#how everything grew twisted and decayed

[rickydoodahgrimez]

𝞋𝞎 ─────── 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐞𝐝

pairing: rick grimes x reader

summary: rick grimes knew he was damned since the moment he met you. but in alexandria, when a man flirts with you and you don't dare to stop him, finding amusement in rick's suffering, he shows you how damned he could be. . .

warnings: pet names, swearing, dirty talk, teasing, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, angry sex, rick being possessive, orgasms, cum inside, fluff at the end, hope you enjoy :)

word count: 2.4 k

a/n: apart of my valentine's day special :)) hope you guys like it

𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

From the moment your eyes locked with his—bold, unflinching, and carrying a spark of mischief—something in his chest shifted. 

You weren’t afraid to push his buttons, meeting his gruff demeanour with sharp comebacks and a smirk that had no right to make his pulse race. You called him Sheriff with that teasing lilt in your voice, fully aware of how it made his jaw clench. 

He told himself it was just harmless banter—something to break the tension of survival—but the way his eyes always seemed to find you, how his ears tuned into your laughter even in a crowded room, said otherwise. 

You were chaos wrapped in a pretty package, and Rick, who had survived horrors beyond measure, suddenly found himself facing a whole new kind of danger—one he couldn’t run from.

The teasing between you was constant, an electric current that neither of you could resist. You’d call him out on his brooding stares and self-righteous speeches, and he’d retaliate with dry remarks that only made you laugh harder. 

You made it a game—who could fluster the other first, who could push just far enough to feel the heat without burning. But beneath the playful digs, something unspoken lingered, something that set his blood on fire every time your hand brushed his. 

You had a way of getting under his skin, knowing exactly when to soften your sharp tongue and meet him with an understanding gaze that left him defenceless.

He didn’t mean to fall for you—hell, he fought it. Love felt like a luxury in a world where everything was decaying, and caring too deeply only brought you pain. But you made it impossible not to. 

He fell somewhere between your reckless bravery and the cracks of vulnerability you tried to hide. It was in the way you stood beside him in every fight, your back pressed against his, and how your teasing softened into something tender when the nights grew too quiet. 

You saw through his armor—the grief, the guilt, the weight he carried—and you never once looked away.

And damn him, but he started craving you like air. He found himself seeking you out without thinking—his eyes searching for your smirk after a long day, his ears longing for the sound of your voice laced with playful mockery. 

When you were gone, it felt wrong, and when you were near, it felt dangerous. You had slipped into his life, and worse—you had claimed his heart before he even realized it was yours to take.

So, Rick knew he was damned. Damned because he couldn’t stop falling, deeper and deeper, and because he no longer wanted to.

Alexandria really was supposed to be a fresh start—calm, safe, a place where he could finally catch his breath. But there was no peace when it came to you. 

You still drove him mad, still lived in his head rent-free with every smirk, every sly remark. But here, within the gates of this too-perfect community, something else gnawed at him—something dark and burning that he tried to bury. It was getting harder to pretend, though. Especially now.

His eyes locked on you from across the yard, and his chest immediately tightened. You stood by Spencer Monroe, laughing—too softly, too sweetly for Rick’s liking. Spencer was leaning in close, flashing a smile like he had a fucking chance. 

His hand brushed your arm, and Rick felt his blood ignite. His fingers curled into his palms, nails biting skin as something ugly and possessive twisted in his gut.

He hated it. Hated how his first instinct was to march over there and remind Spencer exactly who he was dealing with. You weren’t his—he had no right to feel this way—but that didn’t stop his jaw from clenching so hard it ached.

You must have felt his stare because you glanced over, and damn it, that smirk of yours returned—the one you always wore when you caught him watching.

It was knowing, daring, like you enjoyed getting under his skin. You raised a brow, and he swore he saw a flicker of amusement in your eyes.

But Spencer kept talking, leaning in like he was the only man in the world, and Rick’s patience snapped. His feet moved before his brain caught up, and suddenly he was there—right beside you, his presence solid, imposing, and unmistakably territorial.

“Something you need, Spencer?” Rick’s voice was low, with an edge sharp enough to cut.

Spencer straightened, the confident smirk wavering just slightly under Rick’s steel gaze. “Nah,” He said, trying to play it cool. “Just getting to know her better. She’s—uh—pretty great company.”

Rick’s eyes never left his. “Yeah,” He said, his voice like gravel, “She is.” His tone made it clear—walk away before I put a bullet in your skull.

You, of course, were enjoying every second of it. “Aw, Rick,” You teased, folding your arms with a grin. “Didn’t know you thought about me like that.”

His jaw ticked, and his eyes, blazing with something unspoken, flicked to yours. “You know I do,” He said, rough and raw, his voice low enough that only you could hear it.

Spencer opened his mouth, some slick remark on the tip of his tongue—because of course he couldn’t leave well enough alone. But he never got the chance.

Rick’s hand closed firmly around your wrist. “We’re done here.” He said, his voice low and final, brooking no argument. 

Before you could so much as toss out another teasing jab, he was leading you away, his grip warm and possessive but careful—not rough, never rough.

“Rick,” You laughed, breathless from his sudden move. “What’s the rush?”

He didn’t answer, jaw tight as he weaved through Alexandria’s streets, every step purposeful. You caught the sharp set of his shoulders, the tension humming through him like a live wire. 

Whatever had snapped inside him back there hadn’t settled. And, God help you, you liked it—liked seeing his composure crack, knowing you were the one who did it.

Before you knew it, you were at his house. The door clicked shut behind you, and the air shifted—thick, charged, and humming with something that made your pulse quicken.

“You jealous, Grimes?” You teased, folding your arms as you leaned back against the door. Your voice was playful, but your heart was racing.

Rick turned to you slowly, his blue eyes burning with something raw and unguarded. “Yeah,” He admitted, the word rough, stripped of any playfulness “I am.”

The honesty in his voice stole the breath from your lungs.

“I didn’t like him touching you. Hell,” He dragged a hand through his curls, his voice firm and rough “I don’t like anyone thinking they can have you.”

Your lips parted, and you felt that familiar spark—the one that always ignited when you pushed him and he pushed back. “And why’s that?” You challenged, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Because you’re mine,” He said, voice low and sure, and the way he said it sent a shiver through you. Rick’s chest heaved, his blue eyes blazing into yours with something primal—something raw and unrestrained. 

“You’ve always been mine,” He growled, his voice rough and low, every word crackling with heat and frustration. “And it’s been driving me crazy—watching you let him—” His teeth clenched, and his free hand slammed against the door beside your head, the sudden thud making you jump. “You know what you do to me. You have to know.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from your chest. “And what if I do?” You challenged, your voice soft but laced with fire. “What if I’ve always known?”

His eyes darkened, and his jaw tightened so hard you thought it might shatter. “Then you’re cruel,” He rasped, his forehead nearly touching yours, his breath hot and uneven. “Because I can’t stand it. Can’t stand seeing you with anyone else. I don’t want them looking at you. I don’t want them touching you.” His hand moved from his side to your waist, fingers digging in possessively, like he was staking his claim. “You’re mine. And I don’t share.”

The tension between you became heavy and dangerous. “So what are you gonna do about it, Sheriff?” You taunted, your voice dripping with challenge, your lips brushing his as you spoke.

His answer came fast and rough.

Rick crashed his mouth into yours, and there was nothing soft about it—no hesitation, no restraint. His lips were bruising, his teeth grazing yours in a kiss that felt like a battle neither of you wanted to win. 

His hands gripped you tight—one at your waist, pulling you against him, the other cupping the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair to hold you right where he wanted you.

You matched him, meeting his fire with your own, your fingers twisting into his shirt and pulling, dragging him impossibly closer. Your back hit the door with a thud, and he pressed into you, chest to chest, every inch of him solid and burning. 

His stubble scraped against your skin as he angled his head, deepening the kiss, swallowing every breathless sound you made.

There was no softness—only heat, only the hunger of everything unspoken finally unleashed. It was teeth and tongues, desperate and raw, as if letting go meant losing something vital. He growled low against your lips, his grip tightening as if daring you to pull away.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Because this was Rick—rough, possessive, yours. And you were his.

Without another word, Rick claimed your lips deeper, his tongue demanding entrance. You responded eagerly, your mouth opening to his, tasting the passion that had been simmering for so long.

His hands roamed over your body, his touch rough yet arousing, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

He held you against the wall, his body pressing against yours, his hardness evident through his clothes.

His hands tugged at your blouse, buttons popping open, revealing your delicate lace bra and the swell of your breasts. He cupped your breasts, kneading them roughly, his thumbs teasing your hardened nipples.

Moans escaped your lips, a mixture of pleasure and surprise at his sudden ferocity.

With urgency, he unbuckled his belt, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He pushed down his trousers, revealing his throbbing erection, straining against his boxers. You reached out, cupping his length, through his boxers.

Rick groaned lowly. “Fuck, that feel so good.”

He unbuttoned your trousers and pulled them down in a swift move, his hands sliding beneath your underwear, finding your wetness. He plunged two fingers inside you, his thumb seeking your clit, rubbing it in circles as he pumped his fingers in and out.

“Shit—” You hissed and squeezed your eyes shut. “Please, Rick. . . I need you inside me.”

Your legs trembled as he brought you to the brink of ecstasy.

With a growl, he lifted you, positioning your legs around his waist. In one swift motion, he impaled you on his rigid shaft, filling you to the hilt. You gasped as he began to move, his thrusts hard and relentless.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room as he pounded into you, his hips snapping forward with each thrust. Your bodies moved in perfect rhythm, a primal dance of passion. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back, leaving marks of possession.

“Yes, that's it. . .” Rick pounded into you harder, his grip on you tightening. “Take it all, sweetheart. You're mine, do you understand? Mine.”

You cried out as his words and the raw intensity of his possession sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of pleasure, your body trembling in his arms.

Rick’s own release was imminent. He withdrew with a growl, his cock glistening with your juices, and positioned himself at your entrance once more.

With one powerful thrust, he buried himself deep within you, his hips grinding against yours as he emptied his pent—up desire.

As your bodies calmed, you both collapsed in a heap on the floor, breathless and sated. Rick’s anger had transformed into raw, unbridled passion, leaving you both spent and satisfied.

The silence that followed was warm and heavy, broken only by the sound of your ragged breaths. His chest rose and fell beneath your head, his heartbeat a steady, grounding rhythm against your ear.

His arm was still wrapped around you, strong and sure, like he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go just yet.

After a long moment, Rick’s voice, rough and low from everything you’d just put him through, rumbled in your ear. “I should—” He started, his words slow and a little dazed, “—probably clean you up. Before someone—” He waved a lazy hand toward the windows, “—comes knockin’.”

You huffed a soft laugh, your lips brushing against his chest as you grinned. “Later,” you murmured, voice still thick with satisfaction, your fingers lazily tracing patterns over his skin. “I like you better right here.”

He sighed, and you felt the deep rumble of it under your palm. “You’re impossible.” He muttered, but his arm only tightened around you, pulling you closer.

You lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes, and there it was—that familiar spark, soft now, warm and teasing. “You love it.” You teased, your lips curving into a smirk.

Rick’s eyes, still dark but soft around the edges, met yours with a look that made your heart skip.

His hand rose, brushing a thumb over your cheek, and his voice dropped into something rough and tender all at once. “Yeah,” He admitted, his eyes never leaving yours. “I do.”

A slow, knowing smile tugged at your lips. “Good,” you whispered, leaning in to steal another kiss—soft, playful, and far too sweet for how reckless you’d been just moments ago.

He groaned against your mouth, but he was smiling now, and you felt it. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered between kisses, his tone low and fond.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, your own dancing with mischief. “Yeah,” you breathed, brushing your lips against his once more, “but you’d enjoy every second of it.”

“Yeah,” He brought up a hand and gently traced your cheek with his fingers. “I would.”

And as he looked at you—flushed, radiant, and completely his—one thought echoed in his mind, certain and inescapable;

They could damn him forever. . . because he’d choose you every single time.

[novaursa]

Legacy (the others)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (blood, gore violence)

- Previous part: of the west

- Next part: friends at heart

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

The bitter cold of the unending winter gnawed at the hunting party as they moved through the shadowed woods beyond Casterly Rock. Snow crunched beneath their boots, muffled by the oppressive silence that blanketed the land. The pale light from the perpetually overcast sky offered little warmth, and the occasional gust of wind bit sharply at their exposed skin.

Tywin, clad in thick fur-lined armor and a crimson cloak, rode at the head of the group. His keen eyes scanned the trees ahead, ever watchful. His presence alone kept the men focused, though the unease among them was palpable. Kevan rode just behind him, his usually calm demeanor showing faint cracks as his gaze flicked warily to the surrounding darkness.

“Tracks,” called one of the scouts from the front of the line, pointing to a fresh trail in the snow. “Spider tracks.”

Tywin reined in his horse, dismounting with practiced ease. The others followed suit, forming a loose perimeter as the scout knelt to examine the tracks. Tywin stepped closer, his boots crunching softly as he moved. The tracks were unmistakable—long, deep impressions made by unnaturally large legs, the kind that belonged to creatures out of nightmare.

“How fresh?” Tywin asked, his tone calm and precise.

The scout hesitated, then replied, “An hour at most, my lord. Perhaps less.”

Kevan crouched beside the tracks, his expression grim. “They’re headed east—toward the cliffs. If these things make their nests there, we’ll need to act quickly.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line as he surveyed the trail. “We follow. Keep your weapons ready.”

The men exchanged uneasy glances but nodded, gripping their spears and swords more tightly. As they moved eastward, the forest grew darker, the trees thicker and more gnarled. The air felt heavier, colder, and a faint, almost imperceptible hum seemed to vibrate through the ground beneath their feet.

“Do you feel that?” one of the younger hunters whispered, his voice trembling.

“Quiet,” Tywin snapped, his tone cutting through the growing tension. “Stay alert.”

After another quarter hour of tracking, the party came to a sudden halt. The trail had led them to a clearing near the cliffs, and what they found there made even Tywin pause. The ground was littered with webbing, thick and glistening like frozen silk. Shards of ice clung to the strands, and the faint stench of decay lingered in the frigid air.

At the center of the clearing lay the carcass of a stag, its body wrapped tightly in layers of webbing. Its lifeless eyes stared blankly ahead, and its neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. The hunters murmured uneasily among themselves, crossing themselves or muttering prayers under their breath.

Kevan stepped forward, his boots crunching over frozen strands of webbing. “They’re killing everything in their path,” he said grimly. “Even the wildlife isn’t safe.”

Tywin approached the carcass, his gaze steady and calculating. He crouched beside it, studying the webbing with an intensity that made the others uneasy.

“This isn’t random,” he said after a moment, rising to his full height. “They’re hunting. Organizing.”

Kevan’s brow furrowed. “You think they’re… intelligent?”

Tywin didn’t answer immediately. His gaze swept the clearing, taking in the web patterns and the direction of the tracks. “Not in the way we understand, but there’s purpose here. Coordination.”

One of the men, a grizzled veteran named Ser Rowan, cleared his throat. “My lord, with respect… what if these things aren’t just spiders? What if they’re something worse?”

Before Tywin could respond, a sharp cry rang out from the edge of the clearing. One of the scouts stumbled back, his face pale as he pointed toward a shadowed patch of trees.

“What is it?” Tywin demanded, moving quickly to the man’s side.

“There’s… something else,” the scout stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I saw it—just for a moment. It wasn’t a spider, my lord. It was… taller. Standing upright.”

The men stiffened, their grips tightening on their weapons. Tywin’s jaw clenched as he turned toward the direction the scout had indicated.

“Show me,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

The scout hesitated but nodded, leading Tywin and Kevan to the edge of the clearing. The trees here were dense, their twisted branches forming eerie shapes in the dim light. A faint trail of broken branches and disturbed snow led deeper into the forest.

Tywin motioned for the others to stay back as he and Kevan followed the trail. They moved slowly, their breaths visible in the freezing air. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint rustle of branches in the wind.

And then they saw it.

At the end of the trail, partially obscured by the shadows, stood a figure. It was humanoid in shape but unnaturally tall, its limbs too long, its movements jerky and wrong. Its eyes glowed faintly, an icy blue that pierced the darkness. The creature tilted its head, as if studying them, and then it vanished into the trees with inhuman speed.

Kevan sucked in a sharp breath. “What in the Seven Hells was that?”

Tywin didn’t answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the spot where the creature had disappeared, his mind racing. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured.

“Something worse than spiders,” he said grimly. “We need to return to the Rock. Now.”

Kevan nodded, his usual composure shaken. “Do we tell the men what we saw?”

Tywin turned to him, his expression hard. “No. Not yet. Panic will only weaken them.”

They made their way back to the clearing, where the hunters were waiting anxiously. Tywin wasted no time. “We’re returning to the Rock. Double the watch on every wall and gate. No one leaves without my command.”

The men exchanged uneasy glances but followed his orders without question. As they began the trek back through the forest, the sense of unease only grew. The trees seemed darker, the wind colder, and the shadows deeper.

The forest seemed to close in on them as they made their way back, the oppressive cold deepening with each step. Shadows grew longer, twisting unnaturally against the gnarled trees, and the silence felt like a weight pressing down on their chests. The snow, once crisp and white, appeared gray in the low light, marred by the faint traces of the spider tracks they had been following.

Tywin rode at the head of the party, his eyes observing every shadow, every flicker of movement. His men were on edge, their breaths visible in the frigid air as they clutched their weapons tightly. Beside him, Kevan kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, his jaw clenched as if bracing for the inevitable.

“Stay close,” Tywin ordered, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. “No one wanders from the group.”

The hunters nodded, their faces pale and tense. The silence was so absolute that the faintest creak of leather or crunch of snow sounded deafening. It was as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

Then it came.

A sound like nothing they had ever heard before—a low, guttural chittering that seemed to echo from all directions at once. It was not the sound of spiders; it was something deeper, something far more sinister. The horses whinnied in fear, stamping their hooves and pulling at their reins as the men tried to calm them.

“What was that?” one of the hunters whispered, his voice trembling.

“Something’s watching us,” Kevan muttered, his hand tightening on his sword.

Tywin held up a hand to silence them, his gaze fixed on the trees ahead. The chittering grew louder, joined by a faint rustling sound that seemed to come from the ground itself. The men shifted nervously, their eyes darting to the shadows that now seemed alive.

“Form a circle!” Tywin barked. “Torches up! Steel ready!”

The men obeyed, their torches flickering weakly in the cold wind. The circle of light they created was feeble, barely pushing back the encroaching darkness. The rustling grew louder, more insistent, and then the first attack came.

A creature burst from the shadows, moving with impossible speed. It was humanoid in shape but grotesquely elongated, its limbs unnaturally long and thin. Its skin was a pale, glistening gray, stretched tight over bones, and its eyes glowed an icy blue. It moved on all fours, its clawed hands digging into the snow as it lunged for the nearest hunter.

The man screamed as the creature dragged him into the darkness, his cries cut off abruptly. The others shouted in panic, their weapons swinging wildly as more creatures emerged from the trees.

“Hold the line!” Tywin shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The creatures were relentless, their movements erratic and unnatural. They seemed to melt in and out of the shadows, striking and retreating with terrifying precision. The hunters fought valiantly, but the creatures were faster, stronger. One man was pulled down, his torch extinguished as the snow was stained red.

“Tywin, behind you!” Kevan shouted, swinging his sword to intercept a creature that had leapt toward his brother.

Tywin turned in time to drive his blade into the creature’s chest, its icy blue eyes flickering out as it collapsed into the snow. But there were more—dozens of them, their glowing eyes a haunting constellation in the dark forest.

“They’re driving us apart!” Kevan yelled, his voice barely audible over the chittering and the screams.

Tywin realized he was right. The creatures weren’t just attacking—they were herding them, splitting the group. The circle was broken, and the men were being picked off one by one.

“Fall back!” Tywin ordered. “Regroup at the clearing!”

But it was too late. The creatures were everywhere, their movements so fast they seemed like blurs. The remaining hunters were scattered, their torches extinguished one by one. The sounds of the fight grew fainter as men were dragged into the darkness, their screams fading into eerie silence.

Tywin and Kevan found themselves alone, their backs against the gnarled trunk of a massive tree. Tywin’s sword was slick with black ichor, and Kevan’s breathing was ragged as he clutched a torch that barely sputtered in the icy wind.

“Do you hear that?” Kevan whispered, his voice trembling.

Tywin nodded, his gaze fixed on the darkness. The chittering had stopped, replaced by an even more unsettling sound—footsteps. Slow, deliberate, and coming closer.

“They’re toying with us,” Kevan said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Stay calm,” Tywin said, his tone cold and steady despite the dread coiling in his chest. “They want us to panic.”

The footsteps grew louder, joined by faint whispers in a language neither man could understand. The torch flickered and died, plunging them into complete darkness. The air felt colder, heavier, as if the forest itself was closing in.

“Tywin,” Kevan said, his voice shaking. “What do we do?”

Tywin didn’t answer immediately. His hand tightened on his sword as he stared into the void, his mind racing. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and resolute.

“We wait.”

The whispers grew louder, more insistent, and the sound of movement surrounded them. The creatures were there, hidden in the shadows, watching. The two men stood side by side, their breaths visible in the freezing air, as the darkness pressed closer.

And then, from somewhere deep in the forest, a single, piercing shriek echoed through the night—a sound so inhuman, so bone-chilling, that it froze them in place.

The forest fell silent once more, save for the faint sound of movement. The creatures were still there, circling, waiting.

Tywin gripped his sword tighter, his gaze unyielding as he stared into the blackness. 

The warm glow of the hearth filled the breakfast chamber in Casterly Rock, but the room’s comfort did little to dispel the lingering tension brought by the endless winter. You sat at the head of the table, your sons, Damon and Maelor, on either side of you, their chatter filling the space. Damon was holding a piece of bread in one hand, his legs swinging beneath the table as he peppered the servants with questions about his father. Maelor clutched his cup with both hands, his wide violet eyes fixed on you expectantly.

Across the table sat Varys, freshly arrived from King’s Landing that morning, his expression unreadable as he observed the familial scene. The servants moved quietly in the background, bringing plates of warm porridge and steaming cups of tea to the table.

“When is Father coming back?” Damon asked, his tone curious but with a hint of impatience. “You said he’d be back hours ago.”

You reached out to brush a stray strand of silver-gold hair from Damon’s face, offering him a soft smile. “Soon, little lion. He had to stay a bit longer than planned, but he will be home.”

Damon frowned slightly, poking at his food with a spoon. “He promised.”

“And he always keeps his promises,” you assured him, your voice steady. “Sometimes important matters keep him away longer than expected.”

Maelor looked up at you, his small voice breaking through the conversation. “Does he have to fight bad people? Like the spiders the hunters found?”

The question caught you off guard, but you quickly masked your unease. “Your father is making sure we are all safe. That’s what matters.”

Varys interjected smoothly, his tone light but with a hint of curiosity. “Lord Tywin’s dedication to his duty is unmatched. The realm could learn much from his example.”

Before you could respond, a distant roar shattered the relative peace of the morning. It was deep and resonant, carrying through the stone walls like a thunderclap. Plates rattled on the table, and the servants froze in place, their faces pale.

Damon’s eyes widened with excitement. “Viserion!” he exclaimed, nearly knocking over his cup as he scrambled to his feet. “She’s awake!”

Maelor clung to your arm, his small hands trembling. “Mama, why is she roaring?”

You stood quickly, your heart racing as another roar echoed through the castle. This one was sharper, more agitated—a sound you had learned to recognize as a warning. Varys rose from his seat, his calm demeanor betraying a flicker of unease.

“What’s happening?” Damon asked, looking between you and the window.

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice steady despite the knot forming in your stomach. “Stay here with Maelor.” You turned to the servants, your tone firm. “Do not let them out of your sight.”

Just as you were about to leave the room, Ser Barristan burst through the door, his expression uncharacteristically urgent. “My lady,” he said, his breath visible in the frigid air. “Viserion has emerged from the mine. She took off into the night—agitated, roaring.”

The room fell silent as the weight of his words settled over everyone. You exchanged a glance with Varys, whose expression, for once, showed genuine concern.

“Why?” you asked Barristan, your voice sharp. “What could have provoked her?”

“We don’t know,” Barristan admitted, his brow furrowed. “But something has disturbed her. The guards say she flew toward the northern cliffs.”

Damon, who had been listening intently, tugged at your sleeve. “Is she looking for Father? Did something happen to him?”

You knelt in front of him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “Your father is strong, Damon. He’ll be fine,” you said, though your heart ached at the uncertainty. “Viserion is a clever dragon. She’ll find what she’s looking for.”

Maelor buried his face in your skirt, his small voice muffled. “I’m scared, Mama.”

You stroked his hair gently, your voice softening. “There’s no need to be scared. We’re safe here.”

Varys stepped forward, his calm tone breaking the tense silence. “My lady, if I may, Viserion’s agitation could be linked to something beyond these walls. Dragons, after all, are tied to forces we cannot always understand.”

“Whatever it is, I need answers,” you said, rising to your feet and turning to Barristan. “Double the guard around the castle. Ensure the boys are kept safe at all times.”

Barristan nodded. “At once, my lady.”

You glanced back at your sons, your heart heavy as Damon looked up at you with those bright, curious eyes. “Stay here,” you told him firmly. “I’ll find out what’s going on.”

As you moved to leave, Varys spoke again, his tone measured. “A word of caution, my lady. Dragons are unpredictable creatures, especially when their instincts are heightened. It would be wise to tread carefully.”

You didn’t respond, your mind already racing with possibilities as you followed Barristan out of the room. Behind you, Damon’s voice called out, tinged with worry. “Bring Father back, Mama!”

You paused briefly, glancing back at him with a reassuring smile. “I will, my little lion. I will.”

The snow crunched beneath the hooves of your horse as you rode through the icy wilderness surrounding Casterly Rock. The air was bitterly cold, each breath forming a visible cloud as you pushed further into the dark expanse. The faint tracks left by Viserion’s massive claws guided you, though they grew fainter with every passing mile. The pale winter moon barely illuminated your path, casting long shadows that twisted like phantoms among the frost-covered trees.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of fear and determination driving you forward. Viserion’s sudden departure had unsettled you deeply. The she-dragon had always been attuned to you, and for her to act so erratically meant something was wrong.

Barristan’s voice echoed in your mind from earlier that evening.

“She’s not acting without reason, my lady. Dragons sense what we cannot.”

Your grip on the reins tightened as you scanned the eerie, frozen landscape. The world felt unnatural, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional howl of the wind. You tried to shake the creeping sense of unease, focusing instead on the faint tracks ahead.

Suddenly, your horse reared back with a panicked whinny, its hooves thrashing in the air. You barely had time to steady yourself before it bucked violently, throwing you to the frozen ground. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, and pain shot through your side as you struggled to get up.

A chilling screech pierced the night, and you froze, your hand instinctively going to the small dagger at your belt. From the shadows emerged a massive spider, its long, spindly legs clicking against the ice as it advanced. Its glistening black carapace reflected the pale moonlight, and its glowing blue eyes were fixed on you with predatory intent.

You scrambled to your feet, your heart racing as the creature lunged. The cold steel of your dagger felt pitifully small in your hand, and you knew there was no way you could face such a monstrosity alone.

“Viserion!” you screamed, your voice echoing into the void.

The spider reared back, its grotesque mandibles clicking menacingly as it prepared to strike. Just as it lunged, a deafening roar split the air, shaking the ground beneath you. The sudden blast of heat that followed was searing, and the spider was engulfed in a torrent of flames before it could reach you.

Viserion descended from the sky like a golden comet, her massive wings stirring the snow into a whirlwind as she landed between you and the charred remains of the spider. Her molten eyes glowed fiercely as she let out another roar, her long neck arching protectively over you.

You stumbled backward, your breath coming in ragged gasps as Viserion turned her head toward you. The fierceness in her eyes softened as she lowered herself, her snout nudging your side gently.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, reaching out to place a trembling hand on her warm scales. “Thank you.”

Viserion huffed, her hot breath clouding the air as her eyes scanned you for any sign of injury. You could feel the deep rumble of her concern vibrating through her body.

“I should have known you’d come for me,” you said softly, running your hand along her neck. “You always do.”

Viserion let out a low, comforting rumble, her massive form towering over you like a shield against the darkness. The snow around her had melted into steaming puddles, and the cold no longer felt so biting with her warmth enveloping you.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you moved toward her saddle, which was still secured to her back. Your muscles ached from the fall, but you pushed through the pain as you climbed up. Viserion remained still, her body tense and alert as if she were waiting for another threat to emerge.

Once you were securely seated, you leaned forward, your hands gripping the reins tightly. “Let’s go, girl. We need to find Tywin.”

Viserion roared once more, a sound that echoed into the vast, desolate night. Her powerful wings unfurled, snow and ice scattering as she launched herself into the air. The ground fell away beneath you, and the cold wind bit at your cheeks as the stars blurred overhead.

The clearing was a battlefield of ice and blood. Tywin and Kevan Lannister stood back-to-back, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they fought against the relentless tide of creatures. The grotesque forms of the attackers slithered and crawled from the shadows, their blue, glowing eyes piercing through the winter gloom. The beasts were monstrous amalgamations of man and nightmare—elongated limbs, pale and leathery skin stretched tight over sinew and bone, and claws that glinted like daggers in the faint moonlight.

Tywin drove his sword into the chest of one, the steel biting deep into its unnatural flesh. Black ichor sprayed across his armor as the creature let out a piercing wail before collapsing. He didn’t pause to catch his breath, turning sharply to strike another that lunged at Kevan.

“They keep coming!” Kevan shouted, slashing at a creature that tried to claw at his leg. “We won’t hold them off much longer!”

Tywin’s jaw tightened as he parried another strike, his face as unyielding as ever despite the chaos surrounding them. “Then we make them regret every step they take toward us,” he said coldly.

The air was bitter and thick with the scent of death. The last of their torches had been extinguished in the fray, leaving only the faint glow of the creatures’ eyes to light the scene. Their guttural chittering grew louder, a symphony of horror that sent chills down their spines.

Kevan stumbled slightly, narrowly avoiding the swipe of a claw that would have taken his head. “Tywin!” he shouted, his voice laced with desperation. “We can’t keep this up!”

Just as the creatures closed in, a deafening roar shattered the night, drowning out the horrifying sounds of their attackers. The ground trembled as a shadow passed over the clearing, followed by a sudden blast of searing heat.

From the sky, Viserion descended like an avenging flame, her golden scales glinting in the pale light of the moon. Her massive wings stirred the air into a tempest as she landed with a ground-shaking thud. A wave of fire erupted from her maw, consuming the creatures closest to Tywin and Kevan. Their screams echoed into the void as they dissolved into ash and blackened bones.

Kevan shielded his face from the intense heat, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and terror. “Seven Hells…” he muttered.

Perched atop Viserion, you clung tightly to the saddle, your hair whipping around you in the storm of her wings. “Tywin! Kevan!” you shouted, your voice carrying over the chaos.

Tywin’s head snapped up, his green eyes narrowing as they met yours. Despite the blood staining his armor and the ichor streaked across his face, his expression remained stoic.

Viserion roared again, her molten gaze fixed on the remaining creatures. They hesitated, their movements faltering as the she-dragon advanced. Another blast of fire erupted from her jaws, scattering them into the shadows. The few that remained retreated, their glowing eyes disappearing into the darkness.

“They’re falling back!” Kevan shouted, his voice filled with relief. “She’s driving them away!”

As the last of the creatures vanished, Viserion lowered her massive head, letting out a low, rumbling growl. You leaned forward in the saddle, your face pale but determined. “Climb on!” you called, your voice urgent. “Now!”

Kevan froze, staring at the dragon with wide eyes. “Climb… on?” he echoed, as if the very idea was unthinkable.

“There’s no time to argue!” you yelled, holding tightly to the reins. “More could come! You won’t make it back on foot!”

Tywin glanced at his brother, his expression unreadable but his tone stern. “Do as she says, Kevan. We’re out of options.”

Kevan hesitated, his hand gripping his sword tightly. “Tywin, this is—”

“A dragon doesn’t wait, Kevan,” Tywin snapped, his voice cutting through his brother’s protest. “Climb!”

Kevan swallowed hard, glancing at the massive creature before him. Her eyes flicked toward him, unblinking and intense. With a resigned nod, he sheathed his sword and approached cautiously.

“Come on!” you urged, extending a hand to him as Viserion lowered herself slightly to allow them to mount. “She won’t hurt you!”

Kevan reached up, his movements stiff and uncertain, as he took your hand. With a grunt, he hoisted himself up behind you, gripping the saddle with white-knuckled hands. Tywin followed suit, his movements precise and calculated despite the situation.

Once they were both secure, you tugged on the reins. “Hold tight!” you warned. “She’s going to take off!”

Viserion roared once more, her wings unfurling with a powerful sweep. Snow and ash scattered as she launched into the sky, the ground falling away beneath you. The wind roared in your ears as the three of you ascended into the night, leaving the horrors of the forest behind.

Kevan clung to the saddle, his face pale. “Tywin,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “You owe me for this.”

Tywin’s gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression as unyielding as ever. “Be grateful you’re alive, Kevan.”

You couldn’t help but smile faintly despite the tension. “I told you she wouldn’t hurt you,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”

Kevan let out a weak laugh, though it was tinged with disbelief. “If we survive this, I might.”

The rest of the flight passed in tense silence, the cold wind biting at your skin as Viserion carried you toward safety. The night was dark and endless, but for now, you were alive—and together.

The sound of Viserion’s massive wings beating against the icy air signaled her arrival as she descended into the courtyard of Casterly Rock. Snow swirled in her wake, the gusts sending men staggering back as the she-dragon landed with a resounding thud. Her scales glimmered faintly, dusted with ash and streaked with blood from the battle, and her fiery eyes scanned the gathered guards with a wary intensity.

The Lannister men stood frozen, their hands hovering near the hilts of their swords. Their expressions ranged from awe to outright fear as they watched the dragon settle. Slowly, she lowered herself, her massive frame taking up most of the courtyard as her molten gaze swept over the figures before her.

Perched atop the saddle, you turned to help Kevan dismount. His face was pale, his hands still gripping the saddle with white-knuckled tension. “You’re on solid ground now,” you said gently, extending a hand to him.

“Solid ground has never felt so unsteady,” Kevan muttered as he slid down, stumbling slightly before regaining his footing. His wide eyes darted toward Viserion as he backed away. “I don’t know how you’ve made a habit of this.”

You offered him a faint smile before turning to Tywin, who sat behind you. “Your turn,” you said, your voice soft but firm.

Tywin’s movements were deliberate, his gaze sweeping over the courtyard as he dismounted with practiced ease. The blood and grime staining his armor seemed to weigh heavier on him now that the chaos of battle was over. He stood straight, his expression unreadable, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed his discomfort.

As soon as Tywin’s boots hit the ground, Viserion let out a low rumble and stretched her wings. She nudged you gently with her massive snout, as if ensuring you were unharmed, before retreating toward the entrance of the mines. The men in the courtyard parted quickly, clearing a path for the dragon as she disappeared into the shadows of her lair.

“Stand down,” Tywin ordered the guards, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “The dragon has done her part. She is no threat.”

The men exchanged uneasy glances but lowered their hands from their weapons, their shoulders relaxing slightly.

You stepped toward Tywin, your eyes immediately scanning him. The adrenaline from the flight was beginning to wear off, and the full weight of what had just happened settled heavily in your chest. “Let me see,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument as you motioned toward his armor.

“I am fine,” Tywin replied curtly, brushing off your concern.

“No, you’re not,” you countered, your voice sharpening as you reached for the straps of his armor. “There’s blood.”

Kevan, who had been catching his breath nearby, glanced over. “She’s right, Tywin. I saw it too. You took a hit back there.”

Tywin exhaled sharply, irritation flickering in his eyes. “It’s nothing but a scratch.”

You ignored his protests, pulling at the clasp of his breastplate. As the heavy piece of armor fell away, the source of the blood became clear—a jagged tear in his tunic just beneath his ribs, dark with crimson. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was angry and raw, the skin around it beginning to swell.

“Nothing but a scratch,” you repeated, your tone laced with sarcasm as you glared up at him. “You could have bled out, Tywin.”

His expression didn’t waver, though there was a faint flicker of something in his eyes—irritation or perhaps reluctant acknowledgment. “It’s not as dire as you make it out to be.”

You turned sharply to the guards standing nearby. “Fetch Maester Aldren, now,” you ordered, your voice firm.

One of the men nodded quickly and hurried off, leaving the others standing awkwardly in silence.

Tywin crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on you. “This is unnecessary. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“And yet you’re still here to argue with me about it,” you shot back, your hands on your hips. “Let the maester tend to you, Tywin. You are no use to anyone if you’re laid up in bed with an infection.”

Kevan stepped closer, his voice lighter as he tried to ease the tension. “Listen to her, Tywin. She’s right, as always.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained silent, his jaw tightening as he reluctantly allowed your concerns to take precedence.

You stepped closer, your hands softening as you touched his arm. “You’ve just fought horrors most men couldn’t dream of. You’re human, Tywin, not invincible.”

His green eyes met yours, and for a moment, the weight of his exhaustion was visible. “Very well,” he said quietly, his voice losing some of its edge. “If it will put your mind at ease.”

“It will,” you replied, your tone softening as you gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you.”

The sound of hurried footsteps announced the arrival of Maester Aldren, who approached with his satchel of supplies. “My lord, my lady,” he greeted, his tone cautious as his gaze darted toward the blood on Tywin’s side. “I will see to it at once.”

You nodded, stepping aside to allow the maester access. “Take him inside,” you said firmly. “He’s done enough for one day.”

Tywin cast you a pointed look but allowed himself to be guided toward the keep. Kevan followed closely, his expression a mixture of relief and weariness. As the courtyard began to clear, you stood alone for a moment, your gaze lingering on the dark entrance to the mines where Viserion had disappeared.

The dragon had come for them when they needed her most, but the cost of what was stirring beyond the safety of Casterly Rock was growing clearer by the day. And now, with winter tightening its grip, the stakes had never felt higher.

The air smelled faintly of herbs and salves as Maester Aldren worked methodically at Tywin’s side, carefully cleaning and stitching the jagged wound beneath his ribs. You stood a few steps away, arms crossed tightly over your chest, your expression guarded but your worry plain for anyone to see.

Tywin sat on the edge of the bed, his posture as straight as ever, despite the pain that must have been coursing through him. His shirt had been removed, revealing the taut lines of his chest and the angry gash that Maester Aldren was tending to. Tywin’s eyes flicked toward you briefly, catching the stiffness in your stance.

“You shouldn’t be standing there, watching like a scolded child,” Tywin said, his tone as even as ever despite the situation.

You took a slow breath, your voice tinged with exasperation. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re fine.”

Maester Aldren glanced between the two of you, his movements careful as he worked. “The wound is not as deep as it could have been, my lord. With rest and proper care, it should heal without issue.”

“That’s what I said,” Tywin muttered under his breath, though his wince betrayed him as Aldren applied a fresh layer of salve.

You stepped closer, narrowing your eyes at him. “And yet you didn’t think to tell me about it until I saw the blood.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply immediately. The maester finished the last stitch and began wrapping a clean bandage around Tywin’s torso. When Aldren stepped back, his task completed, Tywin dismissed him with a nod.

“Leave us,” Tywin commanded. Aldren gathered his supplies, bowed, and left the room, the door closing softly behind him.

The silence stretched for a moment as you watched Tywin reach for his discarded shirt, his movements precise but slower than usual. You stepped forward, taking the fabric from him before he could strain himself further.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” you said softly, your voice still carrying an edge of frustration. “Let me help.”

Tywin regarded you for a moment before relenting, allowing you to drape the shirt gently over his shoulders. He straightened, his eyes locking onto yours. “You shouldn’t have come after me.”

Your brow furrowed, your hands stilling as you processed his words. “Of course, I came after you,” you replied, your voice quiet but firm. “How could I not?”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver, though there was something sharper in his expression now. “You could have died,” he said evenly, though the weight of the words lingered heavily in the air.

You met his gaze, your own eyes soft but resolute. “But I didn’t.”

“That’s not the point,” Tywin snapped, his voice rising slightly for the first time. “You put yourself at risk—for what? To ride into danger when you should have been here, safe, with our children?”

You stepped back slightly, your arms crossing once more. “You were out there, Tywin,” you countered, your voice matching his intensity. “What was I supposed to do? Sit here and wonder if you’d ever come back?”

“Yes,” Tywin replied without hesitation, his tone icy. “That is exactly what you should have done. Your place is here, ensuring the safety of this house, of our children.”

“And your place is with them, too,” you shot back, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. “But you were out there, fighting creatures no one understands. How could I stay here knowing you might not return?”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his frustration evident, though he didn’t immediately respond. The fire crackled softly in the silence.

“I can’t lose you,” you said finally, your voice breaking slightly as you looked away. “Don’t you understand that? I can’t.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, his stern features softening just a fraction. “And I cannot lose you,” he said quietly, his tone devoid of its usual bite. “But that is exactly what you risked.”

You stepped closer, reaching out to place a hand gently on his uninjured side. “I didn’t die, Tywin. I didn’t. And I won’t apologize for doing what I had to do.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his green eyes studying your face as if searching for something. Finally, he let out a soft sigh, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

“You always had a mind of your own,” he muttered, though there was a trace of something warmer in his tone.

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite the gravity of the conversation. “And you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

Tywin’s lips twitched, but he said nothing, instead reaching up to rest a hand lightly over yours. The weight of the moment lingered, unspoken but understood.

The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room as you remained close to Tywin, your hand resting gently against his side. The weight of everything that had happened, everything you had seen, pressed heavily on both of you. It was a silence thick with unspoken fears and shared understanding.

Tywin’s eyes, usually focused and commanding, were distant now, as if the horrors he had faced lingered just beneath the surface. He finally broke the silence, his voice low and steady but carrying an unusual note of weariness.

“You were right,” he said, his words deliberate.

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “About what?”

He met your gaze, the faintest flicker of something vulnerable showing through his usual stoicism. “The visions you spoke of—the things you warned me about. I dismissed them as fever dreams, shadows… I should not have.”

The admission startled you. Tywin Lannister was not a man who easily admitted fault, much less one to concede that someone else had seen further than he had. You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “Tywin, we’ve done everything we could to prepare. The Westerlands are stronger than most of the realm right now because of your leadership.”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he shook his head slightly. “Strength means little against what we faced out there. Those creatures…” He trailed off, his gaze hardening. “They’re unnatural. An affront to everything we know.”

You nodded slowly, your own memories of what you’d seen with Viserion still vivid. “They’re not just creatures, Tywin. They’re death itself, and they’re coming for all of us.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he said nothing, the firelight casting shadows across his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost reluctant. “I’ve spent my life fighting battles I could win—battles I could control. But this... this is something else entirely.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers lightly against his cheek, the gesture tender. “You’ve done more than anyone could ask, Tywin. You’ve kept your people alive during the darkest winter the realm has ever seen. That’s more than most lords can claim.”

He exhaled softly, leaning into your touch just enough for you to notice. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“It is,” you assured him, your voice firm but gentle. “You’ve given us a chance. That’s more than anyone else could do.”

For a long moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze searching. Then, with a deliberate motion, he reached up and cupped your face in his hands. His touch was warm despite the chill that seemed to linger everywhere these days. “You’re the only one who’s ever dared to tell me the truth,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Even when I didn’t want to hear it.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing against his wrist. “Someone has to keep you in check.”

His lips twitched into what might have been a smile, and then he leaned forward, pressing a firm but tender kiss to your lips. The weight of the world seemed to fall away for a moment, replaced by the shared warmth between you. His hands remained steady, holding you close as if anchoring himself to something real amidst the chaos.

When the kiss broke, you rested your forehead against his, your breath mingling in the still air of the room. “You’re not alone in this, Tywin,” you murmured. “We’ll face it together, no matter what comes.”

He nodded slightly, his fingers brushing against your jawline. “I know.”

A soft knock at the door interrupted the moment, and you pulled back slightly, glancing toward the sound. One of the household staff called out from the other side. “My lady, your sons are asking for you.”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of Damon and Maelor. Turning back to Tywin, you placed a hand lightly on his chest. “They’re waiting for you too, you know.”

His brows lifted slightly, and for a moment, the faintest hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. “They’ve been spoiled.”

You chuckled softly. “And whose fault is that?”

He didn’t answer, but the faint smirk that played at the corners of his lips was answer enough. You kissed him one last time before stepping back and extending a hand toward him. “Come. They’ve missed you.”

Tywin stood slowly, his movements deliberate as he straightened his posture. Despite the exhaustion etched into his features, there was a renewed determination in his eyes. He took your hand, and together, you left the room to join your children, the weight of the world still present but somehow a little lighter with each step you took side by side.

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

I'm asking so many questions but finals are coming up and I'm terrified- can I get a rundown on who Omega is???

Who is Omega?

Welcome to the very sad story of Omega. Okay, he's tried to destroy the Universe a few times, but we at GIL are big fans of the deeply misunderstood Omega.

👶 From Peylix to Problematic Hero

Peylix was a Shobogan, born on ancient Gallifrey—still dominated by mysticism, prophecy, and a matriarchal theocracy ruled by soothsayer-queens known as the Pythias. He spent his early life attending school on time, sharpening pencils, and learning absolutely everything he could about stellar engineering and quantum theory. He was especially interested in time travel.

At one point in his school days, he wrote an enthusiastic paper on time travel theory based on Genefrenian models. For this paper, he earned the lowest academic mark in Gallifreyan history: Omega. He kept the name.

As Omega grew, he befriended Rassilon and became part of the Neo-Technologist movement—those who sought to depose the Pythia and replace her priesthood with science and rationality. Arguably, Omega was never particularly interested in politics. But Rassilon and the Neo-Technologists' rise offered him one thing: more space to do his science.

While Omega was busy in the labs doing science and being oblivious to brewing civil war, on a dark night in the Capitol, the Neo-Technologists stormed the Temple and violently overthrew the Pythian regime. Blood ran in the streets. The Pythia cursed Gallifrey with sterility and hurled herself into a prophetic abyss.

Omega was, notably, the only person who looked at the aftermath and said, 'Hmm. I don't think I like how violent this is.'

Still, the revolution had happened. With Rassilon and a third figure known only as the Other, Omega formed the new ruling Triumvirate. But make no mistake—he didn't want power. He just wanted to finish his equations.

🖐️ The Hand of Omega

While Rassilon was busy farting around with politics and naming things after himself, Omega was designing the Hand of Omega—a stellar manipulator capable of collapsing stars into controlled singularities. This was Gallifrey's golden ticket: the power source needed to make time travel a reality.

But during a test of the Hand, something went catastrophically wrong (whether by accident or subterfuge). The star collapsed into a black hole, and Omega vanished, presumed dead.

🕳️ The Anti-Matter Exile

Shocker! Omega wasn't dead. He had fallen into a universe of pure antimatter. There, he made two chilling discoveries:

His physical body no longer existed.

No one was coming to help.

Trapped in a realm of unreality, with no mass, no matter, and no tea, Omega's consciousness endured. But so did his bitterness. Over time, isolation twisted into rage. Gallifrey had abandoned him, stolen his legacy, and left him to decay.

And, well... be fair. That is what happened.

⚔️ Showdowns with the Doctor

📍 First Contact (…Sort Of)

Millennia later, Omega attempted to break back into the real universe, draining Time Lord energy to fuel his return. The Time Lords responded with their best emergency measure: summoning three incarnations of the Doctor and giving them the vague instruction 'please fix this'.

The Doctors discovered Omega's body no longer existed. The Doctor (specifically, the Second) accidentally left behind a recorder—a physical object—which destabilised Omega's anti-matter realm and collapsed it around him.

He was not amused, but he did survive.

📍 Return Visit

Still very much not dead, Omega later hacked into the Matrix with the help of the Toymaker (or rather, someone with the same face), hijacked the Doctor's biodata, and built himself a new body using said biodata as a template. He materialised briefly on Earth, looking suspiciously Doctor-like.

Unfortunately, matter-based flesh doesn't sit well with anti-matter souls, and somehow, the genius Omega hadn't caught onto that idea yet. His body decayed rapidly, and the Doctor used an anti-matter converter to fling him back into the void. Again.

Since then, Omega has attempted multiple methods to return from the antimatter universe, but he has never succeeded.

➕Though Also...

According to some accounts, after his original encounters with Omega, the Sixth Doctor learned that there was evidence suggesting Omega might be his grandpappy. Whether or not that's true is anyone's guess, though the Doctor was notably a bit of an Omega fan in his youth.

💕We Love Omega!

Yes, he's tried to destroy Earth/the Universe/a few timelines. But let's recap:

He invented the technology that powers Gallifrey.

He enabled time travel.

He was abandoned by his society.

And then he got blamed for being upset about it.

Omega is Gallifrey's greatest genius, and its greatest loss. He is also the universe's most powerful introvert, and possibly the single most compelling argument for robust anti-matter mental health services.

We love Omega. We can't wait to see what he does next.

Related:

📺|🏺The Long and Complicated History of the Time Lords: Part III – The Rise of the Time Lords

📺|🏺The Long and Complicated History of the Time Lords: Part IV – The Birth of the Time Lords

💬|👤👑Why is Rassilon everywhere?: Who Rassilon is and why you should care.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[nanivinsmoke]

❥ 1000 Years Too Late

❥ heian!era sukuna x fem!reader

warnings: TRIGGERING & HEAVY spoils for the recent jjk chapter, if you don’t wanna be spoiled nor triggered, please don’t read.!

❥ trigger warnings & tags: mentions of death, suicidal thoughts & attempt, struggles with grief, reincarnation of sukuna’s deceased lover, unwanted pregnancy, depression, (sukuna inhabited a different body when he was with you) etc...

note: punishment for all my hunnibuns, since yall didn’t submit for the summer event. also i added a lil twist on the jjk plotline to fit this

it was over. they won, but you lost. lost the one thing that mattered to you.

you knew this was going to happen, but nobody can prepare you for death. how could they? especially for this one. they would judge you and shun you away from the academy, if they knew how you felt.

you watched as they rejoiced, reuniting and celebrating the end of sukuna, while you stood there sulking—trying so hard not to wallow in your sorrows.

he was the love of your life and now he is gone.

you stood at the spot where he died, trying so hard to feel his spirit or his energy, but there was nothing. he was truly gone. the two of you had fallen in love by accident, you couldn’t remember how it began, but you could remember how much the two of you loved each other. despite you both being on opposite sides, you couldn’t hate each other.

it was unfortunate how the world turned out for the two of you.

you entered your apartment and you immediately tensed up—immediately being hit with the cologne he used to wear. should you even be here? everything reminded you of him, the last plate in the sink that he used, the smell of the aftershave he used this morning, his crimson red slippers by the bed and his side of the bed that had grew cold.

you were alone, left alone once again. you lied down on his side of the bed, cuddling under the plush blanket, staring up at the ceiling—darkness clouding the room. ‘why’d you have to leave me? how am I supposed to move on?’ a tear trickled out of your eyes and then the flood gates opened.

you spent the whole night crying your eyes out, heart yearning for him once again.

the following days had gotten worse for you, you felt like you were decaying—mentally. you hadn’t left your place, ignoring the calls from your coworkers and your parents, you hadn’t showered, you had no motivation to nor have you eaten anything. his death took everything out of you, all you could do was drink. drink the pain away.

you sat in your bed tossing back the bottle of jack daniels that was sitting inside one of the kitchen’s cabinets. you had been drinking so much that the burn that accompanied the liquor had faded and it started to taste like juice. the vibrating sounds of your phone made you tense up, irritating you by the second while you ignored it; making you pick up—ready to drunkenly curse out the person on the other side.

that is until you heard their voice, the voice of your boyfriend's killer, the only one who knew of your relationship with the king of curses. yuuji itadori.

“hello? y/n–sensei?” you cringed, swallowing back your anger as you answered him back.

“hello yuuji, what’s up?” there was a pause on the other end and you took the opportunity to take another swig of the dark beverage.

“we haven’t seen you in a while….i just wanted to see how you were doing….” you had to stop yourself from chuckling, swallowing more and more of the bronze drink.

“im fine. is that all?” your words came out harsher than you intended, but that would’ve been a problem if you were in the right state of mind. “i'm not buying that. im coming to check on you, sensei. I’ll be there soon.” he said, hanging up on you—making you curse in frustration. you threw the bottle at the nearby wall, the glass shattering into a thousand tiny pieces and staining it with its contents.

you knew you shouldn’t be mad at him, he was a kid after all—being pulled into this mess, having to deal with everything as well. but, you didn’t know what else to do? who else to blame?

you got up from your bed, sulking on the way to the bathroom; stripping off your clothes and stepping to into the shower—turning on the water to boiling hot; the water burning away your thoughts. this was the only time you hadn’t thought about sukuna, the shower freed your mind. all you could think about was the pleasing feeling of the scalding water piercing your thoughts.

after a good ten minutes in the shower, you got out and put on something comfortable, waiting for the teen to come to your place. and a few more minutes, he was there, staring at you—like he could see right through you. “you miss him, don’t you?” the pink haired boy spoke, not wasting anytime. you looked at him and chuckled, before going into your favorite cabinet; the liquor cabinet. opening the strong bottle of vodka, you quick downed some; ignoring yuuji.

“before i killed him—,” he paused, seeing the look on your face after he said that before continued, ignoring your eyes. “he told me to go to this place, must’ve been his castle years ago, and told me to find this crate with your name on it.” he went out into the hallway and grabbed the crate, bringing it in to show you. it was filled with a bunch of letters, all signed to you.

“i never read any of them, y/n–sensei, i figured it was something special for you. help you get closure.”

“closure?” you stifled a laugh, raising any eyebrow at the boy. you burped, picking up the bottle of alcohol and shoving some more of its liquid down your throat. he could see that you were drunk, but you were also hurting.

“how the hell would you know what i need? hm?”

“because it’s not good to carry everything on your shoulders. trust me i know.” he put his hand onto of yours, eyes holding sincerity, but you couldn’t see that; heart wouldnt let you. you pulled away from him and stood a few feet back—face contorted into a scowl. “you should go.” yuuji opened his mouth to protest, but he knew shouldn’t. instead, he turned on his heels and head for the door, before saying one last thing.

“sensei, if you ever need help, im one call away.”

you avoided those letters like the plague. walking past them each time you went to retrieve a new bottle of your liquid medicine. you didn’t have the strength to, you feared that it might push you over the edge.

sukuna was on your mind heavily as you sat on the couch, flipping through the channels on the television—with a bottle in the other hand. you decided on a channel, a romantic movie playing on the big screen. you laughed in disgust at the main character, so helplessly in love—stupidly in love. you cringed when the character experienced her first heart break, rolling your tired eyes at her dramatics, that is until she received a letter. a letter from her lover.

it was like you were watching a movie about yourself. like someone was controlling you life in a way. you looked at the letter’s sitting on the island before looking back at the tv, before you got up and went over to the crate. You swallowed thickly and rummaged through them, pulling out one that had caught your eye. you ran your hand over the black ink, his handwriting thick and neat, envelope smelling just like him.

carefully tearing it open, you stared at the contents, finding a seat at the island.

‘ a thousand years ago, i ruled the world. i was nefarious, everyone bowed down to me—they respected me. i was king and then there was you, my queen. ’ you paused, taking a minute to process what the hell he was talking about. you took another swig from your personal mini bar before looking at the letter once more.

‘ i know you’re confused, i can see your face scrunching up in my mind. cute. ’ you giggled, heart swelling at you imagining him, imagining you.

‘ you were born a thousand years ago. you were everything i was not. you completed me, even though you were just a human, you made me feel more than just a curse. you made me, me. ’ your lips were trembling and you had to bite them to stop yourself from crying. he always had a way with words.

‘ you were fearsome, a little cruel at times (my kind of lady), but you were respected. however, some people didn’t feel the same and they had it out for you. you were cursed, one that would ultimately end up taking your life. after a passionate night of love making between you and i, we shared a kiss and that was the last one we ever shared. you died in my arms that night ’

plip. plip. plip.

your tears stained the letter, heart breaking into a thousand pieces. you knew that he was crying as he wrote this letter, words smudged where he was writing—that was rare for him. he was heartbroken just like you were.

' I watched the light go out of your eyes. i had to bury you. i was filled with emotions, one that i know a bit too well. rage. i killed everything and everyone in sight, trying to find a way to get you back…..it took me forever to find one. until, i met you again. the day that I saw you, i knew i had to keep you safe. you were fighting against me and i had to act like i didn’t know you, it was all part of my plan. i fell for you ten times harder and you slowly did as well. however, i found out that the curse reincarnated with you and how to break it. ’

you sipped the last of the burning booze, wiping your eyes that continuously watered with sadness. you pinched the letter, no longer wanting to read the rest of the letter, but you knew you had to. you had to know why, why the love of your life had to die.

‘ i found out the way to break it about a week ago and by the time you’re reading this, im probably already gone. the only way to break this curse was for me to die and i didn’t, you would die and be reincarnated over and over again if you continued to fall in love me. i couldn’t do it, I couldn’t see you die another thousand years later. i couldn’t lose you. so im doing what i gotta do. im sorry. ’

oh. the paper got wet.

the black ink smudged with your rainfall of tears. you couldn’t stop, your heart aching, breaking into a thousand pieces. why did the universe hate you? what did you ever do to deserve this? why did you have to live?

the bottle of bacardi fell to the floor, as you stumbled getting up—vision blurred with your sadness. you stepped on the clear shards, pricking your feet as you walked, not caring about the stinging sensation coursing through them. you staggered towards the bathroom, gripping the sink’s cool porcelain, & opening the medicine cabinet that lied behind the mirror. you picked up a random pill bottle, whipping the cap off and pouring a small handful into your mouth.

swallowing it with the help of the water from the sink’s faucet, you slid down to the tiled floor—sitting there until the drugs took full affect.

your eyes were getting weaker and weaker by the second, heart beating crazily in your chest and all you could do was lay back and smile. you were finally at peace, ready to be reunited with your love. until you felt a buzzing in your pants pocket. you weakly reached in and pulled out your phone, seeing the missed notification from itadori. oh. you smiled and opened the device, going to your text messages and pushing the little microphone icon.

“goodbye, yuuji.”

the effects of the pills consumed your body, putting you in a comatose state—a white light taking over your mind.

the sounds of medical machinery caused you to stir, eyes lids heavy as you tried to open them. the brightness of the lights above you, made you cringe, until you relaxed and was able to open them completely—taking around your surroundings. you were in fact, still alive.

you noticed there was tube inside of you mouth and you started to panic, that is until who hand came over and unplugged it for you, allowing you to gasp for air. “you’re lucky to be alive, y/n. thank yuuji for that.” shoko’s raspy voice rang in your ears and you met her eyes, tears welling in them.

“and did you know that you’re pregnant?” shoko asked and your eyes widened, there was no fucking way. after all that drinking you did, how can something like that survive in you?

almost like she could hear your thoughts, the brown haired woman spoke once more, “there seems to be some cursed energy in there. i don’t want to or need to know how, but i do need to know what do you plan on doing with it?” your mind was running a million miles per minute, a kid? a fucking fetus? you couldn’t, you couldn’t raise it—not now, not ever. not until you got help.

just as you were about to respond, there was a knock on your door and in came the pink haired teen. he smiled and looked at shoko, whom nodded her head and exited the room—leaving you two to have a mini staring contest. until, he decided to speak first, “I’ve got your text last night…I nearly raced over there—scooping you up and bringing you over here, auntie.” the name he called you made you raise an eyebrow.

“i went back to get a few things for you and I found the letter. it’s not your fault, you couldn’t control the past more can you control the future. it’s not his fault either. my uncle did what anyone would do in his situation, he might’ve dragged it a couple of times, but he lost the love of his life.” yuuji said with a little eye roll, causing you to chuckle.

“i know about your situation too…whatever you decide, im here every step of the way. you don’t need to do this on your own. he broke the curse so you could live, so live. “

you took those words to heart as you laid in the hospital bed, recovering. there was no doubt that you missed him and needed ryomen—but you know that dying now would make his death a waste. he died so you wouldn’t have to suffer, he was man; a cursed man yes—but he was the bravest man ever and you would forever love him.

“i got the last bag yuuji! tell fushiguro to help you with that one!” you shouted to the pink haired boy, grabbing the last bag from your empty apartment. you had recovered fully in shoko’s care a few weeks ago, you also signed up for therapy—to help you understand your feelings and better your mental health. you decided on getting rid of the unborn fetus, you were in no shape to carry such a thing. you weren’t strong enough and you knew sukuna would understand.

you sighed, looking around once more, taking in the memories before you moved to your new place. however, just as you were about to go, a white envelope caught your eye. you thought you shredded them all, but it seems that one was forgotten. setting down the bag of clothes, you leaned against the island and quickly opened it—heart thumping in anticipation.

‘ my love for you will never die. don’t fret my queen, ive might’ve been a thousand years too late, but i will forever love you a thousand years more. until we meet again. — ryomen . ’

you smiled, tears pouring out of your eyes while you kissed the letter, before bringing it over to the stove and lighting it on fire; burning it to a nice crisp.

that was the end of your story, but the beginning of a new one. take care, sukuna. and see you in hell.

[fictionalcharactersownmyheart]

Light of the Flame

Touya x f!reader

‘We can’t know each other anymore, Touya. I’m a pro-hero now.’

Those words hit him like a punch to the gut. A pro-hero. Of course you were. Because you were perfect and good and everything he’d never be.

After waking up for the first time since that night at Sekoto Peak, Touya thought he would spend the rest of his years in solitude. He had no idea how wrong his prediction would be.

contains: strangers to friends to enemies to lovers, yes wild I know, slow burn, canon-typical violence, will follow the canon for the most part, hawks shows up in later chapters, fluff and angst

note: This fic begins with Touya and the reader at 16, though it'll soon get to them when they're older. I’ve always wondered how Touya lived during those years when he was on his own, before joining the League, which inspired this. I’ve written more chapters on AO3 already, but I’ve decided to put the first chapter here. Not sure if I’ll continue posting this one to tumblr, so if you’re interested pls do keep reading there! Link is at the bottom.

Chapter 1 - A Convenient Arrangement

When Touya was thirteen, he thought he’d died.

He woke up three years later to blinding lights and the sickeningly colorful walls of a nursery in a body he couldn’t recognize. Older, taller, and scarred.

The strange people he woke up to told him to stay, but Touya doesn’t do what people want. The only person whose words carry any weight is his father. He’d go back home, his father will welcome him back, and he’d be trained by him as before. And… Touya would make things right. He’d go to his family, apologize, and everything would be good again.

That fantasy shatters when he discovers the same cold, oppressive house. Unchanged. Through a crack in a doorway, Touya sees his replacement: a boy in familiar poses, fists clenched, face set in a look of raw determination. He sees his father, eyes angry and proud, training his new project without hesitation. There was no pause for the son he had lost. Did his death mean so little to them? That’s how fast they forget?

Replaced and forgotten, Touya clenches his fists and leaves the house with a rage simmering like embers reigniting into flame. With nothing to his name, he’d nicked a few items from a convenience store and made an abandoned building not far from the city his home. It would have to do.

He steals a laptop to entertain the mind. He finds a mattress in the abandoned building, dirty and decaying, but it was no worse than returning to the house he grew up in.

He spends hours - days, weeks - watching videos of Endeavor, learning his techniques. In that way, he was still being trained by him. Videos of people praising Endeavor fills his heart with endless rage, and it’s enough to drive him to wake up the next morning.

Touya quickly accepts that this would be his life for the years to come. It'd be a life of solitude, but his chance at a normal life died three years ago at Sekoto. He would be better alone. He’d train, and swore to eventually expose his father. Touya would often envision the confrontation - his father’s face twisting in disbelief as he laid bare the truth. He envisions a face of regret, of pain, and sometimes he envisions his father in awe of how far his quirk had come. Though he never envisions the latter without pure, unbridled hurt accompanying his father’s expression.

As he sits in the corner of the room lost in these thoughts, a month into his solitary routine, a sound breaks through the silence.

Footsteps echo through the building.

Touya tenses. The sound ignites panic in his chest, but he quickly shakes it off. Whatever. He’d burn his way through, as usual. He stays silent, listening attentively. There's only one person, it seems. The footsteps become louder. He prepares to see some criminal - who else would enter an abandoned building? But that's nothing he can't handle-

A girl his age walks in, adorning sportswear. You.

He observes you quietly, his body relaxing all at once but his mind still on guard. You don’t notice him and put your bag down, sighing. The stress of school has been catching up to you, so you regrettably haven't been able to return to this building in a while.

As you turn you see a white haired boy - wearing a black jacket, loose jeans and slouched in the corner of the room - and let out a startled yelp, jumping slightly.

"Oh my god! Holy shit- sorry, I’ve never seen somebody else here before-"

"Who the fuck are you?" Touya snaps, his defenses rising again. He was curious at first, but now all he registers you as is a nuisance.

Touya doesn’t know how to deal with you. This building doesn’t belong to him. Also, the most he’s ever done was burn down that nursery and steal. Can he really threaten some girl away? Or worse?

You freeze for a moment, taken aback by his tone. You give him your name. "I’m… I’m usually here to train. I haven’t seen you before." You take note of the light pink burn marks on his face.

"Well, I haven’t seen you, and I’ve been here for a month." He shoots back.

You huff. "That’s because it was exam season. Couldn’t come for a bit. Didn’t you have that too?"

He pauses. There’s no need to reveal information about himself. But also, he hasn’t had a real human conversation in three years. He decides he can let himself entertain this. "I don’t go to school."

"Oh, shit" That’s when you notice the mattress, the resources at the back - right. You really screwed that one up, well done. "Oh, well, I’m sorry." You pause. Clearly he needs this space more than you. You consider leaving, finding another building, but this is the closest one to your house. "...D’you mind if I continue training here?"

"Yes”

"Okay great-"

"I said yes. I do mind."

"Oh."

He sees you stuck in place, clearly hesitant to leave. He feels the need to tell you to fuck off, to leave him alone, but a month alone with nothing but Endeavor's face on a screen had become a little unbearable. "…you said you were training?"

You grin, an eager spark igniting in your eyes. "I wanna be a pro-hero-" Touya immediately groans, "-I know it sounds like some stupid dream everyone has when they’re, like, twelve. My quirk isn’t much right now, but in theory, it could be super useful."

He eyes you up and down. For an aspiring pro-hero, your frame is a little weak. You don’t hold yourself with confidence- and, shit. Now memories of training with his dad come rushing back to him. He quickly pushes them aside. "What’s your quirk?"

Oh, so now you look excited, he notices. You eagerly extend a hand out slightly, pointing a finger. The light from the setting sun pouring into the window becomes a little dimmer, and you create a projection of a small, glowing bird flying through the air. Light manipulation? It lands on Touya’s shoulder. He can feel a slight weight. No. That, and light materialization.

He looks at you unimpressed. "That’s it?"

You panic. "Wait- don’t you see? If I manage to create bigger things- I could make any weapon I’d like. I could also materialize light under my feet as I step, and then I’d be able to travel through air- look, I’ve been trying-"

He observes as you lift a foot. Sure enough, he sees a slight glowing platform form underneath.

"But it’s not strong enough yet to carry my weight" you continue, "It’s a work in progress."

Your determination feels oddly nostalgic, Touya thinks.

"What about you?" you chirp up, "What’s your quirk?"

He hesitates. He creates a blue flame in his hand, and you gasp in awe.

"Pretty flame… and powerful. God, you’d make a great pro. You’d easily get into UA."

He ignores the pro-hero comment. That’s a dream he can’t entertain again. "UA? You trynna go there?"

You nod. "Mhm. Their entrance exam is in a few months. Otherwise… My parents really want me to go to a normal highschool. But they’re willing to hear out my stupid dream for a little, I guess",

"Stupid dream, alright" Touya mutters, mulling over something. He figures he can turn this situation in his favor. After all, what good is training if he can’t practice against someone? You seem pliant. He’s sure asking some villain to fight with him would be more trouble than he needs at this stage. And if he does tell you to get out, he’ll have to find somewhere else to stay incase you tell somebody, which he sure as hell doesn’t want to do after spending ages finding a suitable building. He could also… get rid of you, or threaten you, but given that he’s currently working with nothing, maybe you can be of use. After a pause, he looks at you directly and decides to speak. "You can keep training here. As long as you train with me."

You look at him dumbfounded, eyes widening. What? "You would? You’re not messing with me?”

"Yes." He doesn’t know if he should find your reaction irritating or amusing. You seem naive and harmless enough that you wouldn’t go talking. Plus, you’ve been training in this dump. Doesn’t take him long to figure out you’ve been keeping your little training sessions private. "I need a sparring partner."

You have no idea who this dude is - hasn’t even given you his name - but you mull over his suggestion anyways. He seems confident in his abilities. Anyone else you’ve asked to train with you has brushed you off. So…

"Okay. Yes."

He stands. "Alright, we start today." He walks to stand directly in front of you, but retains a good distance. "Can you defend yourself?"

You sheepishly respond. "If you throw a ball at me, I can materialize a light shield and deflect. Figured that one out during dodgeball…"

He hums. "What about a flame?"

Your eyes widen a little, "I think that’s too much of a jump-"

"Gotta try."

With that, he ignites a small flame, its blue glow brightening the room. You brace yourself, anticipating his next move. He launches fire toward you, and you instinctively create a barrier of light, absorbing the impact whilst flinching away. The heat washes over you, and you can feel the strain of maintaining the projection.

"You need to be faster."

"That-" you look at him incredulously "you almost killed me!"

He rolls his eyes, scoffing. "That would’ve given your arm a burn at most. Do you want training, or not? You’ll face worse at UA.”

You huff, crossing your arms. "Give me a moment to prepare next time. And make your fire weaker-"

He laughs, slightly taunting but genuinely amused. His attitude irks you. Fine. You send a materialized boomerang at his face. He dodges easily.

"Easy there. Predictable, try harder." Touya’s smirk widens. Holy shit, he muses. He forgot what having fun was like.

He sends flames at you again - weaker this time, you note - and with much effort and frustration you create barriers. He continues until he notices that they’re becoming weaker.

"You need to counter-attack."

"I’m trying-"

"Then try harder.”

He continues his attack. You try your best, using one hand to shield, the other to send materialized darts at Touya. It’s the best you can do, for now.

"These darts are weak-"

"I can’t make anything stronger whilst I shield-", you shoot back in frustration.

After an hour of training, you suddenly let up, exhausted. You didn’t land a single hit. Touya stops his fire, barely tired, running on an adrenaline high. You try to catch your breath.

"Maybe-" you try to calm your breathing, panting, "Maybe they’re right- maybe I’m not suited for this- my quirk just isn’t made for it-"

Something about your resignation hits Touya harder than it should. A surge of heat rises through him, though he’s not angry - at least not at you. Another memory flashes in his mind.

"That’s not true." The words slip out before he can stop himself, coming out harsher than he expected like you’d just insulted him. He then stays silent, closing his mouth, unsure of how to follow that up.

"No, but it is-"

"You’ll train." He speaks against his own will again, with more conviction than intended. "You’ll train, and you’ll get better. You’re spouting bullshit."

"But you see, I suck-"

"Yeah you do. But that’s temporary." He wants to deck himself. Since when was he the type to comfort? But maybe, he knows exactly what you need to hear right now. And he can’t stop himself.

You look at him a little shocked, his encouraging words contrasting his harsh attitude from earlier. Your surprised reaction annoys him, and he’s about to throw an insult to make up for his words until you respond. "Okay…. Yeah, you’re right. I think I’m done for today, though…"

He watches you carefully as you pick up your bag, seemingly lost in thought.

"Are you always here?"

His immediate reflex is to say no. Because a normal person wouldn’t stay in an abandoned building all day. Because a normal person would have a family, or friends, or a hobby - but he doesn’t have any of that, not anymore. He only goes out to steal, and to use the public showers at a sports center.

"…yes" He hesitantly responds. "Yes, I am."

"Okay. I’ll be back then, weekly around this time. Or- well, I didn’t consider when you’d want me here."

"Anytime. Don’t care."

You stand there, pausing for a moment. He still hasn’t told you his name, you point out to him. He considers his options, then concludes you’re harmless enough. You won’t know any better.

"Touya."

You smile. "Okay. Well, nice to meet you, Touya. I hope I can be a good training partner… eventually."

He hums. He watches you wave at him and walk out of the building and the sun goes down. He sits back down on the rusty mattress, and for the first time he becomes acutely aware of how quiet the building is. There’s no hum from the air conditioning, no sound of Fuyumi and Natsuo playing in the courtyard, no sound of his mother running a bath for Shoto - no sound of the world moving on without him. He doesn’t know if he likes it or not.

His mind wanders back to you. He wonders whether he’d made a mistake agreeing to let you stay. I’m just using her, he thinks. It’s a convenient arrangement. I can actually spar with someone. Don’t have time for silly shit. She’s just using me, too.

But as he sinks into the worn mattress, a nagging thought lingers. A small, stupidly hopeful thought that creeps into the back of his mind - that maybe, for the first time in his life, he would worth something to someone. Touya hates to admit it, but he craves more of the admiration you expressed when he showed you his quirk.

He pushes down that thought as quickly as it comes, replaced by the satisfying image of his father looking up at him in anguish again. Right.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hi! If you're still taking requests I'd love request a drabble about the moment when Konig and Reader first noticed each other and what they thought/felt during that moment based on your "Just Friends" fic.

Btw I love your work and oh my god, it's perfection, absolutely amazing. Super excited to read chapter 3&4 (no rush take your time!!)

Thabj you!!!

Even Demons are Lonely

Wordcount: 3.8 k

Summary: König sees reader for the first time. Soon, the promise to never touch someone as lovely as her turns into a vow to never leave her side.

Tags/warnings: F!Reader, König POV, Just Friends universe. Angst, twisted & fluffy feelings, pining, obsessive behavior, stalking, panty stealing, mentions of past trauma, abuse and patricide, yandere!König falling in love (=being delusional). Mild sexual and violent themes. 

A/N: I did take my time with this one... 🩷 And it's only König POV, but I hope you enjoy! 💋

"Abashed the Devil stood, and felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely – saw, and pined His loss..."

– John Milton, Paradise Lost

Purgatory.

That's the word that stuck to him when he was learning English at school, simply because it was an accurate definition of how he felt.

Adults used to say there is heaven and hell, and then this world, the world of humans, somewhere in between. They said he would go to heaven after he died and that bad people would go to hell.

They were all liars because hell already existed here on Earth. He had lived there ever since he was born.

The first memories of the cutting are shallow and pale, like they happened to some other boy. With every hit and cut and every cry, the sounds turned muddy until he was mute too, until all he could hear was mother's crying and Papa's roaring. The old man always got more mad when people cried and cowered. 

That's when he knew he would someday do something about bad people, that crying and cowering and begging wasn't going to help. It was the birth hour of hope and heaven. He dreamed of killing his father, killing his "friends", killing everyone who looked at him like he was a freak. 

He soon learned that this was not what people associated with heaven at all. He learned that there was a word for people like him, for phantoms who were morbidly interested in death and decay.

Ghoul.

A grave robber and a corpse feaster he was not, but neither was he going to pretend that some people didn't deserve to be gutted. If being normal meant he should just play along and pretend that there was justice in this world, then he was happy to be morbid. A little ghoul boy who grew up in hell, who dreamed of heaven, who slipped behind the thin veil between the worlds when he was four, who learned how to make the knives dance while everyone around him suffered.

He learned to cry and beg before he learned to speak, but when the words finally started to make sense to him, he had no use for them. No one wanted to talk to him, so he settled to observe. Life was a film reel running by, and words were useless when all he wanted to do was roar. There was a growing, gaping maw inside him, shrieking and spitting blood while he was without a voice.

It took a while to make Papa cry and beg. But he begged, eventually. In his last words, he tried to hide behind a woman’s skirt. 

"Don't do this to your mother," was a plea that didn't ignite mercy: it drove him off the ledge. Looking at the horrible excuse for a man squirming at his feet made him realize he should've released his mother from this demon years ago. He was too weak, and he vowed to himself, to the whole world, that he would never be weak again.

………………

Sometimes, a glimpse of true heaven can be seen on a clear summer's day when the sun shines, when bees are buzzing and a beautiful voice sings a love song on the radio. Beautiful, peaceful things only add to his suffering. They are simply evidence gathered – examples of everything he will never have. 

The air clots inside his mask with a brew of old sweat and acrid gunpowder. It's usually enriched by a hot desert wind or the stench of dust and emissions, a city's rotten core. It would feel odd to be met with a fresh breeze or the smell of rust and smoke than have them dampened by the baggy mask. He's certain that it would only be painful to feel the full brunt of the world on his naked face again. His enemies can't see him when he kills them, so they can't haunt him either.

He is the only ghoul here. He is the one who haunts.

He's learned to let love and peace go. He came here to reap; that's his job. Ghouls cannot love or be loved. They are supposed to get rid of the plague, do what normal people can't do, what good people deem hideous and wrong.

People have always been alien to him: they both know something he cannot seem to decode and are unaware of the constant presence of the Maw. He has to feed it in order to not be swallowed by it himself. It helps with the constant yelling for a while. 

His father was the first demon to be punished, but he has learned that all demons are liars when they beg. They don't know what real hell is like. That's why he didn't give mercy to his father, and that's why he doesn't give mercy to them, either. It's not hell, it's not heaven, so he must be in a limbo state in between. 

That's why he calls this place purgatory. 

………………

He sees a woman under the sun one day.

The sheer sight of her sitting there on her little blanket spread over the grass, dressed in a pure white dress is like a torturing dream from above. It stops him in his tracks like there is suddenly an invisible wall in front of him, forcing him to halt.

His heart is pounding, but that's not new. His heart is always tight and racing, and that's why it's better to have a heavy gun in his hands than hold onto nothing at all; it's better to do something than do nothing at all. The only thing that calms the endless roil inside him is work; when there's no work, it helps to go outdoors, somewhere between the shadows between thick trees.

Trees are better than people...

But they're not better than a woman like her.

He knows his mind plays tricks sometimes with females. That is why at first he thinks that the creature before him is not from this world either. How could someone like her even end up here? There are few ladies in the base, and none of them have picnics; none of them look like angels.

She looks up at the sky, at the single cloud drifting across the cerulean blue that hurts his eyes. Sun shines on her exposed throat, her stare is dreamy as she basks in the warmth and raises an apple to her lips. 

He stops breathing as she takes a bite, fearing it might stain the beautiful white dress from how juicy it is. The runaway apple juice drips down her chin, but she catches it with her finger, then sweeps the sweet taste of it back into her mouth. 

Her lips hug the finger gently as she savors the treat, and his breath returns to him, heavy and with a pang, like someone just punched him between the lungs.

She can't be human... 

He wonders if she's even real. 

He's hungry, but the need to devour this woman turns into a need to worship her before he can even decipher what is happening to him. He would grovel at her feet if that's what it took to get her to feed him some of that fruit. His mind goes numb from the need to march there and hug her. Just hold her, so close that he forgets what it is to breathe.

He knows she would only scream, and it's good he's been walking in the shade. It's good that she can't see him unless she turns her head. Because she must be an angel, and angels have no business with ghouls. 

He should go and leave her be... Mortals he can want, humans he can torture, but a celestial being he could never touch. The wind carries a whiff of apple juice to his nose; it overrides the stench of sweat and gun oil and smoke. 

And then the angel turns her head. 

It's Judgment Day, but she doesn't condemn him. She blinks a few times, lashes fluttering like he's another sun, the dreaded black sun, and she can't bear to look directly at him. But there's no disgust, no uneasiness, there's no fear. There's only shyness and the smallest smile. 

The pain inside his gut turns into a brutal stab, pure suffering. He hasn't hoped for anything for a long, long time. Now hope bleeds into his stomach with golden tingles, like those rays of sun that caress her skin.

He thought good things would feel… well, good, but to his horror, they feel painful too. She's painfully sweet. Even the demon inside him falls silent, the only demon he cannot destroy. It's finally quiet, as it should be. Everything in him bows to this greater power of Her. 

But she can't be real... His mind is sick and has finally conjured up the most beautiful thing he can never, ever have. He's been called a freak, he's been called a dumb ugly giant, he's been called so many things, but he's not stupid enough to think that the creature hugged by the golden aura of light is meant for him. 

So he squares his shoulders and pushes through the invisible wall, back behind the veil, back to where he belongs, and leaves the heavenly apparition in the sun.

………………

The next time he sees her is after a mission and inside the base. 

He brings mud and blood inside after a few rainy days spent in the mountains. He's so soaked that not even the 3-hour flight managed to dry all the dirt. She's waiting for him, or that's how it feels like when she gives him a small, relieved smile and starts to clean the mess he and every other operator leave behind.

His angel is not only a celestial visage but a cleaner.

She keeps the building that houses people who destroy life, clean. She scrubs the filth killers like him bring inside the cold, dead compound built on what used to be a forest full of birds, life, and wind through the trees. 

No one thanks this girl as she humbly dusts a table or mops the floor. No one understands that she's a saint for coming to the purgatory and making it a more decent place for the demons and ghouls to live. And she's relieved every time he comes back unharmed. She's happy to see he's alive. There's someone waiting for him. And not just someone, not just anyone, but an angel.

It's unbelievable how no one has claimed her yet. She has no one to keep her safe, and it makes his hands twitch. If he was her protector, she would never have to work again.

She's not like the rest of them: she doesn't turn her gaze away when he flicks a knife out. She likes to watch him make them dance. It's a ritual that makes him invincible on the battlefield. He used to do it every morning before school to stay safe – there were no angels back then to keep him alive.

He almost stops the first time he sees her watching how he goes through the rite. 

No, look away, little angel... You're not supposed to see this; this is a death dance, it's filthy, demonic magic.

But she's not afraid of his blades or the way he weaves his spell of protection. The girl follows his moves entranced. Her eyes shine, and he nearly drops the blade – he hasn't dropped a knife since he was ten – because there's hunger in her stare. Not as fathomless as his, but deep enough for him to recognize it. 

His angel is lonely and trapped too. 

He completes the dance, returns the knife to his pocket, and looks back, straight back.

She doesn't look away. She doesn't wince or lean back, no: she leans forward, and he can see it, the way her pulse flutters on her neck, the way her mouth opens even more, how a tiny pink tongue sweeps across her lips as she looks back into the jaws of damnation. It takes him a while to realize his angel must be wet, just from seeing how good he is with a knife. The notion doesn't only make his cock jolt; it throws him headfirst into the abyss. 

You'll never get rid of me now, the demon growls before he can choke him silent.

Her wet eyes, her wet, promising lips belong in a realm of madness. She's not filthy; his angel could never be filthy. But she's seducing him, which means she might seduce other men too. 

Has someone claimed her already…? 

What if she has a lover? Do they make her legs shake, do they make her mew?

Who does he have to kill?

………………

He breaks into her room that night. 

He only meant to stand watch and see if someone creeps to her in the cover of darkness. He thinks about different ways to kill her lover as he waits near her door. Should he just strangle them when they enter her room? Make her an offering, let her know she could have a far more powerful male if she wants?

No, he must use a knife... She will get wet if he uses a knife.

But no one appears: he is the only shadow in the dark hall, and after midnight, he decides to take a look at his innocent, sleeping angel. Just one look.

Her domain is full of softness, and he has to take a few deep breaths before he continues. Her world is so different from his that he nearly turns back and closes the door to paradise. But then her breathing calls to him, causing him to take a few steps. She sleeps with her window open, likes to listen to the sound of night birds before she falls asleep – just like he does…

The demon is awake in an instant and grabs him by the throat. 

No. 

Don’t look. If you look, she will steal your soul.

He freezes before he reaches her bed. His gaze sweeps her room instead, and the demon pants at the sight. Her dresses are laid out on a clothing rack: they salute him like a row of colorful flowers. Flowing and singing like a river, they hit him with a breeze made of life and all things good. 

She has a little armchair filled with cushions, and there's more softness and beauty everywhere he looks; he can see it even in the darkness of the night. Her delicate perfume that follows him as he follows her around the base lingers in the air and mixes with the distant birdsong and moonlight that shift the curtains in her room.

There's art on her walls, lively houseplants on the window sill, she has collected a cavalcade of cute little things on top of her drawer: nail polish and sea shells and beeswax candles and a piece of driftwood, a bottle of that perfume she uses, decorative lights above it all, placed around a small mirror. 

He wants all of that. 

He wants light and living things and greenery – he never had plants at home – he wants softness and cute little items, he wants to listen if the seashell still roars with the crashing waves were he to bring it to his ear. His mama always told him seashells remember the ocean because it used to be their home…

He wants her to light a honeyed candle and give him a bite of that apple, catch the juice as it runs down his scarred chin, or better yet, kiss it away before it falls. He wants to taste what's between her thighs. She must taste like honey and heaven.

One of the drawers is open, and from it, a torrent of cute little underthings is spilling out; they almost cascade on the floor. In different colors, too, and his hand reaches out and takes one before he can even think. He steals it like it's candy, then turns around with a stiff back and shoulders heavy from the sin he just committed.

He's about to go to the door, but her soft breathing calls him back. He tries to calm the demon - the girl can't steal anything: there's nothing left to steal. He has no soul, so he doesn't have to fear her either. 

Taking a few steps, he takes the peek he shouldn't take because it will only prolong his sentence in purgatory. Little does the demon know that he would suffer eternally for one little glimpse… 

She's not cocooned inside her blanket as he thought she would be. He thought he would find her coiled into a fetal position, curled into safety, but instead, she's sleeping on her back, arms spread next to her face, looking like she just fell from heaven and is feeling a little dizzy from the fall. She's calm and innocent as the moonlight brushes her cheek, her face free from all worry.

Why is she so cute, why is she so sweet? 

She has no right. She should be up in heaven.

He almost crawls on top of her right then and there, because blinding want is nothing compared to this. He wants to breathe her, breathe with her, hold her gently, and have her smile at him when she wakes up. He doesn't want to ruin her… He just wants a taste, see if an angel would like to have a demon worship her. If his worship would mean anything, if it had any power to persuade her to like him... 

He would never kneel before anyone, but he would kneel before her. In spirit, he is on his knees, and the only thing that makes him suffer is the fear that she might not want him, a ruined temple haunted by old, hateful spirits.

The madness was right. Apparently, there was a soul to steal, a tiny broken mosaic piece left, for the angel has it now. She owns what's left of him, the haunted temple is hers if she would ever want to come visit. He would restrain all those monsters so that she can walk freely and explore all the things buried under the rubble.

Her underwear burns his palm like a flower on fire. He only then realizes that there are no actual flowers in her room. He wonders if she would give him a kiss if he were to bring her one. Or two. Or an entire bouquet…

The demon inside cuts him with a searing blade – stupid idiot – she doesn't want to kiss your mauled face or love your ghouls. There's no treasure hidden inside that filthy rubble, there's only shit and blood and festering vomit. Better to just take her right now, see how tight she is, how wide her eyes go when a proper man comes to assert his will and authority. The demon tells him to at least ruin that cute thing in his hand and throw it on the table. Imagine her shocked little face when she wakes up…

Tears brim, and the maw of hell laughs with a roar of raging fire. He forces both down with a swallow and a wrench that shuts his heart.

There's no way she would ever let a man like him inside her. He's a sickness; no, he's an entire plague. He could try to make love to her, and she would only cry and bleed to death.

The smooth place between her brows gains a wrinkle as if she can hear his thoughts but doesn't agree with them. A little whimper escapes her nose, her head nods on the pillow; it looks like an attempt to hide while you're tied and cannot move. 

Pretty angel is having a nightmare, and it's no wonder. Of course she can sense she's being visited by a monster. 

He turns to leave, and notices another colorful thing on the floor: her underwear, and not clean. She's slipped out of it before bed: his angel is naked under that blanket. His angel sleeps naked…

He wonders if she has touched herself before sleep. Not with feverish, stern hands, like he does, but softly, under that blanket, with her features melting into pleasure as she comes with sighs and a series of desperate little whimpers. 

His blood turns to hellfire as he drops the underwear he's holding. It falls right next to the intoxicating thing he picks up instead. Taking a deep inhale, he can finally smell her. Not just her perfume, but her. She smells of an angel and a woman, raw, perfect woman, and he knows he's lost. This is worse than any dream or demon; this is worse than anything ever before. There's no going back now. 

Her scent calls to him, those hands frame her face in a gesture of surrender. She smiled at him on that day under the sun, and she smiled at him today.

What if he's spent enough time in hell? What if it's possible to have a taste of heaven?

He can't help but wonder if his angel wants this too... 

“Engel,” he whispers into the night.

It takes only a second before she whimpers again. It's an answer, it's a yes, and his heart is full of tiny needles; they pinch him with terrible love and hope. The wrinkle has smoothed out, and his angel is smiling very, very softly. 

She's calling for him. How could he refuse?

His angel is full of light as he makes his decision. He whispers his apology, only in his mind and only in German, trusting that angels must know every language in the world. He asks for her forgiveness for all the things he's about to do to her. Then he promises he will come for her, that she doesn't need to worry: she has a guardian now and always will. She will be forever safe with him by her side. He will drive even her nightmares away.

Then he returns to his room so different from hers, returns to the realm of death and worships the thing he just stole, spraying it with hot, white love - the only thing inside him that can be called pure, the color of angels. It's only a matter of time before he gets to worship her in the flesh, unite with her, the soul who forgave his sins and slipped him the key to heaven.

[yiiyiiwrites]

➰| Hiraeth | Prologue |

[Part one here]

Summary: Half fae, half Illyrian Keres has been moving between the shadows of the Hewn city. Her plan of escaping the cruel court doesn't go as planned though as she comes face to face with her younger half brother Azriel.

Azriel grew bored of the Hewn city, their inhabitants grating on what ever patience remained. He didn't know how Rhys could navigate their complaints and return their backhanded compliments to them without them realising it. Most of them spineless, quick to flip the knife and stab the person they considered a friend.

The only advantage, his shadows thrived in the court of darkness. One place they could roam freely and not arouse suspicion. A day in there and he'd gathered enough intel to discuss with Mor the potential rebellion.

Keir stood at the bottom the steps leading to the throne, "you'll be glad to know that we have identified the thing wreaking havoc in the depths of the city," he said glaring to Azriel and his dark companions. "They are just outside those doors."

The depths were the slums of the city, a decaying place full of ruthless fae willing to do anything in order to survive. Azriel was the first to be under scrutiny when the darkness increased in the area, but his absence in the court helped prove his innocence.

Four guards guided a women into the room, the darkbringers living up to their name as they brought the very thing in. They left as quick as they arrived, Keir following behind them leaving her in the middle of the throne room.

She looked like she'd been forged by darkness, black silhouette moving like the shadows weaving in and out of the sheer fabric hanging from her waist, hem reaching the ankle of her polished boots. Silver clasps snapped over her leather vest, billowing long sleeves as light as the grey mist twisting around her arms in a frenzy.

As she walked closer to them, the smoke fell away from her face and Azriel swore that what he saw was an illusion, a trick of the light. She might not remember him, but he would never forget her.

Bronze skin dull as if she'd become one with the shadows, the warmth in her amber eyes no longer glowing. Inky hair plaited and laid over her shoulder, he stilled as he realised her wings were gone.

No it can't be, he thought. Centuries of longing for something that wasn't gone forever, now stood in front of him.

"Azriel," Rhys snapped, repeating his name for a second time.

He couldn't look away from her, her narrowed eyes flitting to his gloved hands. As if she had just pieced everything together.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," she scoffed, "you became exactly like the bastards you hated." Her shadows trembled with her body, laugh sending a shiver down his spine.

"Keres," Azriel said, descending the stairs. Black wisps hissed at him to stay back, like the same venom in her own voice.

She shook her head, "do not." Fingers tracing the empty holster at her hip as he stalked closer to her.

"I thought you dead.” He ignored her silent warnings and stopped in front of her.

"If I ever see you again," she leant in, shadows merging with his. "I will rip those wings off your back myself," she whispered, smile stretching her thin lips.

Keres stepped back into the shadows, shifting through the planes of darkness. Azriel nearly missed his step, but he followed after her, each move hurried as he tried to keep up with her. His fingers clutched onto her sleeve, she twisted in his hold and slipped through another gap in the depths of obscurity.

Wrote this little fic stuck in traffic today (I wasn't driving) maybe I'll do some more. :)

[cryptidcorners]

Gardenia - Josh Futturman x M!Reader

Description: Being Josh's childhood friend, you never would have expected to see him appear by your doorstep after a month of radio silence. Though, in this particular visit, he's desperate to air out his true feelings before traveling through time. Unknowing if he'll ever come back to see you again.

Media: Future Man!Show

Character: Josh Futturman

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Childhood Friends, Catching Up, Confessions, Light Angst to Fluff, Kissing, Romantic, Comfort, Sweet Stuff

Warnings: Arguing (+ about Josh ghosting reader), Foul Language, Mental Breakdown/Depression Mentions

read my TOS + Josh Futturman Masterlist

Dread twisted in your stomach like rusted wire, and your constant stirring on your mattress was robbing you of any justice of getting any variant of rest. Your eyes grew heavy, dangerously puffy from expelling your grief several dark hours ago. Though, it had only felt like seconds to you. Your thoughts raced like a wild flock of puzzled birds, breath hitching along with it as you slowly fell into decay.

Your gaze was fixed to your glowing digital screen, eyes fixed on your messages with your old friend, Josh Futturman. It had been weeks of endless radio silence, along with your desperate texts. You were more worried than upset if anything. You went to his house to drop off a game you had finished, but his parents said he wasn't there. Along with all the other days you had made excuses to stand at his doorstep.

His parents weren't liars, and they wouldn't deny you. They knew Josh and you were close. You even remembered Diane saying you were helping him in ways they had struggled to for years. Your lip quivered, so why would he leave?

You two only argued once during a blue moon, you shared so much in common and you swore every second was sincere with him. It had always been him, and it had always been you. Ever since you were kids you were inseparable, to the point others figured you were his boyfriend due to how close you were. It was ridiculous.

Yet, here you were, hunched over and dry with internal pain, thoughts still clinging onto the thought of Josh. You were starved to see him again. He understood everything about you, even with the design of your mind being incredibly complicated. Had you done something wrong? Had you offended him? Had he grown tired of you? Did he even like you?

Then, you heard your doorbell. The familiar tune caught you off guard, but it had made you fix up your wrecked expression promptly and sluggishly fix your clothes. You raced downstairs while catching your breath. You were too out of it to care who it was, but you weren't stupid enough to open it at random. You rested your forehead against the door, "Who is it?" you asked weakly.

"Josh," a familiar voice answered. Muffled, and seemingly distressed as well. You jolted up and needily worked your hands to unlock the door. Your face was brimmed with shock. It was him, but covered in bruises and sweat. His curls were lazy and messy, his eyes were wide and his chest was rising and falling rapidly. Still, his gentle tone made you weak, relieved. But also incredibly angry. "Hey." He said, "Long time no see?"

You struggled to collect your thoughts. "Yeah." Your eyes narrowed, "Do you want to come inside?"

"Please." Josh stated. You didn't say anything, and gestured for him to walk toward. As soon as you shut the door, he immediately opened his mouth and began rambling, "Look, I'm—, I'm so sorry I didn't talk to you." His eyes met yours, "Trust me, I didn't mean to leave you for so long." Josh stammered, "I was just, so wrapped up in something. And, I wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't, please, I didn't–"

You sucked your teeth, "Where were you Josh?"

"I–" his hands landed heavily at his sides, his face slightly appalled at himself. As if he were a dumbfounded audience. "I can't tell you."

"Why not?" You grew agitated, spilling out your gallons of binded frustration. "Why did you ghost me for over a month? Where . . . Where were you?" You breathed heavily, "I thought you hated me, or something terrible happened to you. God, your parents didn't even know where you were!"

Josh choked out a cry, "You don't understand. I didn't want to hurt you,"

"But you did!" You interrupted. "Josh, why did you leave? What happened?"

"I can't fucking tell you!" Josh shouted. "You wouldn't understand. It's too complicated!" You grabbed him by the shoulder before he could turn around, "No, I don't think you understand. How could you just go with no explanation? You look terrible. What are you running away from?"

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you." Josh winced, "I'm sorry, okay? Please, I had no choice. I didn't mean to leave you. I didn't do it because I hated you or anything like that, okay?" His breaths were unraveling, "Do you know how much I care about you? You know me. You're my best friend," a low whimper escaped your lips as you stated at him. The tension shifted, and you both gazed at each other longingly. "I love you."

"Josh." You released your grip. "Please, I, don't have much time. I love you, so much. I would never, ever, hurt you." His hands found your face, "I need you to know this." Something grew in your chest, and you brought your head forward. "I love you too."

You don't know who fell first, but you felt relieved once Josh kissed you. His hands scavenged across your back, and you dug your fingers into his hair. He hummed, body relaxing at the feel of you. Once his palm found its way under your shirt, you both collapsed onto your couch.

You were both crosslegged and smothered in each other, skin blazing as your love untangled. His hands found your sides and you were eagerly grabbing his collar to pull him closer. You swear you could see stars once he pulled away, trying to catch his breath. Josh held you close, face still red from the passion you had inflicted just a few seconds ago.

"Hey, I'm sorry." You whispered.

"For what?"

"For getting so angry." You frowned, "I shouldn't have gotten so pissed at something personal happening to you."

Josh cupped your face. You swore you could drown in his eyes, "Don't say that. You deserve to be mad at me, I left you. And it's okay, just . . . stay here with me." You cuddled up next to him with a sleepy exhale, smiling softly. "Stay."

Josh whispered, "I promise I'll make it up to you. In any way I can,"

[mrros-e]

I was just thinking about this if you had rewritten Slugterra accession what would you do differently? Would you bring back Dr.Blakk as the main antagonist? Or would you bring in a new villain for the Shane gang to go up against? Let me know what you think.

soory yall ive been so busyyyy BUT

Blakk would have a lasting effect, but he would not be the main antagonist. at least not for a while. cause i think this show could have been so loooooooong....id introduce blakk in like season 7 lol. honestly, slugterra has a rich tapestry of small compelling villains, with some being more important than others depending on their alliances. i'd bring back the old classics (saturday, cc, twist, maurice, blite, you name it) and also add new players - ones that grew undr blakk's shadow, ones that were released/escaped from prison for some reason, ones that hid to wait out blakk's plans and now finally feel ready to make their debut, or even some legendary evil ppl that in age have come to terrorize one cavern and, compacent, their terror hasn't been on wider slugterra's radar. and hell, it could be people killing, or controlling, but it could also be small stuff again, like a kid abusing slugs, or other implicited abusive stuff going on (cause kid show, but cmonnnn, its slugterra, they are so good at being like "yes ur honor this dude was mind controlled for 20 years and we simply let the audience look into the explicit behaviors that we animated for him afterwards" they could so do that w harsher subjects)

i would do...everything different. keep the gang together. have everyone - especially eli - grapple with the concept of how to move forward and make slugterra better - stopping those slug markets and whatnot - while also contending with their trust issues (and possible depression, in elis case) after tad. out with the universal slug or whatever, bring in wtf dana's been doing with the shadow walker - maybe shes been exploring shadow clan territory in the south and calls the shane gang when she finds new shane secrets/treasure. maybe his could be a segmented like a show - some episodes are the gang trying to fight crime but also help people out, supporting programs that make the world better, and the other half is involving a tense plotline with the shadow clan about uncovering the stuff dana found (maybe a secret passage to the back end of the deep caverns, in a cavern that's thin enough to where the shadow walker could just barely manage to take a traveler to the other side). In both plots, old and new characters get introduced and recontextualized in the absence of Blakk, especially Twist, who would probably come back in the context of "hey, why not help out the gang covertly into finding will and rescuing him so i can kill him or something!", getting more evil from his time and trauma w blakk but then as eli's hero worship of the shanes and will decays further it prompts him to come back to the good side?

That was a rant but yeah - came up w that on the fly. But I actally wrote a little of a story involving after ItS - one called "I'm sorry, I dont know what the moon looks like tonight", whose later scenes take place after ItS, and TEAL "To End A Legacy" (which is my first slgterra fanfic) where i continued the slugterra plot....in a really dark way...and IM GONNA FINISH IT 2025 IS THE YEAR I FINISH THINGS I SWEAR-

find me on ao3 at Mister Rose, i havent done stuff in a little bit but ill come back i always do (post 2017)

[mama-qwerty]

WIP Wednesday

Hey look, I remembered this week!

So as I've been working on things, I've come realize that my two ocs seem to be my desire to either mother (Callie), or become the bestie (Scarlett) Knuckles needs. Self-indulgent stuff for the win, amiright?

But whatever. It's what interests me and there's a handful of you guys out there who seem to enjoy it too, soooo . . . win-win, I say.

This is the start of my kaiju wip, inspired by this video series on youtube. Let's imagine that Scarlett had been involved in that whole thing, and was besties with Knux during. This piece popped into my head after watching it (the thing gave me complete brainrot for a while) and follows Scarlett after everything ended.

You can read the whole thing on ao3!

~~~~~

The manx cat roamed the wasteland of her dead world.

Ears tuned to any sound around her, she kept her eyes straight ahead. On the horizon. Always on the horizon. There was nothing much to see to her sides, anyway. Withered trees. Brown grass. Bones of those not lucky enough to have learned how to survive now that the world had gone to hell.

It hadn’t always been like this.

Years ago, when she was a little girl, it had been green and beautiful. The skies had been blue, the water clean. There had been one tree outside her window she loved to climb. She would spend many a day in the upper branches, watching the clouds pass above her.

She could barely remember that now. It seemed a dream.

Dust flared around her boots as she walked. There was nothing green now. Barely anything grew from the poisoned soil that seemed to spread farther with each passing day. And what did manage to grow was twisted and jagged, once beautiful flowers and plants turned sharp and unnatural.

She moved to stay ahead of it. To find food. To find any life left on this rotting world.

And she moved to kill any monsters she came across.

The metal gauntlet that covered her right arm swung heavily against her, and she thumbed the various controls at her fingertips inside it. The end was a three fingered ‘hand’, tethered to the rest by a long, hidden chain. Various mechanisms inside could send it out with force, to grab or deliver a strong punch to her target.

It was the only piece of Tails’ mech she kept. Its mechanisms were simple enough for her to repair herself, and left her free to maneuver quickly. When she’d first hefted it, she was clumsy, her aim off. Now it was practically a part of her.

It had to be. She never would have survived this long without it.

The faded bag that held her few meager possessions bumped against her hip. She traveled light, carrying only what came in useful. A hunting knife, sharpened every night to a razor’s edge. A journal in which she wrote of every monster she’d slain, every destroyed and decaying town or village or city she’d come across. A water bottle with a built-in filter to remove at least most of the toxic elements in what little water was left. A few rolls of bandages, dirty from multiple uses, but better than nothing. A map, old and tattered, hopelessly outdated now but useful in a different way. A compass.

And one more thing. The only non-essential thing she’d kept from her life before it all collapsed.

It was wrapped in the leftover bits of a colorful scarf she’d had since childhood. The cloth had been cut to pieces over the years, used for first aid or to mark safe places. Hardly any was left, just a square a few inches along each side. The item inside wasn’t useful for anything, just a bit of wood about as large as her fist. But she couldn’t bear to leave it behind.

It was the only thing left of her best friend.

She pushed that thought away. Couldn’t afford the luxury of falling into memories, painful or otherwise. The sun sank lower in the sky, stretching the shadows longer along the ground.

The world became much more dangerous at night.

Her ears flicked constantly, twisting and following any sounds surrounding her. The world in general was quieter now, with no birdsong or animal calls. As twilight moved in, no fireflies flickered to life. No crickets chirruped to greet the coming evening. The only sound that fell on her ears was her own footsteps. A rhythmic dull thud in the dry dirt.

She kept walking.

The sun set completely, and the stars above blinked into life. Some nights, she would crane her head back, looking up at the stars and pretend everything was still alive. That the world was whole. That her friends were still with her.

That he was still with her.

For the millionth time she cursed the baron for bringing such a blight to the world. For destroying everything good.

No one was sure where he’d come from. This odd looking creature whose sole focus was to conquer. He’d sent his metal machines out first. Loud, smelly things that attacked her city and destroyed everything they touched.

She and her friends had all banded together to stop him. To push his machines back, and keep him from taking one of the last cities left outside his rule. It was hard, his machines seemed to become stronger with each attack, but they’d managed.

But then the baron had sent a new foe. One of flesh and blood. A kaiju, a demon. One hellbent on taking the city down. Those battles were harder. Much harder. It had taken more to keep it at bay.

Tails had done well to arm them. Building mechs to turn away each attack. But every night the kaiju returned, bigger and stronger than before. Each battle was harder won than the last.

And then Sonic had gone off to face the baron alone. To try and end this once and for all.

It hadn’t gone well.

A sound to her right and she stopped, eyes dilating in the dim light as her ears flicked to hone in on the disturbance. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, and she took slow breaths to try and calm it so she could hear properly.

She stood stock still for a long few moments, eyes and ears flicking around her. Her fingers caressed the controls in her gauntlet. They’d been worn smooth from use.

The sound again. A kind of scrape, followed by a huff. Behind her, to the left. She spun, and raised the gauntlet just in time to block the sharp teeth of a smallish kaiju from tearing off her face. She threw the thing away from her, assuming a defensive stance as it reared back and roared.

~~~~~

I have more, but I'm still tweaking as I work on it. But here's the first 1k or so words for ya.

Read it all on ao3

[mooneyedandglowing]

So

There's that. No title on mobile these days. And there's that. And I did it. Smoked 4 cigarettes, trashed the rest. One thing after another and my anger grows into a pile-up on the freeway of my mind.

The doctor calls my freckles 'tons of sun damage' and there you have it - I'm reduced produce rotting and bruised with black leaves like a plum left out in the heat.

Sometimes there's these things I don't know how to make sound good. There are things I can't twist silk around. And it all disgusts me.

Earlier I was telling someone about my disorganized attachment, the way my love is a closet full of discarded clothes left wrinkled in piles on the floor. You can't say to anyone you want to try them on and look in the mirror.

But anyway, I think you'd drape prettily over my shoulders, but then I think you wouldn't want to. So you don't come home with me. You don't make it to a pile covering some carpet stain or another.

No irony is lost when the moth escapes me in the dark, when I turn on the light and it's vanished as if I'd imagined it, brought it to half-life before killing it myself by flipping the switch.

But I like to use the 'you' to address a lot of 'you'. Like when you asked me, when you said, when my lover in the living room floats then spit in my mouth, when you left a voice-mail. Like when I pre-empt you and you say, "it's as if you listen to my thoughts", and you say, "I listen for you. I hear you in everything. Don't pretend like I can't hear it. I wish I knew how to make it work. Just shut up before I block you. Just shut up and let me love you forever. I waited too long to leave a message. I lost you. I'm sorry I lost you - just don't shut up anymore."

Like when you pressed me against the wall and I tripped. You tell me I'm difficult when all I did was exist.

Like when I look all around and no one wants to touch me and suddenly the curtain closes and opens again and I'm in the emperor's rear palace playing the part of forgotten concubine. Maybe I couldn't provide a child, maybe I didn't bow. I spend the day tending a small garden, reading, wondering if this day will be the day someone comes calling, even for some tea, a little gossip. I put gold in my hair.

When he came, he blushed, grew flustered and said sorry his English wasn't very good, but the apology came out, "You're beautiful."

I think about if I can recall the last time I was called beautiful like that by someone who wasn't obligated to say it. I can't.

Anyway, I will die. That consumes me more than anything. I wake up in the middle of the night and it's the first and only thought. You will die, you will die, you will die. And I don't know how others live. I don't know how it isn't a battering ram to every heart, or a fire lit to signal a siege is coming - a call to take arms. And that's all I want really, to take the arms of everyone I love, weave them into mine and form a circle we could dance around some maypole or whatever really.

Then there it is. You appear like a magician and the next thing I know I'm pacing the room trying to figure out how you're going to get the rabbit back into the hat or if I even want to watch you do it. It feels like a brutality. It feels like a mistake. And all I can do is walk back and forth in a straight line, shielding my view, muttering something about how magic isn't real.

Earlier I thought of when he died, not my father, who died alone in his grand home of decay collapsing all around him under the weight of a year's worth of unopened mail, but the one who told me he was afraid to die. I took his hand and sat with him, and then we sang - sometimes 'in the pines' sometimes 'in the house of the rising sun'. And then he was gone a week later. Someone else's negligence for which there was no justice. There rarely is.

It's the one thing I don't think I will ever learn how to get over, let go, throw peace into the wind about. Too much wrong is done. And it should hurt all the time. I don't know how you could just not think of it when it lives inside me, moves my hands to take yours and yours and yours and yours and say, "wait, do you hear the music" and sing.

Every day I have to parent myself. Every day I'm learning how to do that better. I'm redefining something, but it has no shape. Until it's finished, until I am, my friends are there, waiting somewhere I can reach.

[vicciouxs]

⠀⠀⠀⠀Hannah Doyle, 24. she / her now listening to she's a monster by exhibit decay...

⠀⠀⠀Hannah is the middle daughter of 7 siblings and they lived, with her parents, on a farm located in a small town. Her parents were extremely religious, as was the town, so Hannah grew up in a conservative, closed environment, where she didn't feel accepted. In the same way that being the middle child she felt that no one paid attention to her, she felt like a shadow or sometimes even like a ghost that you only notice when she does something wrong. In conclusion, her childhood was mostly solitary, which led to a personality that was somewhat closed and complex to access, because in the town she didn't have many friends, except for a neighbor who spoke with her out of her parents' obligation, but she didn't consider her either a friend. However, when Hannah was around 8 years old, her parents hired a maid from the church who would later become quite close with Hannah.

⠀⠀⠀Throughout her growing up Hannah showed a certain fascination with food, she loved to eat and was always hungry; but soon that hunger would turn into something more, something more twisted and deeper that she couldn't explain. Food was beginning to seem boring to her, she loved it, but it was boring, it satisfied her physically, not emotionally, and that frustrated her. How could something she loved so much make her feel so empty? Her response to that was to eat more, in the vain hope that if she was full she wouldn't feel empty. For religious reasons, her family used to practice fasting and they were very strict with food, so she had no choice but to beg the maid, Lola, for something to eat, she didn't care what it was, she just needed something else. But when her parents sent Lola away, Hannah began to feel more and more anxious, sometimes even acting aggressively toward her parents or siblings because something inside her desperately needed to eat and she couldn't control it.

⠀⠀⠀During one of the meals, one of her older sisters, Elisa, gave Hannah her food when she saw that she had even begun to trim her nails; and that's what they did day after day, during every meal, until their parents noticed. From that moment Hannah barely remembers anything, everything is blurry in her mind, she only remembers the sound of the plate crashing against the wall and her mother's screams just inches from her face. They were ashamed of her, she was clear about it and that's why they took her out of the house, so that she could reflect on her behavior; but she did everything but that.

⠀⠀⠀She wandered around the farm like a lost soul, listening to her stomach growl and her head spin, she had to eat, she needed to eat and suddenly a heavy breathing caught her attention. It came from her neighbors' farm and as if that breath was calling her, Hannah sneaked into the plot through a hole in the fence. She walked for a few minutes until she ran into a small rabbit, that was on its deathbed, perhaps because it had tried to escape and had been injured in the process, not knowing that this would cause its death. Hannah knew very well that when an animal was injured it was best to sacrifice it, so she crouched down next to it, ready to do the same thing she had seen Lola do with the chickens many times, but this time it was different. She barely remembered what happened, everything became dark when she began to feel the hot blood descending down her throat and how the small animal was losing heat between her hands. What came next were the horrified screams of her neighbors and the widening eyes of her parents; but none of that mattered to her, the important thing was that she no longer felt hungry, she was satisfied.

⠀⠀⠀Her parents didn't know what to do with her, they tried to take her to priests, use penance, punish her, they even tried to perform an exorcism on her, but nothing worked, Hannah didn't seem to regret her actions. So his last option was to put her in a convent, where her life would change forever. There she ate once a day and if she dared to escape to look for something else they punished her with lashes and even more fasting, on one occasion they even locked her up which caused her to completely embrace madness.

⠀⠀⠀She was isolated, she didn't talk to anyone, no one talked to her, the only thing that accompanied her were the voices in her head and the roar of her stomach that made more and more noise with each day that passed without eating. But as if something had heard her hunger, a young novice, who took pity on her, tried to help her, a big mistake. Her name was Sophia and she would always remember the fear she saw in her beautiful blue eyes. The young woman opened the door to give her something to eat and when she did, Hannah, who was bigger and stronger, pounced on her. She began to devour her by the throat, so that she wouldn't scream and what happened next is in black, she doesn't even remember what she did with the blood or the body, but once the door was open, Hannah escaped from there and again she felt satiated, she was no longer hungry.

⠀⠀⠀She left a note behind her, she and Sophia were lovers who had escaped together and so no one would deign to look for them beyond that horrible convent.

[gabster-fabster]

So I was listening to Madds Buckley’s ‘Sunset on Summerville’ Album about MHA and couldn’t help but notice that a lot of the songs could fit Umbrella Academy characters. I wrote this in like five minutes so it may be a bit jumbled but I hope you enjoyed.

One/Luther to me is Scotch Tape and Cellophane. The first verse when taken at face value is frustrated with the stickiness of the tape, forcing the singer to suffer while unwrapping the gift. I thought of this like the struggle of Luther and Reginald. Everything Reginald did stuck to Luther and even though his intentions were clear, he wanted his kids to suffer and Luther to be hidden away from the world. The rest of the song is more silly and loving, which shows the character growth Luther went through. He started as a leader type but grew into a very silly and loving character and the transition is mirrored in the song.

Two/Diego would be Little Big Boy. I originally thought that this would fit Five but listening to the song more and more made me change my opinion. Diego has this need to be seen, a need to prove himself. This is shown in his conflict with Luther and his vigilantism. He’s so determined to show everyone that he is the best, due to the fact that he feels as though he is a small fish in the metaphorical pond. The metaphor for water also fits with him since his power in the comics is breathing underwater but that’s less relevant to the comparison. He always wants something out of his reach, something bigger than him, saving JFK, being Number One in the Umbrella Academy. His desperation to prove himself makes him seem like a child vying for the approval of his father even well into adulthood, hence the ‘Little Big Boy.”

Three/Allison is Ambrosia Wine; she can give pleasure or pain, she can rumor someone to shoot themselves, but also to fall in love with her. Her power is quite literally giving people temptations and making them give into them. She is also known by many names and epithets due to her acting career. You cannot deny her, she is quite literally an urge you cannot ignore. This comparison is pretty self explanatory but it’s cool to draw it anyway.

Four/Klaus is Hawk in The Night. This one is more of a broad commentary of how Reginald wanted him to be. Hargreaves wanted Klaus to be powerful, to be obedient. The song is sung from the perspective of someone telling Hawks about how they are happy how he lost himself in his training and childhood, likely his handler. While Klaus didn’t meet the expectations set for him, he lost himself in drugs. The phrase ‘we raised you right’ comes up many times and it shows the self righteousness felt by both Hargreaves and the Commission. Reginald wanted to train Klaus so that he had the potential to be Number One and in doing so caused Klaus to lose his childhood and to shove down himself, desperately clawing at the world that wronged him. Hargreaves wanted him to be empty and emotionless, obedient like One was, and in doing so raised him ‘right,’ with days in the Mausoleum and traumatizing him so much that he had to turn to drugs and not tell anyone he was struggling because both him and Reginald had so much pride.

Five would be Child of Ashes. The warped sound of the song highlights the fact that he’s so much that his mind is a bit twisted. He is a child of ashes and without a home, raised in the apocalypse where his only company was burned buildings and the memory of his dead siblings. The song can also be seen as the manipulatings of the Handler. Telling him that his family won’t care for him now that he’s killed so many, and that he would be better off staying with them. The last line ‘We can watch the world decay,’ only reinforces this. The Handler wants him to stay and watch as his family dies again, in the same inevitable way. He has nowhere to run, his only home for so long was the ashes of the world’s end. The song is only about a minute and a half long so there isn’t much to analyze but it’s sad in its brevity.

Six/Ben is Sunset On Summerville. The sun is brought up again and again, a metaphor for life, the sunset and night being its opposite death. Ben is waiting for Klaus to realize that life is worth living, waiting with him. He is in twilight, the area between life and death, and everyday he is being called to the beyond, but he won’t give up on Klaus. The moon, or death indeed casts a cold light, we see this in the other ghosts that Klaus interacts with, it is so easy to give in to the despair but Ben finds comfort in his brother, the moons frigidity ‘only lasts the night’ but Klaus is there, a warmth or a beacon, a light like the sun of life. This reminds Ben that waiting is worth it. Waiting for Klaus to get sober, to stop being scared of his own power. While Ben longs to live again, he accepts the fact that he can’t, but seeing his siblings live and grow is enough for him to evade the cold embrace of death totally.

Seven/Viktor is Reach. This is actually what got me thinking of this whole thing. He is jealous of his siblings, she wants the spotlight they have. He wants the powers, the acknowledgment from their father. He works so hard, becoming exceptional at the violin, but it is impossible to become exceptional in the eyes of Reginald. He is constantly asking himself what he is doing wrong and when it will be his turn to be in the spotlight. He writes his book to try and lash out and get that spotlight, but instead it makes everyone shun him. He wants his life to be easy, while reaching for something he thinks is out of his grasp. He is left behind, his siblings have training, missions, but he has isolation and his violin. He is bitter, and in Season 1 this is very apparent. He harbors so much anger and frustration that it overflows into all of his actions. Also, fun little factoid, during the line ‘Why can’t I excel at something…like you’ like you is repeated six times, six times for his six other siblings who have powers.

If I had talents in creating edits or art I would make videos of these characters to these songs but alas. Hope this makes sense!

[ptolemaks]

𝔖𝔴𝔦𝔫���𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔅𝔶 𝔐𝔶 𝔑𝔢𝔠𝔨 𝔉𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔶 𝔗𝔯𝔢𝔢

Ethel found herself barefoot in a field, the blades of grass bending under her weight. The hollowness in her chest growing, her head just as empty. The wind blew her white dress against her bruised legs, and cracking the branches of the tree above her.

The branches twisted into each other, the dark grey sky bleeding through.

Her body trembled slightly, though she didn't feel fearful, one of the decaying branches sprung to life. It reached out to her, thinning and split like a frayed rope. Despite her efforts, she could only walk forward until the branch wrapped itself around her. One of its limbs clutching and gnawing into her neck, while another one snapped her ribs. She only could make a groaning noise as the tree crushed against her larynx, pulling her from the ground.

Through the cacophony, she heard voices. One belonging to the man she feared most, her father.

"You know I raised you better than this..."

His tone was blank, yet mocking. As if he was smiling at his daughter's agony.. and in fact, he was.

She was able to position her head to look at his icy glare... it wasn't just him though.

It was all of Shady Grove, Alabama..

The church front and center, townspeople, and even Willoughby...

Sweet Willoughby...

Their distant stares turned into sickening grins, and laughter.

They were laughing,

Right at her.

Each of their eyes.. unforgiving and cruel. Their laughter grew deafening..

"Poor preacher's daughter.."

Her neighbor, smirked through jagged teeth.

Ethel couldn't move.. just stare back at them, bleeding out all over the branch that exhalted her..

Before tears could roll down her cheeks..

__________________

She awoke with panicked breath.

She's had this dream many nights before.. especially after daddy died.

For some reason, it still haunted her.. among the million other things that do.

She tucked her long brown hair behind her ears before reaching under her bed for a bottle of Whiskey.

About time for another one.

She thought, twisting the cap off and taking a long sip. Letting the familiar woody taste burn her throat.

Pulling the bottle from her lips, she looked up at the old clock that read 7:14.

Sunday morning.. a time and day she grew to loathe, then feel numb toward.

She had a little over an hour to drink enough to feel slightly buzzed, brush her hair and put on that same flowy dress she always wore.

The golden sun, started to shine through her lace curtains, piercing the corner of her eyes as she sat and thought.

About how much longer until a poor man takes her place at the lectern, if it'll ever happen.

How much longer would her and her mother would be a spectacle..

And how much longer she would stay in this hellish town before finally getting the courage to leave..

Just like Will did.

Not a day goes by, that she doesn't reminisce about him, and apart of her wishes she didn't.

But memories was all she had left of him.

Memories and that house out on the edge of town.

This was just her fate.. a daughter of a beloved preacher that held dark secrets and eventually burned alive, a disappointment to her mother and maybe the town she was born in, and a girl who loved a man so very deeply but ultimately lost him... probably forever..

She sighed, pulling her knees in close to her chest, hugging them. The whiskey calmed her pounding heart, though it never warmed it. Sorrow of what was or what could have been used to swallow her, eyes always welling up with tears when no one was looking, and it was silent. Her chest was so full, and now it's been drained. Everything has been drained out of her, she wasn't sure she was truly alive..

Anhedonia and longing seemed to be the only things tugging at her.

The distant sound of oil sizzling and cabinets closing took her out of her haze.

She slid off the bed and walked over to her dress and black cross necklace hanging from her closet door. Studying the subtle embroidery across the fabric, she pictured herself on that cross of her necklace.

Her mother would find it blasphemous, however, in front of the church, she felt like she was the one hanging like Jesus..

But unlike him, she couldn't uphold the expectations placed on her since a younge age.

She wondered if he ever tried to escape his mother's blood... if he ever tried washing it from his hands or screamed as hard as she wanted to.

Maybe like him, she would meet a cruel end too.

[misirosekisiro]

I Got Reincarnated as a Slime (Dark version) 1-3

การแต่งด้วย AI นี่มันดีอยู่อย่าง คือปรกติผมมีไอเดียเยอะ แต่ไม่ค่อยมีอารมณ์ ยิ่งขาดอารมณ์ยิ่งอธิบายยาก เรื่องนี้ถึง AI มันจะชอบพาเรื่องออกทะเล แต่มันอธิบายได้ละเอียดดี ละเอียดเกินความจำเป็นด้วยซ้ำ และในฐานะ AI มันออกจะขาดความจำเกินไปมาก ๆ อยู่ดี ๆ คนที่ตายไปแล้วก็มาโผล่ อยู่ดี ๆ ก็มีตัวละครโผล่มาจากไหนไม่รู้ มั่วไปหมด เอาจริง ๆ เหนื่อยแทบเท่าเขียนเองทั้งเรื่องนั่นละ และอย่าถามหาว่า system หายไปไหนนะ โผล่มานิดเดียว ไม่ใช่แค่ AI ลืม คนเขียนก็ลืม

Chapter 1

It's start just an very ordinary day, Wataru Yanagisawa, Highschool boy walking to his school. He stop atroad crossing point waiting for green signal.

Suddenly, without warning he saw flash light from truck, suddenly crash towards him, sending him flying backwards into the streetlight pole. And then darkness...

Wataru opened his eyes. Where am I? This isn't my bedroom nor my house! Instead, he found himself lying within the midst of a shadowy and eerie woodland filled with thick foliage, tall grass, moss-covered rocks, fallen logs scattered here and there amidst decaying vegetation – all indications suggesting a strange and haunting place far removed from civilisation. How did I get here?

Wataru thought, trying to piece together what had happened to land him in such a bewildering situation. The sun cast its golden rays through gaps in the trees overhead, illuminating the ground around him ever so slightly. Shifting uncomfortably, he sat up straight, feeling oddly refreshed despite his ordeal. There was no trace of the incident he recalled happening back on Earth - not even a lingering bruise to remind him of it. It seemed almost as though nothing more than a dream had occurred before waking up here.

However, something felt different about him—a sensation unlike anything he could recall experiencing previously. It wasn’t until he moved his hands across his chest that he discovered why: instead of finding smooth skin, he encountered a cold, wet surface that rippled subtly against his touch.

He couldn't believe his own eyes when he looked down and realized that he had transformed into some sort of gelatinous creature! Panicking, he frantically tried to regain control over his limbs, only to find them twisting and contorting beyond recognition. In desperation, he attempted to stand upright once again, only to feel his entire form shift and flow like liquid onto the floor below.

"What happen to me!!!" Wataru thought. Then another sound answerd in his head.

"Answer, You have transport to another world. Now your species was Morphing slime"The voice that answered in his head was a man's voice, speaking smoothly tone like a machine.

"Oh god, what does this mean?" Wataru cried aloud. "How do I change back?"

There was silence, and then came another response in his mind.

"Answer, It's have no information right now about how to transform your species back to human species."

Wataru sighed deeply, feeling defeated.

"But as a morphing slime, you have an ability to take over others creatures or humans' body." That voice still answer in flat smooth tone.

A little bit relieved, yet terrified about his current predicament, Wataru began searching his surroundings for any sign of life. As he traversed deeper into the woodlands, he grew increasingly aware of the sinister atmosphere engulfing everything around him. It was clear to him that he needed assistance, but would anyone be able to help someone like him? Would they accept his existence as a living being? Or worse, would they see him as a threat due to his bizarre abilities?

These questions swirling in his mind, Wataru slowly made his way further into the heart of the woods. He heard rustlings among the leaves above him and noticed small rodents scampering away. Despite the mounting fear, Wataru took comfort in knowing that at least he wasn't entirely alone. However, the deeper he ventured, the stronger became his desire to come across another intelligent creature he might interact with, perhaps share stories or learn from one another.

After a while, he encounter with a wolf.

Without thinking twice, he instinctively tries to seize control of the animal's body.His arms reach out toward the tiny figure, attempting to wrap themselves around the warm furry frame. To his astonishment, he feels his tendrils extending, seeking purchase upon the wolf cub's flesh. Finally he move fast warp around wolf body with his slime body. He seek the hole that he can inject himself inside. Then he inject himself inside wolf's mouth, during he pour himself in, he start to melt anything inside wolf's body, muscle, organ or even wolf's skeleton. It's take not so long that only wolf skin left on the floor. It's like a wolf hide that got big oval abdomen, which Wataru body gather inside wolf skin. Then Wataru start to extent his body to every limb of wolf. Start with wolf's legs, his slime body filling in wolf skin's legs.

As his feet stretched forward and wrapped around the hooves, his fingers extended outward from his palms and clenched into sharp claws. With each motion, his muscles pulsated and contracted, pushing outwards as the slimy substance continued to grow thicker. After completely reshaping both forelegs, he focused on the rear ones, making sure they too were strong enough to support his weight and facilitate movement. Once completed, he allowed his upper torso to expand outwards, forming two massive shoulder blades that stood proudly along either side of his newly acquired spine.

The transformation process was near completion as his neck elongated, allowing the now powerful jaws to open wide. Unlike the delicate structure of a regular wolf, these teeth bore resemblance to those of a wild carnivore. Rising up to stand on all fours, Wataru tested his newly adapted strength by flexing the bulging muscles beneath his sleek, dark coat. He gazed intently at his reflection in the murky water nearby, marveling at the incredible feat he'd accomplished.

Transformed fully into a powerful creature, Wataru now possessed remarkable agility, speed, and endurance, characteristics that would serve him well as he navigated this hostile new terrain. Yet, there remained one significant concern — how exactly was he supposed to adapt to this baffling reality and locate a means to return home? His thoughts turned grim as he considered the possibility of never seeing his family again.

At that moment, the wind picked up, carrying the faint whispers of distant voices approaching closer.

The anxiety in Wataru heightened as he crouched low behind the thick undergrowth, concealing himself effectively amongst the lush foliage. Throughout his panicked rumination, Wataru's acute sense of hearing allowed him to discern an unusual pattern emerging from the surrounding flora. Treading carefully and maintaining caution, he managed to intercept three individuals passing through a narrow pathway adjacent to his cover.

Their conversation carried throughout the treetops, piercing the otherwise silent ambiance. Curiosity piqued, Wataru pressed his ear close to the earth to better hear their discussion. The murmurs revealed fragments of personal accounts and plans for a future journey. One of them mentioned joining forces with several guild members for protection purposes, citing numerous dangers lurking within these mysterious lands.

Captivated by their exchange, Wataru hesitantly approached the trio undetected.

Closely observing their movements, he noted their attire consisted primarily of leather armor accented with various accessories, giving off an impression of expertise in combat skills. Their weapons appeared worn and battle-tested, indicating years spent honing their craft. The leader of the group sported a confident demeanor, exuding authority as he directed his comrades with ease. Each member demonstrated proficiency in handling their respective tools of trade, leaving Wataru impressed by their prowess.

As he observed them from afar, he couldn't help but admire their camaraderie and determination to overcome whatever challenges lay ahead. While listening to their discussions, he learned valuable insights regarding the perilous landscape they inhabited, providing essential knowledge for his survival journey.

Nolan, the young warrior leading the group, displayed exceptional skill in swordsmanship and strategizing tactics. Although his features suggested a quiet disposition, his leadership qualities commanded respect from his peers. Beneath his composed exterior, however, lay hidden emotional turmoil, stemming from feelings of isolation and self-discovery. This inner conflict fueled his resolve to protect those closest to him, ultimately driving him towards success in his endeavors.

Meanwhile, Ed, the young healer exhibited an unwavering dedication to preserving the health and vitality of his companions, employing potent herbal remedies and restorative techniques to keep them fighting fit. Though initially reserved, the healer gradually opened up to the group, revealing his innate kindness and empathetic nature.

His gentle touch and compassionate words offered solace amidst the chaos of their dangerous journeys. Notably, it was evident that despite his introverted personality, Ed had found his place within the group, fostering trust between everyone.

Lastly, there was the enigmatic North - a skilled thief whose adeptness in evading traps and disarming opponents rendered him indispensable to the party. Concealed beneath a tight-fitting black mask, his identity remained shrouded in mystery, adding intrigue to the already captivating ensemble. As Wataru watched them interact, he could not help but notice the chemistry shared between North and Nolan, hinting at a deep connection between the pair.

Satisfied with his observations, Wataru decided to follow the group surreptitiously, hoping to gain more insightful information about their objectives and methods.

As the daylight started to fade, the adventurers chose to set camp within the confines of a vast cave opening situated just beyond the woods. Gingerly edging closer, Wataru studied their preparations meticulously, taking note of their routines and rituals.

Ed, the group's healer, diligently prepared meals for the night while the others tended to their equipment, ensuring everything functioned optimally. Meanwhile, Nolan maintained vigilant watch over their surroundings, keenly monitoring potential threats lurking nearby.

Sword in hand, he kept his fellow adventurers safe from harm, demonstrating immense valor and poise even in the most trying circumstances. The sound of crackling fire filled the air, casting a soft glow on the faces of the weary travelers as they sought refuge from the cold evening chill. Within this haven of light and warmth, friendships were solidified, bonding the group together through shared experiences and adversities faced along their arduous journey.

After a long day, finally they decide to take a rest, Nolan will stay as first shift guarding while other sleep.

Everyone else settled down comfortably for the night, reclining against large rocks and fallen tree trunks scattered across the expanse of the cavern floor. Despite exhaustion setting in, conversations among the group members persisted late into the night, reflecting on past exploits and sharing stories of their individual lives back home. Ed, always the consummate listener, absorbed every word spoken with genuine interest, occasionally offering thoughtful commentaries on each tale.

Throughout the night, Wataru witnessed a display of camaraderie and companionship rarely seen outside of familial bonds. These connections formed the foundation upon which they would continue to depend upon during their time traversing this unforgiving land.

The moonlit sky painted the walls of the cavern with a silver sheen, illuminating the room with a calm luminosity. Amidst the rustle of leaves and the screech of nocturnal creatures, the melodic hum of conversation filled the space, creating an atmosphere brimming with life and warmth.

After a few hours, Nolan wake North up to take next shift guard, while he head to rest.

Understanding the importance of such duties, North accepted without complaint, displaying unwavering commitment to his role within the group. Slipping away silently into the darkness, he vanished into the shadows beyond the campfire's reach.

Although tired, Nolan struggled to find sleep. With his emotions spiralling, the warrior felt torn between his desire for companionship and his longing for independence. Despite being surrounded by friends, Nolan often found himself wrestling with internal conflicts that threatened to consume him whole.

His yearning for affection resonated deeply within him, urging him to seek solitude and contemplate the complexities of his emotions. In times of despair, he questioned whether love truly existed, wondering if happiness ever awaited him beyond these tumultuous lands.

Dawn arrived slowly, painting the cavern walls with a subtle hue as rays of sunshise filtered through tiny cracks in the rock formations above. It seemed only fitting that amidst this tranquil environment, Ed would arise before anyone else, eager to greet the morning with renewed energy.

Drawing water from a natural spring flowing beneath the surface, he began brewing a refreshing elixir tailored specifically for each individual's needs. Watching him prepare nourishment for the group, one could almost see his care and devotion radiating from his pores. Every action performed held meaning, conveying an underlying message of concern and friendship toward his companions.

Inside the sheltered alcove nestled deeper within the cavern, Nolan took advantage of this respite from the harsh conditions of the outside world.

Seeking privacy, he delved further into his introspective thoughts, allowing himself to ponder upon the myriad of emotions coursing through his veins. Overwhelmed yet determined, he resolved to confront his fears, knowing full well that facing his demons would serve as a catalyst for growth and self-discovery.

Meanwhile, the sounds of Ed preparing breakfast reverberated faintly through the stone passageways, providing a calming rhythm in contrast to the chaotic storm raging within Nolan's heart.

Engrossed in his meditative state, Nolan allowed the sensual cadence of creation to seep into his consciousness, instilling serenity alongside its culinary aroma. Gradually, this peaceful atmosphere eased his burdened soul, granting him much needed clarity. However, when he glanced around, his gaze came to rest upon the distant figure of North, standing sentry near the entrance of the cavern. Witnessing his loyalty to the group, something stirred within Nolan's chest, awakening an unwanted tenderness.

He could hardly deny the fact that his heart swelled with pride whenever observing North's dedication and bravery. And yet, despite these affirmations, confusion continued to plague his mind – unable to decipher whether his feelings extended beyond mere comradery.

Ed's voice broke the silence, interrupting Nolan's stream of thoughts. "Are you alright?" he asked, his tone laced with genuine concern. Without hesitation, Nolan turned to face him directly, acknowledging the sincerity behind the query.

"Yes," he replied, attempting to mask his vulnerability. "Just lost myself in thought." Ed nodded understandingly, accepting the response while maintaining a look of mild curiosity etched onto his features. "We all have our moments," he offered reassuringly, his expression indicating sympathy mixed with supportiveness.

These simple exchanges provided momentary relief, easing some of the weight bearing down upon Nolan's shoulders. Realizing he couldn't fully articulate his internal struggle, he opted instead to focus on the present task at hand.

Climbing to his feet, Nolan retrieved a bowl containing the nutritious mixture crafted by Ed earlier. Grateful for the sustenance, he thanked the healer graciously. Observing their interactions, Wataru noticed the ease with which they communicated, highlighting the strong rapport developed amongst the party members. Their unity transcended mere teamwork; they were undeniably bound by trust and respect forged through trials encountered together.

While it appeared that Nolan had managed to suppress his inner turmoil, a shadow of doubt still loomed in the peripheries of his conscience. He wondered if his longing for intimacy could ever translate into reciprocal admiration, questioning whether his true desires lay buried beneath layers of fear and apprehension.

North returned shortly afterward, relinquishing control of the post to someone equally capable as himself. Together, the two stood side by side, discussing plans for their impending excursion deeper into the treacherous terrain ahead.

Although initially cautious due to prior encounters with bandits and dangerous wildlife, Nolan remained steadfast in his determination to overcome obstacles. Convincing North to join forces, the pair strategized ways to mitigate risks associated with their perilous undertaking. Trust flourished between them, growing stronger with each challenge conquered.

Wataru observed this dynamic duo from afar, marveling at their compatibility and ability to inspire one another. Understanding the significance of their partnership, he decided not to intervene - choosing instead to let destiny unfold naturally.

After finish their preparation, the party start to move on.

The path was rough and uneven, covered with thorns bushes and muddy parts. Trekking forward, everyone tried hard to avoid slips, falls, or worse accidents. Their physical strength tested, their hearts racing from the effort required to progress forward.

As the journey wore on, fatigue set in, forcing them to stop periodically for brief periods of recuperation. During breaks, Ed would provide refreshments designed to restore vitality levels while ensuring proper hydration.

Drawing on his extensive knowledge of herbs and potent mixtures, he consistently demonstrated unparalleled skill in maintaining health throughout challenging circumstances. This dedication earned him immense gratitude from his fellow travelers, fostering a deep sense of appreciation and reliance among the group.

As they pushed forth into the unknown landscape, occasional whispers about mysterious creatures lurking nearby circulated throughout the ranks. Although tales of ferocity abounded, none dared to speak openly about potential threats.

Instead, they focused on navigating the rugged terrain with precision, carefully mapping routes to minimize risk exposure. Unbeknownst to them, however, danger lurked just beyond the horizon.

Despite the arduous journey, spirits remained high as the party ventured closer towards their destination. Each step taken brought them closer to achieving their goals, bolstering morale and fortifying resolve. Throughout the day, conversations ranged from past experiences to hypotheses regarding what might lie ahead.

As nightfall approached, the group finally reached the threshold of Abandon Village. Its once majestic structures now reduced to crumbling remnants, testament to the ravages of time and neglect. Silhouettes cast eerily against the backdrop of twisted trees and decaying edifices, evoking a haunting ambiance.

Upon entering the village gates, their footsteps echoed softly across the weathered stones, conjuring images of ancient heroes seeking answers amid ruined grandeur. Emboldened by camaraderie, they stepped boldly into the darkness, ready to confront whatever fate may bring.

Exploring the dim alleys of Abandon Village, every corner revealed more wreckage left in the wake of time. Cobwebs blanketing dilapidated buildings served as silent witnesses to days gone by, hinting at stories forgotten yet not completely obliterated.

Chapter 2

Following the adventurer group led by the brave North, Wataru found himself entranced by the sight of Nolan and the enchanting thief interacting during the break. The combination of emotions emitting from both parties piqued his interest significantly. Curiosity grew stronger within him, yearning to understand the depth of their connection better.

The way Nolan looked at North spoke volumes without uttering a single word. It seemed there existed an undefinable bond between them, surpassing mere friendship, perhaps even bordering on romantic inclinations. Wataru became increasingly fascinated by the dynamics developing before his very eyes.

Beneath the moonlit sky, ghostly figures emerged from the shadows. Mesmerised by the ethereal beauty surrounding them, the entire group halted in midstep, captivated by the enigma playing out before their eyes.

With each passing second, suspicion intensified, fueling an almost palpable anticipation. Intrigued by the sudden change in atmosphere, Wataru quietly trailed behind, eager to observe events unfolding organically.

Night birds circled overhead, creating a symphony of dissonant melodies punctuated occasionally by shrill screeches. Moonlight danced off worn surfaces, casting grotesque shapes into the mix. Damp air hung heavy with the lingering essence of secrets unveiling themselves slowly through the mist.

"These ghosts, take no phycical damage!" Ed shout, thrown a holy water vials to both Nolan and North. "Coat your weapon with holy water!"

Nolan instructed, swiftly dipping his sword into the vial handed to him. With calculated movements, he proceeded cautiously toward the spectral apparitions, prepared to engage any imminent threat. Standing beside him, North mirrored his tactics, demonstrating remarkable composure under pressure.

Amidst the chaos, Wataru observed the couple, studying their actions closely. Noticing the confident strides of Nolan and the composed mannerisms exhibited by North, he felt inspired by their resilience.

But ghost is very bad enemy for warrior or theif.

"I will use Blessing Ground to expel them all! It's take sometime, please guard me during that."

Ed start to perform a holy ritual while both companions guarding him.

North's keen senses picked up on something amiss within the shifting shadows – whispers of movement drawing ever closer. Gripping his weapons tightly, adrenaline coursed through his veins as instinct took hold. Nolan's heart raced frantically, his body primed for battle. Their gazes locked, conveying mutual understanding despite being unable to share words aloud.

Meanwhile, Wataru followed suit, staying close enough to watch their actions attentively.

His heart pounding rapidly, the intensity of the situation heightening with each passing moment. Stealthily circling around the edges of the room, he surveyed the area meticulously, making note of any possible entry points for further adversaries.

Emotions ran high as Nolan and North engaged in fierce combat against malevolent spectres. Despite their efforts, several entities breached their defenses, causing momentary panic to grip them. Nonetheless, the pair regained their bearings quickly, adapting their strategy accordingly to nullify the threats.

Ed's body start to glowing. He still close his eyes, whispering a holy spell.

Slowly, he raise hands upwards, forming a circle above the ground. Then he chant sacred mantras, moving slow circles around it. Around him, the atmosphere gradually changes: the chilling wind calms down, becoming gentle. The rain stops falling, leaving only light drizzle remaining.

The holy energy surrounds him, filling up the space. Everyone stand close to him, feeling power flowing around them. And then the transformation begins, spiritual force starts cleanse everything around them, driving away evil spirits.

As the ghosts disappear, the atmosphere becomes less oppressive. Sensing the shift, Nolan and North exhaled simultaneously, relief evident upon their faces. The powerful energy continued to swirl around them, instilling a sense of peace. Almost instantaneously, the divine presence began fading, leaving behind a serenely charged air.

During these intense moments, their bodies were intertwined together, fighting hand-to-hand against supernatural enemies. Both could feel their hearts beat furiously, fueled by fear and desire to protect one another.

"I think this area is cleanse form any spirital monster." said Ed. "Weak monster also will not want to come around a scred ground, at least for tonight. Too bad this spell is comsume too much magical energy."

Said Ed, breathing heavily after performing the holy ritual. "It would take some time to recover my strength. Please continue exploring the village while I rest."

Nolan nodded gratefully, appreciative of Ed's considerate gesture. Together, they carefully navigated the eerie landscape, surveying every corner diligently. Although relieved to have vanquished the immediate danger, unease lingered beneath the surface. The notion of hidden foes remained a constant concern.

North maintained vigilance alongside Nolan, ensuring nothing went unnoticed. Their combined skills proved invaluable, allowing them to work seamlessly as a cohesive unit. Each move was executed with precision, reflecting years of experience honed through countless battles.

Unbeknownst to them, Wataru had been following from a distance, keeping tabs on their progress. Fascination consumed him, compelling him to remain close yet maintaining covertness. Watching the trio interact intrigued him deeply, sparking curiosity about their relationship dynamic.

He couldn’t help but admire their unwavering determination, courageously confronting various perils. Unseen forces seemed to test their resolve repeatedly, posing challenges which demanded fortitude and strategic thinking. Throughout the arduous journeys, trust and respect appeared to bind their alliance firmly. This display of unity inspired Wataru profoundly, stirring feelings of longing for companionship such as what he witnessed amongst the adventurers.

Emboldened by the thought of having someone by his side through thick and thin, in Wataru. the idea of joining forces began to materialise in his mind. However, uncertainty plagued him – should he approach them? Would they accept him? What would become of his own mission to find a means back to Earth? All doubts notwithstanding, Wataru resolved to put forth effort into gaining their trust and eventually earn a place among their ranks.

But its' will never happen, to a wolf, or actually slime like him. He can't even talk! He sigh while watching a far.

His thoughts drift towards the possibility of replacing one of them. Imagine possessing the physical prowess of Nolan, the charm of the mysterious thief, or even the quiet confidence of North. Such desires only served to ignite his fervor further.

Observing the three individuals grow ever closer, Wataru felt envious of their intimate connections. Witnessing their shared experiences and hardships, his longing deepened.

"Let's explore," proposed Nolan, breaking the silence as he gestured towards a nearby structure. The others readily agreed, their enthusiasm infectious. Determined to garner information regarding the source of the haunting, they trudged ahead bravely.

Admiration for their sheer tenacity radiated from Wataru's core.

Unable to quell his growing affinity for the duo, he decided to investigate further. Leaving his concealed position, he approached cautiously, careful not to alert the unsuspecting adventurers. Curiosity piqued, he peered through the windows of the dimly lit building, straining to catch a glimpse of their activities. Patience paid dividends when he finally caught sight of Nolan skillfully handling an ancient scroll, while North expertly interpreted its contents.

Observing their synchronized efforts revealed a harmonious blend of talents—their rapport striking.

Feeling increasingly envious, Wataru contemplated the benefits of bonding with one of them. How wonderful it must be to belong to a partnership such as theirs, sharing triumphs and tribulations. Envy turned to jealousy as he imagined himself experiencing those intimacies firsthand. Longing grew stronger within him, demanding action.

After finish check some surround. They decide it must time to rest. Since the area is safe. They're all can take full rest and continue on explore in the moring.

Ed suggested as they settled themselves comfortably.

Leading the way, Nolan guided his companions to a seemingly abandoned dwelling, offering respite amidst the eeriness of the village. Shrugging off their armor, they shed layers of sweat-soaked clothing, exposing scarred flesh and raw vulnerability.

Within the confines of the house, a faint candlelight illuminated the dusty corners, casting dancing shadows across walls. Its crumbling foundation spoke volumes about the history embedded within these very bricks.

Cracks spread like spiderwebs along the floorboards, providing evidence of past tremors or simply age-induced wear. With little choice but to make do, the trio made themselves comfortable on the creaking furniture.

Nolan chose a worn-out chair beside the crackling fireplace, carved into the wall by unknown artisans eons ago. Closing his eyes, he allowed exhaustion to consume him, seeking solace in dreamless sleep. In contrast, North opted for a lumpy mattress situated near the entrance.

Ed found a room with crumble bed, but it's still good for adventure who always sleep on the cold ground. Left North and Nolan next to lit fireplace.

Chapter 3

Nolan seem sleep, but he actually still not.

His mind drifts back to earlier interactions, replaying them in vivid detail. He remembers North's carefree laughter echoing throughout the forest and the undeniable chemistry between them during their latest escapade. These fleeting memories serve as fuel for his imagination, painting vibrant pictures of tender encounters and passionate rendezvous.

Aware of his growing fascination, Nolan wrestles with conflicting emotions - admiration for North's selfless nature and yearning for more personal involvement.

Unable to suppress his desires any longer, he makes a decision to pursue his aspirations boldly. Reaching out for sleeping North confidentially, he initiates contact with tentative steps. His heart races wildly as anticipation takes hold, awaiting reciprocation or rejection.

North wake up and look at Nolan,

"What up?" He asked.

Confused, North glanced down to see Nolan's hand resting upon his shoulder. Glancing upward, their gaze locked, eliciting warmth and familiarity. As understanding dawned upon North, a flush crept onto his cheeks, indicating an awareness of the situation. Despite initial hesitation, a smile formed on his lips.

Realization struck Nolan as well, acknowledging the mutual attraction that lay dormant until now.

Confidence bolstered, he reached out once again, drawing North into a tender embrace. Passion surged between them, intensifying with each subtle movement. Lips met in a gentle kiss, gradually evolving into something deeper and fiercer. Urgency took hold, leading them to undress one another eagerly. Bodies entangled with ravenous intensity, communicating without words their insatiable hunger for connection. Emotional barriers collapsed under the weight of their desire, unveiling true selves to one another.

Beneath this facade of bravery existed vulnerabilities, insecurities, and fears that only they could understand fully. In their embrace, they sought refuge from external threats while nurturing the sanctuary within. Every touch sent ripples coursing through their bodies, evoking sensations beyond anything either had previously encountered. Subconsciously, Wataru observed the unfolding events with baited breath, envy melding into something more powerful than mere covetousness.

Amidst the chaos of battle and exploration, an unexpected connection bloomed within the hearts of two adventurers. Although distant and unaware of Wataru's presence, his fascination heightened to a point of obsession.

Inspired by the intense passion displayed before him, he determined to form similar bonds of affection despite being unable to express himself verbally. If there were ways to bridge the communication gap, perhaps finding common ground via experiences or interests would suffice. Regardless, this revelatory moment marked a turning point for Wataru.

Observing the couple share intimacy kindled in him an uncontrollable urge to experience a similar depth of emotional attachment. Driven by desire, desire turn to lust, lust turn to envy,

envy turns to desperation. Desperate to belong, craving connection and intimacy just like them. Desperate to taste their forbidden fruit, his curiosity burned hot, leaving no room for reason or logic. His heart raced frantically, blood pumping faster, adrenaline flooding his veins as his sexual appetite grew. And suddenly, he knew what he wanted...

[herbeloved82]

Home under the falling snow

Daniel looked outside the window and an uncontrollable shiver shook his whole body. Winter had been his favorite season for a very long time, since he could remember he had enjoyed the falling snow that would cover the ugliness of the city, at least until the dirt turned it as gray and impure as everything else.  

In his mind as a child, Daniel had thought that under the immaculate blanket, everything that was wrong could be hidden and forgotten. Then he grew up and saw how cars and the dirt of the streets beneath the white would soon pollute the snow, turning something beautiful and pure, into a mess of waste and decay. 

That had been when he began to realize that nothing beautiful could last in a world that was made to destroy everything that was weak and fragile. 

“Come back to me, my love,” awarm voice said from behind him as a powerful chest pressed against his back. 

Oh how easy it would be to lose himself in Marius’ arms. To allow the older vampire to take away his pain and substitute it with lighter thoughts. Marius always had a healing power about him, his mind the safest and calmest place where Daniel was allowed to recover and rediscover himself again. 

“I’m right here.” Daniel said, hoping against all odds that Marius wouldn’t realize how that wasn’t the real truth. His body was there, obviously, but his mind was far, far away, in streets he hadn’t visited for decades now, in cities he couldn’t even remember.     

“Your mind is not, and I’m afraid I can’t follow where it is wandering now.” 

That was always an obstacle between them. Daniel’s terror of having his mind violated and Marius’ refusal to go sneaking there even when it appeared to be the only way to calm him down. 

“It’s nothing bad, I promise,” Daniel continued. He knew Marius  constantly worried for the people he loved. For Lestat and his fledgling, for Armand, his own beloved cherub, broken and twisted into something he was never meant to be, for the Sacred Parents who were no more, for Pandora and Bianca, even when too much happened between them and their love couldn’t be anymore. Daniel knew that and he was still shocked, every day, that he could be counted among the people Marius held close to his heart. 

“It’s just - winter reminds me of home, but I don’t know where home is anymore.” 

Daniel knew if there was someone who could understand what he meant, it was Marius. Who else had lost so much, time and time again, and still kept standing, a beacon for their kind and everyone who was lost? 

Not for the first time, Daniel wondered who had been there for him when he had needed a moment to rest to lay down the burden he always carried and rest? Sadly he knew the answer even if he didn’t want to think about it. 

“Home is such a strange concept, dear one. When I was young, still human, home was where the Penati laid. When I grew up and became a Senator, home was Rome and where she could reach. When I was taken and became the guardian of the Sacred Parents, home was their shrine. Then home became a person and I think only then I realized home is almost never a physical place.” 

Daniel slightly turned in the embrace, to look at Marius, and he realized his lover had now the saddest expression in his eyes and hated himself for forcing him into misery. He didn’t have to ask to know who Marius’ home was. 

Without thinking, Daniel opened his mouth once again, as his eyes closed, too scared to keep looking at Marius in case the man rejected what he wanted the most. 

“Would you be my home?” 

He felt Marius tensing behind him and for a moment the slow and rhythmic beat of his heart rushed, like Marius was still human, or at least maintained the human’s nature of being surprised.  

“It would be an honor.” Marius answered after a moment of silence. The time he needed to really understand what Daniel just asked and to realize that yes, he wanted to be Daniel’s home, he wanted to provide him with what had been taken from him by life and the choices he made. Perhaps, like that, they could both really begin to heal. 

As the snow kept falling outside and the world was once again hidden under the white quilt, Danuel turned in Marius’ arms and kissed his lover, hard. 

Sharp fangs cut into the perfectly shaped lips, drawing blood they shared. The fire burning in the hearth was the only witness of this moment of tenderness between immortals. 

END