full swing. Round three awaits you both.”

“Goody,” Emma grumbled, climbing into bed and settling herself beneath the covers. “Are you going to be able to sleep?” she asked, propping herself up onto her side, facing him. “You were out for a while after… whatever they gave you earlier.”

“Aye,” Killian replied, laying down beside her with his eyes trained at the ceiling. His mind, however, was not on sleep.

“Tell me,” Emma said, softly, sensing that something was troubling him.

It took Killian a few long moments before deciding to share his burden with her. The last thing he wanted to do was pressure her, or endanger either of them in any way at the prospect of breaking Pan’s rules, but the more he thought about it…

“I don’t want our first time to be forced,” he whispered. “Or coerced.” Swallowing thickly, he murmured, “I don’t want to fuck you because Pan tells me to, I want…”

“What?” she said on a husky breath. “What do you want?”

Turning his head, he locked eyes with her, fighting against the desperation to reach out and hold her as he declared, “I want to make love to you. I want you on our terms, not his. I want to have you because you want me too, not so we can endure this hell a little longer. I want to think back on my time with you and have something pure, something untainted to remember. Something I can hold onto with happiness.”

Tentatively, she reached out and brushed her fingers through his hair. “So do I.”

Air whooshed from his lungs. He wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them, take her in his arms, and kiss the breath out of her, but… “It’s risky,” he reminded her. “I shudder to think what Pan might do. I know I’m willing to face whatever punishment he might have in store for me, but the thought of him hurting you--”

Emma stopped his words with the press of her fingers against his lips, and held them there as she repositioned herself, straddling his waist. “You’re worth the risk.” Pulling him up by the collar of his shirt, she fused her mouth to his, but not before demanding, “Fuck Pan, and make love to me, Killian.”

(Yeah, I know... feel free to yell at me in the reblog/comments 😁)

Part Six