#i feel like i have vague memories of this but also You Are Taunting Me On Purpose With A Cliffhanger

[fluxedbuds]

The Minecraft warden video from a few weeks ago reminded me about the canon moon magic

ah lads not the fucking moon again

[em1e]

⠀ 五条 + 夏 // RECUERDOS ⠀ ༝ ༝ gojo satoru + geto suguru ⠀ ༝ ༝ 3.2k words ⠀ ⚠︎ angsty kinda my b. this is a cyoe type story ! ⠀ — [ part 2 ] you were supposed to be dead, but by some miracle gojo's found you. geto, too.

i. dead

He thought he was going crazy, at first. 

Who wouldn’t? You were supposed to be dead. Go on and call him psycho for seeing you in everything, everywhere. 

The first thing he catches is your scent (it’s like picking up on something so vaguely familiar from childhood - an old memory that makes him double take and look around for what could possibly bring back the reminder of happier times). Gojo follows the smell absentmindedly through the busy streets, haphazardly bumping into other people and muttering half-hearted apologies without pause. He stops when he sees (h/c) hair enter a local grocery store.

It wasn’t possible, right? You were supposed to be dead. He follows behind without much thought, the soft chime of the doorbell making the clerk look up and greet him with a smile. He doesn’t acknowledge them, eyes set on your figure as you head towards the back of the shop - already knowing where whatever you have in mind to purchase is. Gojo keeps his distance, watching from three aisles over as you pick between two different apples, weighing and squeezing and examining until you decide the one in your right hand is much better than the one on your left. You bag the right one and put the left back in its place. From here, he can see your face clearly and he thinks numbly if there is a God out there, surely they are taunting me.

It’s you. You in every way he remembers you. The same soft gaze over everything your eyes meet, the same gentle but deliberate touch, everything done with confident intent. There’s small hints to prove you’ve grown older, that you have changed - more adult, more mature, but deep down he feels it. It’s you. 

He finds himself following a few steps after you as you leave the store. He can feel his own heartbeat in his ears, mind traveling a million miles a second as he tries to come up with some sort of explanation as to what was happening in front of his eyes. You stop at a pop-up flower shop, laughing animatedly with the owner before deciding on a bouquet of your favorite and carrying them away in one hand, the other clutching the rest of your belongings and recently purchased groceries. And he watches as you enter a nearby apartment, watches through the window as you greet the doorman with a smile and offer him one of your flowers, and watches you disappear behind the elevator doors. 

He leaves with a bitter taste in his mouth. 

ii. reunited

You were supposed to be dead. 

He’s brought back to that reminder looking at old pictures of when you went to Jujutsu High with him and Geto. Your smile so wide in each picture, your eyes crinkle in the corners with your arms thrown on either boy's shoulders - the bitter taste returns to his mouth. 

He knows now, you aren’t dead. Some part of his mind rejects the thought, some part of him rejoices in the fact. Gojo’s done some research on his own (also read: stalking) to find you seem to have a normal life. What happened after that fight?

Memories flood back from that dreadful night ; buildings were crumbled around them, and all Gojo could manage to think about after the demolition was where you were. He watched you take a bad hit, watched you fall off one of the many now broken down buildings, and you had yet to reappear among the other faces. Geto, as if sensing his friend's stress, starts to scream out. 

“(y/n)!”  

Geto’s scream is met with silence, and for once in his life, Gojo can’t find it in himself to move forward. To join his friend in his search for something. A corpse, part of your shirt, anything that could show proof of your remains, to prove that you were even there in the first place. 

Geto finds nothing in your wake, falling to his knees into the rubble and digging until his knuckles are all scraped from the cement and brick and glass and digging still when his fingertips are raw and bleeding, hoping to find anything. 

But he doesn’t. Gojo remembers numbly how they buried an empty casket. Pronounced dead with no body to match the call. He’s brought back to wondering why. Why you never told them otherwise, why you never came back to the school, why you never fixed this wrong. Does Geto know you’re alive? Your death absolutely crushed him, molded itself around his heart and formed a tough shell that Gojo finds hard to crack. 

He figures out your routine is just that - a routine. Very plain in every sense of the word, but easy to follow, easy to plan around. 

So it’s no surprise to him when you leave that same grocery store, items balanced meticulously in hand while saying something to the clerk who knows you by name. Without a second thought, Gojo pushes himself away from the wall he had been watching you from, head held high as he walked forward with mock intent to enter the same shop and oops - 

He’s knocked everything out of your hands! 

And consequently, has knocked you down as well. You’re quick to apologize, despite being the one to take the brunt of impact, and go to gather your items as quickly as you can. Gojo crouches to assist you, waving off your apology hastily. 

“No, no, no need to apologize. I wasn’t paying attention.” He ends with a hum, picking up a now bruised apple that rolled out of your bag and offering it to you. 

Here, he can see your face up close, and he takes in every little detail from behind his sunglasses. You finally look up at him as you take the apple from his hand, giving a small smile that makes something in his chest twist. 

“Thanks.” You shove the fruit back into your bag and Gojo offers his hand as he stands up, which you take gratefully. He grips your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting his own drop back to his side, chin up and head tilting slightly as if he’s really thinking about something. 

“Say, do I know you? Ya look familiar.” 

Your own head tilts in mock of his, eyes scanning his face and figure before your lower lip juts out and you shake your head, “No, I don’t think so. What’s your name?” 

His eyes narrow from behind his dark lenses, though he offers you his hand, “Gojo Satoru.” You shake it with an apologetic smile. 

“Yeah, no, I don’t recognize that. (l/n) (y/n).”

He drops your hand for a second time with a hum, “You must have one of those faces.” 

You shrug, smile ever-growing at him and he wonders if the sun could ever be as blinding in comparison. “It was nice to meet you, Gojo. Sorry again for running into you!” With a final wave, you’re moving past him to go back to your apartment. He knows this because he knows you. He knows you have to go home and start dinner right before your favorite show comes on TV so you can watch it while you eat. Then you’ll clean your kitchen, brush your teeth, and read a chapter from your favorite novel right before bed. 

Somehow, he also knows watching from a distance won't be enough forever. Things still aren't exactly clicking to him. Did you really not remember him? Or were you just saying that? He leaves with the hope of finding out.

iii. living

Gojo doesn’t intend to lose you a second time. He settles this with himself laying awake one night, room dark and mind heavy. If you left for good reason, he’s sure he could accept it. Maybe, with more thought, he could bring you back. Such a selfish hole to spiral down. 

It doesn’t keep him away the next day, already shopping at your frequented store. You come in five minutes earlier than he expects, and to no surprise head straight for the fruits. A perfect apple already in hand, he pretends to look between the selection of remaining apples, head tilting back and forth as he examines ones he knows aren’t nearly as good as the current in his grasp, but putting on a show for no one in particular. 

You step beside him, already giving him that big smile he’d recognize miles away and pick up an apple to examine yourself. 

“Funny running into you again.” You pick up another and compare them with the squeeze test. 

He pretends he’s surprised that you’re suddenly beside him, turning to look at you as if he wasn’t studying you the minute you stepped in the building. 

“Oh, it’s you!” He says after a moment, offering a small smile in return, “Very funny running into you! You wouldn’t believe what I found.” 

He passes you the perfect apple without much thought, not catching your amazed daze at the fruit as he reaches for his wallet to pull out the picture of the three of you and offering that as well. “I couldn’t get such a pretty thing like you outta my head - knew I recognized you from somewhere.” 

You all but gawk at the photo, apple long forgotten as you take in every detail. 

“Is this me?” 

He watches your expression shift from behind sunglasses, unsure what to make of this statement. 

“It is.” He says finally, “Do you . . . you don’t remember?” A small shake of the head is his answer. “This is you,” his arm brushes against yours slightly to point out the obvious, “this is me, and this is Geto. We were all friends back in the day.” 

“You . . . knew me?” Your voice is so small, and Gojo forgets for a moment that the two of you aren’t the only ones in this store, in this reality. 

“I . .. did, yeah.” He looks around and finally takes in the other patrons in the establishment, the workers joking and having a good time and Gojo hates that he’s potentially ruined your week with one photo. “Say, why don’t we get outta here and I tell ya all about it - maybe you can tell me what you’ve been up to, too?” 

It’s like his voice breaks you out of a trance, doe-eyed expression moving from the photo to finally look at him. You offer a small nod, frozen in place for a second longer before giving one more look to the photo and then looking away again. “Sure, that sounds good. D’ya mind me finishing up here? We can go back to mine after and talk?” 

For the first time in forever, you sound hesitant. Unsure. You don’t know what to make of Gojo or of that photo and everything blurs together until you’re stepping foot in your apartment, bags placed on the counter as Gojo enters your home. A silence surrounds you, though it’s not truly unwelcome. For a moment, he can see your discomfort with him - he’s uncertain if it’s because he’s in your space, or if it’s from the new found information. Part of him thinks it’s a mixture of both. 

“Nice place.” He hums absentmindedly, sliding off his shoes with his hands in his pockets, taking in everything as an official guest and not some stranger staring in from the street. 

“Thanks,” you’re moving to keep yourself busy, putting away things and picking up others to make it seem tidier than it currently is, “wasn’t expecting guests, sorry for the mess.” 

Gojo honestly doesn’t feel like anything is out of place - it all feels so homey, so uniquely you that if you told him this is how everything was meant to be, he’d believe you without a seconds hesitation. 

“S’okay, just seems lived in.” He’s careful to not rush in too quickly, not wanting to make you any more anxious than you already are. “Nothing wrong with that.” 

You finally gesture towards the living room, grabbing waters from your fridge and passing him one as you sit on the couch. He takes this as an invitation to sit as well, keeping his distance while you tuck your legs under you with them crossed. He opens his mouth to start, but you beat him to speaking while openly staring at him. 

“What’s with the sunglasses? I don’t think I’ve seen you take them off . . . well, ever.” 

Gojo almost wants to laugh at the question when you ask. You used to know. Surely this wasn’t all an act, right? 

“Light sensitivity,” he says simply with a shrug. A silence falls over you again, and you relish in it while looking around your apartment. “What kind of questions do you have?” He asks finally, deciding someone has to break the silence and he seems to be the one with less anxieties. 

You suck in a breath, meeting his gaze and then looking away. 

“Who . . . How do I know you?” 

You know he’s already explained it to you, but it seems just partial. Clearly, there’s more. Other things, whatever they may be, are missing. 

“We went to high school together,” he leans into the couch, arm slinging over the back, “you, Geto, and I were really close friends.” 

“Were?” You parrot, practically begging for more than the small crumbs he’s provided you with. 

“Were,” he repeats simply, “you disappeared one day after-” flashes of you falling from the building come to mind, “after school one day. We never saw you again.” 

“Oh.” You say quietly. “Did anyone . . . look for me?”

“Yeah,” he feels his chest tighten, Geto falling to his knees and digging desperately, “never found anything. It’s almost shocking to see you here now, honestly.” 

When he finally looks back over to you, you’re staring holes into the floor. 

“I woke up in a hospital a couple years ago,” you say without being prompted, “I didn’t . . . Couldn’t remember who I was or what happened. The doctors told me there was an earthquake in the area and an older couple found me in the rubble of a destroyed building . . . I never . . .” 

“Never got your memory back?” Gojo finishes for you, taking in how much you struggled to talk about this. You shake your head. 

“Not fully. Eventually I remembered who I was, I guess, but not really anything else. There wasn’t any record of me anywhere so I was basically . . . I dunno, a nobody. Started from scratch.” 

He watches you intently, trying to decide if this is really all true. You have no reason to lie to him, right? This couldn’t all be some ploy?  

“Can I see the picture again?” You ask so softly that Gojo doesn’t think he could ever deny you. He pulls the photo out of his pocket and gently passes it to you. You stare at it, taking in every detail like it’s the first time you’re seeing it again. “Who did you say this other person was, again?”

“Geto,” he hums, “he was one of our closest friends.” 

“Was?” Your eyes shift from the picture to him. 

He nods, “He and I sort of fell out, after a while. We don’t really talk anymore.” 

You nod in return, seeming to understand. Silence washes over the two of you again, and Gojo makes no move to change it this time. 

The two of you spend the next few hours trading questions between each other - you asking Gojo how things were in the past, and Gojo returning with how things are in the present. He learns you’re a school teacher at a local elementary school (and you love all of your students with your entire being), that you are still the kind hearted person he remembers you once were (how you go out of your way for others is admirable), and that you were thinking about getting a new pet (but you’re unsure if you’d be able to give them proper attention). 

He leaves with more than one of his questions answered, and with an invitation to come back around anytime on your tongue as he walks out of the apartment. He knows the offer is something he will take to heart. 

iv. memory

Knowing what you do now feels . . . weird. Gojo has made it a point to drop by every now and then, a ‘healthy check-in’ he likes to call it, but you suspect he just wants to rebuild whatever bond you’ve lost from the past few years. You don’t mind, honestly, happy to reconnect. 

He happily talks about your past, retelling memories in hopes of maybe bringing something back, but it never does. He avoids talking about Geto (you suspect it was a bad falling out) and you don’t pressure him to speak about the male.

No one could imagine your surprise when you see the enigma walking around the streets on one of your days off. 

He holds himself high, a confident aura surrounding him so thick you freeze when he passes you. You’ve never been one to be so direct, stunning even yourself when you turn on your heel and tap his shoulder gently. He makes it no urgency to face you, posture unchanging as he takes you in. 

He eyes you up and down, and you almost wonder for a second if maybe he isn’t who you thought you were. The picture you’re basing his looks on is what, 15 years old? Should you really be betting the entirety of introducing yourself on that? 

“Something I can help you with?” He asks, voice much softer than you expect it to be. 

It pulls you out of your own stunned silence, blinking at him, “You’re Geto right?” You almost cross your fingers he says anything but no. 

“I am, who are you?” 

You breathe a small sigh of relief, shoulders visibly relaxing. 

“I’m (l/n) - (l/n) (y/n), I knew you looked familiar.” You don’t see how his eyes widen slightly, too distracted by your own excitement to notice. “Gojo has been telling me about how we used to know each other, it’s crazy you’re here right now!” 

“(l/n)?” He repeats, still taking in everything that is you. “Haven’t heard from you in a while . . .” You were supposed to be dead. 

The thought weighs heavy in his mind, and he wonders for a moment if maybe this is some cruel trick by a curse. Maybe this is God punishing him for any of his wrong doings. 

He doesn’t realize you were talking to him until you’re tilting your head at him expectantly, waiting for a reply. 

“Sorry,” he waves apologetically, “I spaced out. This is just quite the surprise.” 

“It’s alright,” you offer a smile, “I was asking if you’d like to catch up? If you’re not busy, of course.” You add quickly, not wanting to suddenly take up his day if he already had plans. 

The curses at his side voice their concerns, their need to talk strategy and plan, but Geto returns your smile and gestures to a nearby cafe, “I have some time.” 

You don’t realize how nervous you are until you’re sitting down with your drink, Geto sitting across from you with a smile that you don’t think has left his face since you got his attention. 

“So,” he starts after taking a sip of his drink, “where have you been all these years?”

[lxvepotiion]

٠ ─ fading memory ❟

pairing : loki laufeyson x reader

word count : 500 something

summary : loki can't seem to remember. and he can't seem to forget.

warnings : angsty. reader death (not mentioned, vague notions towards it.) -i think that's it, let me know if i missed anything-

a/n : gif not mine. found on google. first small fic ive ever published. constructive criticism is helpful. reblogs and likes are vastly appreciated.

The bitter winds of Asgard howled through the empty halls of the palace, carrying with them the whispers of forgotten memories. Loki stood alone in his chambers, the weight of loneliness heavy upon his shoulders. He traced the intricate carvings of Yggdrasil etched into the stone walls, his mind drifting to memories of a time long past.

"It's hard to remember your face," Loki whispered into the empty room, his voice barely a breath against the silence. "The curvature of your bones, every line…it's like a haze, a haze of something I loved so dearly."

He closed his eyes, trying to summon the image of your face, but it slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. Once vivid memories now blurred and faded, leaving only a faint impression of your presence.

"How can I be losing the memory of you," Loki's voice cracked with emotion, "but still feel the love so intensely?"

He sank to his knees, his heart heavy with the weight of grief and longing. The only person he ever wanted was fading into dust before his very eyes, slipping away into the abyss of forgotten dreams.

The fear emerged from the shadows, clawing at his heart with icy fingers. The fear of not only losing sight of you but never feeling that love again. The thought of never again hearing your laughter, feeling your touch, or seeing the light in your eyes sent a shiver down his spine.

Loki clenched his fists, his chest tightening with despair. He had faced battles, conquered kingdoms, and defied fate itself, but nothing could prepare him for the agony of losing you. You, who had once been his anchor in a world of chaos, his solace in the midst of turmoil.

"I would give anything to hold you one last time," Loki whispered, his voice barely audible over the echoing emptiness of the room.

But you were gone, lost to him in a sea of fading memories and shattered dreams. He had searched every corner of the realms, but you remained elusive, a ghost haunting the halls of his mind.

Loki rose to his feet, his gaze falling upon the reflection of his own weary face in the mirror. The once proud prince of Asgard now stood broken and hollow, his heart aching for a love he could no longer grasp.

He reached out, tracing the lines of his reflection with trembling fingers, as if trying to hold onto the fleeting fragments of his own identity. But even his own reflection seemed to waver and fade, mirroring the dissolution of his once vibrant spirit.

The echoes of your laughter filled the room, a cruel reminder of what he had lost. Loki closed his eyes, willing the memories to fade, to release him from the grip of their torment.

But try as he might, he could not escape the haunting specter of your absence. You were everywhere and nowhere, a presence that lingered in the shadows, taunting him with the promise of what could have been.

Loki's chest tightened with a suffocating despair as he realized that he was losing not only you but also himself. Without you, he was adrift in a sea of darkness, consumed by the emptiness that gnawed at his soul.

[aziraphales-library]

Lost Fic #159

1. hi! i've been peeking around for a bit on here and on ao3, and i just can't find this one fic that quite possibly changed my brain chemistry forever. i remember that post-everything, the husbands got reincarnated into plants? and there might've been other forms, but i remember the plants the most. it would've been around pre-2021, maybe pre-2020 but i can't remember the exact time i read it. anyways, was hoping you've all either recommended it and i couldn't find it, or can find it for me. much love! - @ludicguest

2. Hi, I’m trying to find a specific fic I read and seem to have lost. It was post-notpacolypse and featured Crowley sort of falling apart with anxiety. There are a few scenes where he and Aziraphale visit a hospital that’s in some kind of neutral place between heaven and hell. They also see a lawyer there. At the hospital they have to adopt their true forms for some kind of test, and Crowley’s is an enormous dragon I think. At some point Lucifer threatens them and calls Crowley Behemoth. I loved this story so much, and I can’t find it anymore in my bookmarks. I would be incredibly grateful if someone could tell me where to find it. - @alrightthenillgotohell

3. I have a vague memory of a fic that I read when the show first came out or maybe even just before. Crowley was feeling sad about loving Aziraphale and moping around his house, there was baking, and I think some stargazing, and I think one of them travelled through a telephone line at the end? - @thenameofsantiagossextape

4. You all are so amazing and work so hard!! Thank you for all the fantastic fics you've helped find. If you're taking a break right now, please Enjoy! When you've the time, I'm looking for a fic in which Crowley scolds God. What I recall about the scene, he and Aziraphale are in Heaven, the archangels are there (maybe the whole Host?) and Crowley said something like "Of course they (archangels/angels) behaved this way (wrathful/vengeful/merciless) - look at the example You showed them! Theyre learning it all from You!" (Referring to Falling, Old Testament, etc...) Any help appreciated, would love to reread and it's been taunting me. Enjoy Season 2!! - @sinewavirgo

5. Hello! I’m looking for a fic that I’m a bit worried might have been deleted since I can’t find it in my bookmarks! It was an ineffable wives fic that went through all the major events of their relationship and ended with them retiring to the south downs, and in the final scene I think they were walking on the beach together. I distinctly remember there was a part with them exchanging letters (I think during WW2?), and then later Crowley found on of the letters had been printed in a book. I hope this is specific enough that someone knows what it is! - anon

If you know any of these fics please include the number in your reply! Thank you :)

- Mod D

[anarchistauthor]

The Last Jedi, the Last Good Star Wars Movie

I'm gonna go ahead and preface this by saying, I have no idea how this will play with my social circle here on Tumblr. I know how my Twitter and Bluesky friends feel about SW, but not y'all. I don't think I've ever even seen a post about it here, and I don't care to go look. Bottom line, I have too many opinions and not enough people who agree with me, so now you have to suffer through this essay. You're welcome.

I was a fan of SW at least as early as I have memories. I'm 29 years old, which means I grew up firmly in the prequel era, and watched them young enough that I didn't even realize older people hated them. Obi-wan was my hero, not my mentor, I never really identified with Anakin and always liked Obi the most. But, and this is important, I loved Star Wars and thought all of it was good. I read one EU book set between episodes 1 and 2, I watched as much of the original Clone Wars series as I could, and I played lightsabers during recess in school. I am at least as nostalgic as every gen xer who laments a bygone era when SW was good because they don't understand that they just liked things better as a kid. But, the difference is, that kind of person tends to despise everything about the sequel trilogy, in my experience. Not so for me.

The Force Awakens was a pretty good movie in my eyes, when I first saw it. I did notice the deja vu, I had very little actual interest in Rey as a character, but just having a female force user at the forefront was huge to me, and it was certainly, at least, a solid foundation for the next two movies. My biggest TFA hot take is that Kylo Ren was the perfect antagonist for this movie, as basically a spoiled shithead who is a fanboy of his grandpa and wants so, so badly to be cool like him. I was also the sort of person who got really invested in the ~mystery~ of Rey's origin, and the speculation of her parentage.

Enter TLJ. My first emotion, at several points during this movie, was dismay. I couldn't believe they just made Rey some random person, after setting up that her background was vague and mysterious! I couldn't believe that Luke never fought anybody and then he died! But, very quickly after, I had time to process my emotions, and I realized that this movie was something special. It manages to "yes, and" TFA while also roasting me for investing so much passion into the questions it rose. "You thought she would somehow be Obi-wan's daughter? Are you serious?" And when you get angry at that, you're met with the obvious question, "Why should it matter?" It shouldn't. We want to see the characters we love come back, but when it comes to this girl, this hero, why should she have to be related to some old dead guy in order to be special? The Force is everywhere, it lives in all of us. That is the central point of TLJ. And, arguably on purpose, this film pissed off Star Wars fans more than anything ever could.

TLJ isn't just a movie that taunts the audience for speculating based on its predecessor, it taunts the audience for being overly invested in the entire franchise. TLJ looks at its series, it looks at the people who watch it, and it demands that you question your relationship with the material. It calls you a fool for assuming that an emotionally-stunted young adult like Luke would become a well-rounded mentor, for assuming that he was incapable of being tempted by darkness, for worshipping him as a pure hero. Because, who is Luke? He was a kid who was bored with simple life, got pulled away into a galactic conflict, and pretty much stumbled his way through saving the world. Even at the final moment, he was very close to murdering his father out of rage. Do you think that's just gonna go away after Palpatine died? Just because Luke put his sword away? No. It also mocks you for assuming Snoke is going to be important just because he's a large man in a fancy chair. He's a parallel to the Emperor, so you assume he'll be the same, and the movie roasts you for it by killing him off unceremoniously. And the Poe plot? That is nothing but one giant own on everyone who loved Poe assuming that the cool guy hotshot was the most important and competent person in the fleet.

The intent of all this playful mockery, I believe, was to get viewers to question how they idealize the past of the franchise. That's what it did for me. But, mediocre white dudes don't like being mocked, as we all know. They take it VERY personally, and they blew up the whole thing. They harassed creatives involved, sent death threats to poor Kelly Marie, and all in all went berserk about this movie for children about space wizards. How dare it move on?! How dare it not just be about my nostalgia?! Not just white, not just men, but I don't feel any need to deny that that's the primary demographic. There was already some backlash to TFA, but TLJ pulled no punches, and the most perpetually-offended fandom in the world lived up to its name. It's really that simple. And as a result, the Disney Overlords scrambled to make them calm down. Enter...Rise of Skywalker.

I. Fucking. HATE this movie. Apart from the fact that it tries to undo everything I loved about TLJ, it's poorly made in more conventional ways. Rushed pace, aimless writing, having no idea what to do with the characters, (not to mention giving the black protagonist a black girlfriend who has all the same backstory and traits as him, lest anyone ship him with Poe) it is the epitome of a movie that only exists for nostalgia, but it can't even do that well. If there's one lesson I've learned from the sequel trilogy, it's that JJ Abrams is not only a trashfire of a director, but he is utterly incapable of reacting to what happened in the previous movie, because he spent so much runtime just calling Rian Johnson a liar! "Rey's not no one, instead she has the most asinine backstory in the history of the franchise." To me, it reeks of a man who despised the way Rian responded to him, and is just desperate to overrule it. As a writer myself, I can't even imagine doing something like that instead of doing my best to work with what came before. The definition of hack behavior.

TLJ was a movie that tried to move Star Wars into the future, to divorce it from idolatry of the past, but ROS is a movie designed with intent to reel it back in, to say, "Hold on, art and creativity are great and all, but Disney gotta make them nostalgia bucks." A return to hero worship, to centering the leads of decades ago, to feeding the lore rather than telling a story. And the fact that it followed a film that told the story it wanted to tell and didn't give a shit how you felt about it, it's just insulting.

This is going to sound like cheesy artist babble, but to me, the art of creation is sacred, in a way. Not literally holy, but just beautiful and meaningful. Even if what comes out is bad, it's worth doing if done with sincerity. That's how I see TLJ. But given the way both fans and the rights holders reacted to it, I'm depressed and pessimistic regarding the future of the franchise. The Phantom Menace was the first movie I loved, and I still like it today. I'm sure I'll love TLJ forty years from now, and I'll probably continue to watch new SW movies when they come out. I don't know if I'll ever love a movie in the franchise again, but I can have hope. This is a movie that proved Star Wars was capable of being better, and that doesn't change just because neckbeards hate it more than they've ever hated anything. This is still going to be the franchise that has TLJ in it, and the haters can't take that from me.

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Hey India,

I haven't gotten to send you one of these for like years so, Hi again <3. I'm happy to see you still here and kicking. Now on to the actual prompt, WIPs.

What is your favorite element or item or sequence you have written so far in your new stories?

Also this is for you.

Sam :)

Hello, love!

So nice to hear from you. Yes, I’m still here — I take some regular breaks, and try to limit my interaction to superficial things and writing now, because that just feels much better for me.

Thank you very much for the hug!

Mm, in terms of favorite elements, I’ve definitely shared a lot from GAPT AU and because it’s so long, it’ll be hard to pick. So, I think I’ll pick this one, from Omegaverse AU:

*

Harry’s soft scent slowly filled the air, the earlier vague familiarity of it growing solid in this new, confined space.

His blockers were wearing off, Louis realized belatedly, only for another truth to hit him a beat later: he had never scented Harry in full before, because of course – of course Harry, of all people, still ascribed to the archaic idea that an Omega’s scent was far too intimate to be worn so openly.

Thinking back across their seven years in school together – half that time spent sitting in somewhat close proximity, in one class or another – Louis knew he had picked up traces of it; enough that he had never thought to wonder. He knew, at the very least, the subtle mandarin of it – a hint of suede, a kiss of birch – but he would have never been able to pull it from memory or describe it.

Now, though…

Now he knew Harry Styles smelled like coming home on an evening in early spring; knew he was equal parts crisp and warm – all dewy leaves and dim lamplight and decadent linens, like the gust of fresh air let through an open bay window to taunt the fire burning in the hearth.

And, while already disconcertingly captivating on its own, his scent was made somehow more beguiling by the dark note of heartbreak hidden in the shadow of the lingering cashmere. It smelled deep but bright, like the fire had burned just a little too hot and a little too high, that night.

*

And, of course, a hug back:

🖋️ Ask me about my WIPs?

[dunefeather]

Sorry for all the wait, I noticed your message a while ago only when the notification decided to show up (thank you Tumblr.) Also I vaguely remembered the scene, hope you'll enjoy 😊

A Matter of Practice (18+)

Lady Jessica x F!Reader

Content : smut, unprotected sex, oral sex, fingering, language, professor x student.

Sex will be a precious tool in your close future. And as any tool it has to be mastered to get the best results possible. Confessions whispered on the pillows, pleasure, ego boost. Apparently it gives everything, but takes a lot depending on the people and setting. Dignity ? Love ? Personal tastes ? You got warned : maybe you will have to let them aside for a night or more. Even for the rest of your life. In theory what happens in the sheets remains there, but of course the memory of your actions will affect your interactions with your husband.

"Take your clothes off."

You obey to this soft and neutral voice, your thin silky bathrobe falling around your legs as it reaches the mattress you are kneeling on. Lady Jessica got chosen to teach you all you need to know from the basics to most advanced aspects.

Still wearing her grey dress, she paces towards the bed, her hands clasped in from of her as her cold eyes take you in. From the most normal detail of your face to the ones of the rest of your body, nothing can escape her. You trust her to bring you the best teaching you can receive.

Her figure remains as stoic as ever as she walks around the bed. Maybe she is aware of your pounding heart, maybe not. However it must be impossible for her to miss the excited gasp you let out as she brushes your cheek with her fingers.

"Do you think your husband is going to be gentle with you ?" She asks.

"No. Not all the time."

"He is not going to show any softness to you before a while. And even if he does it will be an exception." She warns you in the same voice.

Jessica's hand slides down to your throat as you look up at the ceiling, then down to your bare shoulder.

"Moan." She asks.

You obey, your eyes still open. You do it several times, confused by the astonishing silence surrounding you. Are you doing it right ?

"Not like that." She scolds you. "That's not what we agreed on yesterday. Do it again."

The previous day had been strange, a mix of theory and a few more exciting things. Being surrounded by other women all the time you never really thought that hearing them moan and say dirty sentences could get you as warm as this.

As instructed you try again, this time closing your eyes. You perceive yourself as sensual, full of desire for your future husband. Thin, obese, blond, dark-haired, red-haired, bald, sweaty, smelly, clean, young, old... he has to feel your desire.

"No. Look at me. It's still not what I want from you."

Flustered by your failure you can't help yourself as you watch her dress falling down to the ground in silence, her pale skin appearing fully to you as she gets rid off her shoes with nonchalant motions from her ankles, throwing them away without adverting her gaze from you. She is proud, her chin up as she judges your reactions when her hands start to travel up and down her body. You envy her thighs, crotch, belly and breasts getting all this attention.

"I'm pretty sure you know your own body." She taunts you before kneeling on the mattress. "Your husband will like to discover it. You will have to judge whether or not he wants to see himself as taking your innocence away for himself, or if he wants to see someone more experienced."

"So some may be more interested in someone like... like I am right now ?"

"No matter what you will have to play a role. Never forget it."

You nod, your muscles tensing up as she gets closer to rest her hands on your bare shoulders.

"Do you want me to kiss you ?" You ask with a voice choking under pressure.

"What kind of husband would want to hear this during the night he is supposed to take you ?" She asks with a raised eyebrow.

Her question remains unanswered as you feel the back of her hand caressing your face now burning under the sudden shift of her expression. Never anyone has ever watched you with such care, softness, and temptation. Subtle signals you studied the day before : her pupils wandering everywhere with few breaks here and there seeming so natural, her bottom lip getting pinkish after she nibbles it, her cheeks blushing as she moans gently, her mouth closed. She knows what she is doing to you. Everything is so precise. How can sex have this effect when it is supposed to feel natural ?

"I'm waiting for you little one." She whispers as you gasp at the brush of her lips over yours. "I don't have all the time in the world."

"A husband that... would want an obedient, respectful and polite wife. A submissive one." You articulate as your eyes closes by themselves.

"Hm hm. Or that pretends to be one. Some men can have really singular tastes." She purrs.

Her nose grazes the side of yours, her soft breath distracting you as much as her hands massaging your breasts. She tests your flesh while hypnotizing you so well with the proximity of her lips.

"What do you do then ?" She whispers.

It depends of so many factors. Is this roleplay ? If yes then what kind of roleplay ? And if not then what personality has your husband ? Should you try to impress him with some position you only heard about yesterday with some drawings and comments from most experienced sisters ?

The night you will face the man you will have to share your night and life with, you will have to take a few decisions by yourself to please him as you should. So instead of feeding your inner turmoil further, you take the risk to kiss Lady Jessica, gently. You dissociate from her to mold into what you tried yesterday, remembering the way you exchanged these kisses with the other sister in front of everyone as a demonstration.

Jessica changes the angle slightly, her arms around your hips to get you closer as you cup her face with this hint of possessiveness you try to hide. There is a fire raging inside you, the one wanting to show how willing you are to learn new skills and to prove yourself. The kiss stops with a low wet sound, her eyes narrowed as she looks at your face closely.

"Not bad. Too shy. Try again. Touch me."

Her orders are respected. This time you press her against you thanks to your hand now on her bare back. Dissociation from the situation hits a brick wall though as you hear her approving moan and feel her hands going down. You panic a bit at the tongue presenting itself at your mouth but you let her do it.

"Touch me." She whispers firmly between two kisses. "Don't be afraid. Touch, test, arouse."

After a few pokes of her tongue at the tip of yours she decides to suddenly change the tone, her mouth leaving heated kisses on your throat. You feel about to implode as her tongue starts to lick you here and there and suddenly a flash of a pic showing a woman kissing her husband's manhood appears right before your eyes. Would it work the same on a woman ?

You moan at this thought - without pretending it this time - and earn some encouraging pat on your left asscheek. You moan again and choose this moment to grab her buttocks, taking care of pressing your crotch to hers. She may not have much curves but you can feel her flesh under the firm embrace your fingers apply to her buttocks.

Jessica's mouth leaves your skin, her cheeks blushed the slightest and her breath deeper than before. For a second you think she is going to say something but you silence her with a heated kiss you hope she doesn't find messy as you test her reaction to your tongue.

The woman moans loudly, her hands back on your face to take control over the kiss. She tames your tongue quickly.

"Some like it when you talk." She gasps against your lips as your hand wanders on her soaked entrance. "Talk, try to arouse your partner."

"Tell me if you like what I'm doing to you, please." You whisper breathlessly.

"Your husband won't necessarily like it." She scolds you out of frustration. "You are too polite."

"I thought you liked it when I was respectful and polite."

"Do you think you will even find anyone as tolerating as I am ? Because what you are doing is not respectful of my function there, you refuse to do things right."

"They sound right to me. Otherwise you wouldn't have gotten this wet with almost nothing."

"Watch your mouth."

If she really wanted to, she would stop you. Her and others already used the Voice upon you to get you where they wanted you to be. It would be easy for her to keep control over her thoughts to train you properly. So you show your egoistical side a bit by pushing your weight against hers, her balance soon recovered thanks to the mattress below her burning skin. You gain a few points from what you deduce from her raised eyebrow and open mouth. Or maybe this is all due to the warm wetness she can feel on her crotch as you let your hips grind gently against hers.

"Kiss me." She asks.

"What kind of husband would ask for this ?"

She remains silent for a few seconds, tension rising in your core as her eyes wander all over your naked body above her. It's not easy to guess what she is thinking about, but her body now responds to that desire of contact as she mirrors your motions by wrapping your hips with her long legs, your hips starting a heated danse. She has never looked so vulnerable yet smug as now, her cheeks pink, a thin layer of sweat appearing on her forehead, breathing deeply, that testing glare and that infuriatingly cocky grin.

"Is that curiosity or insubordination?" She taunts you.

"Genuine question and..."

You can't end your sentence. You are no match to her as your breath gets erratic. Her clit is now rubbing against yours and maybe it's due to your lack of experience or all that build up but you feel overwhelmed by how good it feels, nothing like her who simply stares at you with envy.

"It feels good right ?" She whispers between your gasps and moans. "Now imagine it even more intense inside you, to the point where your body can only give up on pleasure. You are absolutely not ready to pleasure an insatiable man. Not a woman neither. It's nothing to what I could be doing to you with my fingers and tongue."

"Teach me." You beg shamelessly as you rest your hand on either side of her head to balance yourself.

Between the sudden vertigo and pleasure washing over you you are almost certain that reality just collapsed, but you soon realize that you got forced to roll over the mattress due to the mere strength of her hips. The whimpering mess you are can only force herself to watch her grinding effortlessly against your crotch, her hips undulating so easily. The only details giving away her own pleasure is her closed eyes and tiny smile.

"You are the one having to learn. You should be the one pleasuring the other."

"Jessica..."

Your head falls back into your pillow, your back arches off the bed as to make your moan leave your lips more easily, and you don't stop despite her low chuckle, your hands trying to push her off your pulsating clit.

"Endure it. You'll have to live through that little one," she tells you breathlessly, "keep morning and accept it's they love it when a beautiful woman gets crazy for their cock."

It takes you several trials to finish your sentence and you finally get it as you keep folding in every position you can despite being trapped under her.

"Please Jessica let me do that to you." You whisper hastily.

You sit up suddenly like in a jolt, your muscles burning under the effort it takes to do it. Her hands grab your shoulders to force you to lie down but you resist and kiss her hastily. It isn't enough to make her stop, her own breath struggling to keep its cool as her tongue finds yours eagerly.

Hers moans are getting louder and you understand how close she is to her own release, enough for you to get your hand down to her crotch, letting her rub against your palm.

"No give it to me." She whines angrily with a murderous glare. "Never do that to your husband when he can't have enough of you."

You shut her mouth by kissing her again, and following the instructions from yesterday, you insert a finger inside her. It's not that different from when you do it to yourself, but feeling her own walls contracting around it is pleasing.

Offended, she stares at you with her hands on your cheeks. For a second you think she is about to kill you but she kisses your throat and caresses your back gently, her breasts pressed against yours.

"You're not supposed to do that, "she moans faintly, "you should let me finger you. Your husband could do it to you."

"I want to."

A second finger gets inside her, her eyes now clouded as she shakes her head.

"You shouldn't." She whispers before swallowing hard. "You shouldn't, we have a precise planning to respect and..."

She bites her lip as you start a quick pace, and soon enough her own hand starts to do the same to you, making you gasp out of expectation.

"Let me show you what an experimented husband can do." She snarls.

She actually stops you right there by rolling to the side without stopping her ministrations inside you. Too busy by the sight of her long and thin fingers thrusting inside you, you can't repress a moan when you witness them moving up to your clit, circling around it before she settles her mouth at your entrance.

You have seen plenty of images and videos of women tasting their husband, but Lady Jessica makes it feel even better with all the care in the world. With her it's like she kisses and licks you innocently when in reality you can feel her tongue getting inside you to gather your wetness coating your pulsating walls.

"What does that feel so good ?" You ask to no one in particular.

She scoffs before resuming her actions, this time her mouth closing over your hole to get a better access, both of her hands spreading your legs further.

Your demanding body doesn't waste time for this second orgasm to set your nerves on fire. Desperate moans are getting usual from your mouth.

"Get up."

You weren't expecting the Voice to get used but you obey, blinking when you notice yourself kneeling between her spread legs, Jessica lying before you with her entrance soaked, her own fingers rubbing her reddish and erected clit.

"Show me what you can do with your tongue if you think you are so talented."

You taste her immediately before getting interrupted, a thin string of saliva breaking when she pulls you up by your hair.

"Don't be gentle and focus on my clit."

You nod, somewhat shy now that she is running her fingers through your hair to encourage you. But you do as instructed, too excited to stop.

It's good to feel her reacting to your tongue. Lady Jessica is supposed to be stoic all the time and the mess she is turning into has nothing to do with her previous state. Now you can hear her genuinely pleased moans, your name getting whispered, you feel her body pressing harder against the mattress as her hips tense up. She is begging. Would a husband do such a thing ? You don't think so. Is it educational ? Definitely not anymore. It's her turn to be egoistical.

"It's perfect." She whines as you suck on her pulsating flesh. "You learn fast."

A warm wave that has nothing to do with a climax reaches your core as you listen to her pleasure getting moaned out loud, her body not knowing what to do as you keep torturing her so delightfully. But instead of having the joy of listening her beg for you to stop pleasuring her you feel the one of hearing her begging for you to keep going. Her stamina is something else from yours.

After reaching her limit your jaw hurts so much that you can only kiss her gently, her arms grabbing your body firmly to keep you against her. As she doesn't seem disgusted by your mixed tastes you keep kissing back, loving the way she cups your head with her soft hands.

"It didn't go exactly as planned," she chuckles after a series of kisses, "but after all the important is that you get the basis for this time."

"Was it good ?" You ask sheepishly.

"For a first time, pretty good." She admits with a taunting grin. "You'll get better after some proper training. At least if you get a husband that likes women taking decisions in bed you may get a chance. But it's still not the best you can offer."

You nod, feeling exhausted yet strangely euphoric. There was nothing to be afraid of after all. It was for your own good and for the Bene Gesserit. It's always good to learn.

"Your husband won't be able to have the same stamina as a woman, despite what they like to pretend. They can't enjoy it as much as we do. Plus, he might not even give you any pleasure at all." She says as your hopes crumble apart. "Most won't go past two rounds. You, you can develop your stamina for much more. If you get one with a weak spirit you can manipulate him through sexual gratification. Once exhausted people tend to confess a few interesting things. Doubts, fears, political plans."

The bubble that surrounded you previously pops. True. Real life doesn't consist only in pleasure. Your tasks will be way above sex.

- - -

Thank you for reading please comment and reblog if you liked it ! 😊

[landoftheway]

With the latest GG Strive patch I’ve seen a lot of takes on Happy Chaos’ new dialogue with Baiken boiling it down to him just not finding her to be a good source of drama, and while I think that’s an element of his discomfort around her I also think the real source of it runs deeper.

We know from Another Story, Baiken’s arcade run, and her theme song that she and her blade have effectively become “mirrors” for the people she faces. One of Chaos’s new intros with also refers to this:

Chaos: "I've never seen an eye like that before."

Baiken: "That's 'cause I've never seen one like you before."

In this case, her eye as Chaos perceives it is different (and from his tone of voice some degree of uncomfortable) specifically because of what Baiken is seeing with it when she looks at him. And I think this is precisely where Chaos’ discomfort lies: having to look at himself. He outright says to Asuka in one of their intros that “You know I have no interest in myself”, and in the Main Story when driving with I-No he tells her that “I don’t even have a self to lose sight of.” That last statement is of particular importance because it’s more or less the crux of his character: The Original was so buried under all the combined information of the Backyard that he was warped into what he is now, a being composed of nothing but the sum total of humanity’s collective desires.

But here’s the thing: Chaos DOES still have a sense of self. As muddled as his memories are he can still recall specifics of his past with Asuka and clearly has a particular attachment to him as his student, and even if his methodology has drastically changed he’s still ultimately working for what he considers the benefit of humanity. The Original is still there underneath all the noise, but Chaos clearly doesn’t want to acknowledge that presence. As for the why of that, I think Baiken says it best with three of her unique taunts against him, the first two being in the game and the third being cut content you can only find by digging through the files (you can hear it and other special dialogue here for those curious):

“Forgetting’s your thing; feelings, memories, everything. But what’s left of you when they’re gone? Forgetting’s the only way to embrace the chaos inside you. Can’t fathom what that’s like. But I bet I’m the last one you wanna meet.”

“Scared of yourself? Huh, same here.”

“My blade can’t touch those who don’t doubt themselves. But you... you’ve rejected yourself entirely. But your reason for being holds firm. Something keeps you tethered, but what? How can you possibly win? What do you hold in your heart? Atonement, salvation, ruin? Hope, desire, equilibrium? You’re prepared for all of it? I hate to admit it, but you’re fighting your own battle. That can’t be easy, being nobody’s friend or foe, not having anyone to rely on. You didn’t choose your path, so why accept it? Why take on this eternal curse? Don’t tell me I’m the only one who can save you...”

So all of that is still kinda vague, but I think it paints a clear enough picture of why Chaos doesn’t like or even want to acknowledge himself: his self as The Original is to some extent incompatible with his existence as Happy Chaos. Maybe it’s the former’s guilt at the more extreme and reprehensible actions of the latter, maybe it’s that their interpretations of what’s best for humanity have just drifted that far apart, or maybe it’s just fear at what looking back at how much he’s changed might do to him. Either way, it seems pretty clear to me that the big reason Chaos wants to stay far away from Baiken is because whenever he looks at her he has to look at himself, and as he says if he beats her in a fight, “Win or lose, there's nothing in it for me. This is the worst.”

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Sunder

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Lord Denholm's magic has some interesting effects when used on Altair's wings.

Inspired by Helping Hands by @whump-kin because I realized I should really use some of Lord Denholm's signature magic on Altair c: This is for @whumpril Day 25: "Brace Yourself."

Contains: Intimate whump, captivity, restraint, wing whump, body horror, torture, manipulation, broken bones

~~~

“You might want to brace yourself, little ruin.”

Altair only scowled in response, once again tugging on his restraints that refused to offer any give. It was fruitless, and he knew it was fruitless; the magically-reinforced metal was simply too strong. But he had no intention of following Lord Denholm’s orders, of making this any easier for his captor, of admitting defeat in any capacity. As scared as he was, splayed out face-down on a stone table, exposed to the cold dungeon air, he wouldn’t give Lord Denholm the satisfaction of seeing him yield.

His struggles were only met with a dark chuckle from Lord Denholm, and a hand pressing against his wing. Instinctively, Altair froze; he could feel the magic that covered Lord Denholm’s palm, was overcome by the malintent that surged into him through the point of contact. The shiver that ran down his spine was not just from the cold of the man’s skin, even as his other hand came to rest at the small of his back, somehow feeling more solid and firm and real than the one against his wing.

“That’s it, my little ruin. Just like that. Just take a breath, and let me in.”

All of the breath was stolen from his lungs and all thought left his mind as Lord Denholm’s hand slowly sunk down, through feathers and skin and into the flesh of his wing. It didn’t quite hurt, and he knew instinctively that his skin hadn’t been torn open and his feathers hadn’t been damaged. And yet it felt worse than any physical pain, because it was wrong, so achingly, perversely wrong to have someone else inside his body, his soul, especially a presence so malevolent and evil and wanting. His other wing flexed and spasmed on reflex, as though trying to escape the intrusion, even as the rest of him held deathly still.

Lord Denholm made a sound almost like a sigh of relief or exaltation. “Exquisite. Simply exquisite. I’ve never felt anything like this.”

Tears sprung to Altair’s eyes. The cold of Lord Denholm’s touch had spread through his entire being, down to his core in a way he couldn’t shake. “Please, stop. I- please.”

The hand shifted inside him. Altair whimpered. Even that slow movement made him feel like he was being contorted and twisted. It reminded him, as vague as the memories were, of when he was in the clutches of possession, when the demon was tearing him apart and stitching him back together.

“Shh, it’s alright, my little ruin,” Lord Denholm murmured, even as he radiated glee and satisfaction and wicked desire. Altair’s chest heaved with a sob, which only resulted in Lord Denholm’s other hand stroking up and down his spine, cold and gentle and the opposite of comforting. “You’re not in any danger. This is just a learning experience for the both of us.”

“Liar.” Altair spat the word without even meaning to, but he couldn’t be upset about it. He knew Lord Denholm was lying as deeply as he knew his own mind, that he wanted to see the sky again or that he was never going to give in or that he loved Elze’ith. “You just want to hurt me. Just want to break me so you can rebuild me however you want. And it brings you so much joy.” Trembling like a leaf, he snarled. “You make me sick.”

“Oh?” Lord Denholm’s hand stiffened, jolting towards the base of Altair’s wing, making him groan in unsettled not-quite-agony. The sound was met by a chuckle from Lord Denholm, suddenly right above Altair’s ear, taunting him. “Is that all I do to you, my little ruin? Because I think I also terrify you. I can feel how your soul quivers, and it is so delightful to know that under all of your bravado, you are starting to know your place. You can’t withstand me forever, little ruin. Your precious partner couldn’t. And look at him now, perfectly complacent and eager to please my every whim. It’s—”

Before he could continue, Altair roared in anger, thrashing in his binds without paying any mind to how it made distress pulse through his wing. “Don’t you dare talk about Elze’ith like that! You haven’t broken him! He’s not yours! Elze’ith is—“

The hand on his back shoved him roughly back onto the table, making Altair grunt softly in surprise. “Enough.”

A prickle of magic against his bare skin was the only warning Altair got before Lord Denholm submerged his other hand into Altair’s back. The sudden intrusion took his breath away; it was less disorienting and disconcerting than the foul presence thrumming in his wing, but it still felt foreign and strange and wrong. A strangled sound left his throat as Lord Denholm pressed past blood and bone before finally settling, fingers closing around his skittering, furious heart.

Altair couldn’t move. Was too afraid to, even if he thought he could. His heartbeat roared in his ears, each pulse pushing back against Lord Denholm’s cold fingers in a way that Altair could feel. He had never been so aware of his internal organs before, beyond injuries, but even then he usually had Elze’ith to help patch him up. The sudden fear of Lord Denholm crushing his heart as it beat in his chest, of him ripping it out, of him mangling Altair’s muscles and ribs and spine to do his dark deeds rushed to the forefront of Altair’s mind.

“What— what are you—?”

“You are starting to learn your place, my little ruin,” Lord Denholm said, all emotion chillingly absent from his voice, “But you still have much to learn. And I have always wondered what would happen if I did… this.”

The hand in his wing clenched, as though closing around something. The feeling of wrong-invasion-malice was swiftly subsumed by an overwhelming sense of danger, of cruel and vicious intent. And for a brief moment, Altair knew exactly what Lord Denholm planned to do.

“Wait—!”

Lord Denholm’s fist tightened. One of the thin yet strong bones that connected Altair’s wing to his back snapped in his grip. And Altair screamed as though a part of him had just been killed.

The sheer, soul-rending agony tore through his entire being, making all thought impossible. Everything he was had been given over to the agony, and there was no escaping it. If he thrashed on the table around Lord Denholm’s hands, he was not aware of it. All he knew was that a piece of him had been broken, that it was the worst pain he had ever felt, and that it had been done on purpose.

It was like losing Elze’ith all over again.

When awareness returned, he realized he was sobbing. Trembles wracked his entire body. His heart fluttered wildly in his chest, as though fighting against the hand that gripped it, despite the pain that flooded him with every beat. And Lord Denholm’s hand was still in his limp wing, fingers idly stroking the bone he had broken.

“Beautiful,” Lord Denholm murmured, almost to himself. “That’s much better, isn’t it?”

“It hurts.” It was all Altair could say.

“I’m sure it does.” For a moment, Lord Denholm squeezed Altair’s heart, making him cry out in pain and fear. Even the release of his grip wasn’t a relied. His vicious satisfaction seemed to engulf Altair; between those dark emotions and the agony that already overwhelmed him, Altair felt like he was drowning. “This is what you deserve for all your defiance.”

With Lord Denholm’s hand in his very soul, with Altair’s heart in his hand, Altair couldn’t keep those words from sinking in, ever so slightly.

[haledamage]

Bonus! Inhale for Qora/Arcann :3

[ INHALE ]: while standing in very close quarters to the receiver, the sender shakily inhales with desire/anticipation as they realize how intimately close they are to one another.

Today is a lovely day for some Arcann angst! And also Arcann fluff, because he deserves it. This ties directly into For What It’s Worth (for those who haven’t read it or want a refresh and want to skip ahead to the scene it pertains to, it starts with the line “He isn’t surprised to find her in his dreams that night.”) 

sometime shortly after KotET and Unmasked Regret! that’s right, we’ve got actual in-relationship Qora/Arcann this time :3 vague mentions of past abuse

---

The tension was palpable as Qora and Arcann waited for the elevator to make its way all the way to the base of the tower where they stood. It pressed in around them, heavy and oppressive, and made even Qora hesitate to break the silence.

It lingered after they stepped onto the platform and it started its ascent, until finally she couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you sure about this, Arcann? We don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Yes, we do.” He sounded almost serene, and she might’ve bought it if she couldn’t feel the twisting storm of emotions underneath the calm surface. “I do.”

The rest of her argument died before she could give it voice. They both knew she wouldn't make him do this alone.

“There’s no telling what Vaylin did while you were gone,” she warned anyway, as gently as possible.

“I know. But I need to see it for myself,” he insisted. He glanced in her direction, a small smile lifting one corner of his lips. “Besides… you’re the Empress now. Don’t you want to see your palace?”

“‘Empress’ me again and see where it gets you,” Qora said sourly, with an equally sour grimace.

The low, warm chuckle Arcann gave her in response was almost worth putting up with the title. If only for a little while.

The elevator doors opened unceremoniously into a long, empty hallway. The walls were white and bare of any adornment except for three identical doors, one on each wall and one at the end.

Part of her remembered this hall, even if she’d never been there before. She’d dreamed about it, children sneaking from one room to another, the thrill of staying up past curfew and testing the bounds of what they could get away with. Happier times.

The room at the far end was Vaylin’s. A room to keep her always a bit removed from her brothers, disguised as a place of honor. To the east was Thexan’s room, with windows that faced Zakuul’s sunrise. It had long sat dormant, untouched since his death, exactly as he’d left it. And to the right…

Arcann had gone ahead while she lingered by the elevator, but he waited for her outside the door that she knew led to his room. The turmoil she felt from him downstairs was even worse now, strong enough that she could barely tell her emotions from his anymore. Pain, fear, regret, guilt.

Which would be worse to find on the other side of the door? Destruction left by his sister’s petulant wrath, or an untouched memorial like his brother’s room?

I shouldn’t be here. I should never have come back.

Wordlessly, Qora stepped up to his side. When she slipped her hand into his, his doubts went abruptly silent.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Arcann opened the door and pulled her into the room with him.

The feeling of deja vu was even stronger here than it had been in the hall. This was a room Qora was intensely, intimately familiar with. 

She had spent dozens of nights here, in Force-given lucid dreams she shared with Arcann. Pacing the living space, judging his taste in decor, deliberately pushing his buttons in an effort to understand him.

When she looked back at the last few years, it wasn't the war that came to mind first. It was this. This place. Years of the two of them drawing lines in the sand and taunting the other to cross them until they found themselves unexpectedly meeting in the middle.

It looked exactly as she remembered it. White, silver, and black, not a speck of color or luxury to be found. Stark, utilitarian, impersonal. Cold. More of a prison cell than a bedroom, belonging to a man who had been raised to believe sentimentality and comfort were punishable offenses.

Barely conscious of what she was doing, Qora crossed the room to the table by the bed, and picked up Thexan's lightsaber.

A few seconds later, Arcann joined her. He carefully took the hilt when she held it out to him, turning it slowly in his hand. "This doesn't feel real," he murmured, echoing her own thoughts.

"It was always real." She stepped away, restless energy pulling her back toward the center of the room. Looking for something, but she didn't know what yet. "I tried to pretend it wasn't, but I was lying."

Arcann hummed an agreement, which melted into a dry, humorless laugh as understanding curled through their bond. "If it wasn't real, then nothing that happened there mattered. Anything we said or… did, didn't have to change anything when we woke up."

That little pause before did got Qora's attention, but she didn't comment. She would have, once upon a time, but she didn't feel the need to anymore. She trusted that he'd tell her in his own time.

So much had changed since then.

"Do you remember the last time we were here together?" The gentle rumble of Arcann's voice came from right behind her, likely following the same impulse she was.

When she spun around to face him, he wasn't looking at her. His gaze was locked on the wall behind her. It was obvious where his mind was.

Qora’s thoughts were drawn to the same place, the same memory. The night after the battle on--and destruction of--Asylum. He’d come very close to killing her that day, closer than she’d ever admitted. But afterwards, in the dreamspace they sometimes shared, the lines between “friend” and “enemy” could get blurred and become… something else entirely.

She remembered Arcann, unmasked for the first time since they'd met. The anger simmering in his golden eyes, not quite strong enough to hide the fragile uncertainty underneath. The way that rage had cooled, just for a moment, when she touched him. The warmth of his skin as she traced the ridges of scars he’d never let anyone else see.

A moment of understanding, of connection, of vulnerability. She'd thought she was finally getting through to him.

Arcann, take your mask off. I’m tired of talking to it. I want to talk to you.

I do not want your pity, Qora.

Is that what you feel from me? Pity?

And then everything had gone wrong. In a blink, they were enemies again. It had taken the better part of the next year just to claw her way back to where they’d started.

Qora wasn’t aware she was moving until her hand settled against Arcann’s cheek, the durasteel of her prosthetic cool against his skin. Synthetic nerves let her feel the ridges of his scars just as she had that night--though she was quite a bit more familiar with them now.

He leaned into her touch, finally turning away from the wall. His eyes were pale blue instead of the golden orange of her memory; less fragile, less uncertain, no longer angry and full of something almost approaching contentment.

“Sometimes I wonder…” he spoke so quietly that Qora had to step closer to hear him properly, “how things might have been different, if I’d made another choice that night.”

“What other choice?” She'd asked herself that question so many times, and still hadn't found a satisfying answer.

Arcann looked behind her at the wall again, unwilling to meet her eyes anymore--though he didn’t otherwise pull away from her. “I’m… not sure.” His brow furrowed as he got lost in thought, and Qora automatically brushed her thumb over it to soothe it away. “Everything I felt about you then was… tangled up. Hatred, jealousy, desire… I couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began.”

Saying ‘I know’ felt trite, even if it was the truth. She knew it all too well, the fear that had been beaten into both of them under the guise of "training", the suspicion that every kindness hid a new cruelty, that an offered hand held the sharpest knife. Spend enough time in darkness and you’ll become afraid of the light.

What she said instead was, “I understand.” It didn’t feel like enough either.

“What I do know…” his breath hitched with a sharp, shaky inhale, as her other hand settled on his unscarred cheek, cradling his face between her hands, “is that no one had ever touched me like you did. Like I was something special. Something worthy. Part of me would have done anything you wanted if it meant you would keep doing so.”

“It wouldn’t have taken much. I’ve never been any good at keeping my hands to myself, where you’re concerned.” Qora’s voice fell short of her attempt at levity, coming out too quiet and too sincere.

It was still enough to draw a smile from Arcann. “I don’t mind. I never have.”

His arms curled slowly around her waist, drawing her in and closing what little space still remained between them. His smile grew wider and just a little playful; she was too distracted by the lovely sight of it to recognize it as the warning it was.

“Besides,” if his smile was playful, his voice was downright teasing, “what else could I possibly offer you? I’ve already given you my Empire.”

All Qora managed was an indignant squawk before Arcann interrupted her with a kiss, his laughter warm and sweet against her lips.

[s-starlight]

This is for the people who watched the leaked version of episode 10 or already know what’s going to happen on Sunday:

I’ve seen a lot of people say that Aemond’s reaction was completely out of character, it ruined his potential, yada yada yada. But what I’m confused about is where exactly has Aemond been painted as an evil, ruthless bastard? The books - yes, we all know his reputation in the books BUT the books have been vague on many things. That’s why the show has taken its own creative take on the characters. So let’s dive into the SHOW’S Aemond and how his reaction to lucerys’ death was justified:

First off, if memory serves me right, it was Aegon, Jacaerys, and Lucerys who were taunting him about not having a dragon rider. And they did so in such a taunting manner, with a pig dressed as a dragon. Let’s put that to the side for a second and move on a little forward.

At Laena’s funeral, we see the kid at least ATTEMPTING to make amends with Jace by feeling bad for him. Obviously he doesn’t do much cause saying, “hey jace, sorry about your dad” would technically be acknowledging the fact that he’s a “bastard.”

After Laena’s funeral and his stealing of Vhagar, we obviously see him acting like a little shit. No excuse for that, but then maybe we shouldn’t also excuse Jace and Luke bullying him as well. To add onto all of that, his father (Viserys) totally ignores the fact that he lost an EYE and instead, INTERROGATES him and orders him to speak up about what happened in the cave.

Fast forward again, and we’re at a table with a supposed moment of peace and joy. NOT. Again, you’d think with time Lucerys would grow to say, “hey, maybe I was a dumbass kid and need to mature a bit as the future lord of driftmark,” but NOOOO. Let’s stir the pot with a decade old joke because why not?

In the last episode, Aemond is a grown ass man taunting a child. Not only that, but with the biggest dragon in the realm. So shit is bound to get out of control and I think this is exactly what suits Aemond’s character. The dude is a maniac who is obsessed with getting revenge on Lucerys, literally eye for an eye. So when Vhagar goes rogue and plows through Arrax and Lucerys, I definitely don’t think his reaction is out of character.

He has built up animosity and anger towards the people who have wronged him as would anyone who’s been stepped on. Sometimes trauma builds a person’s character for good, but sometimes it’s built for evil. As a child, he definitely didn’t show the characteristics of being evil from birth. Over time, and with the built up narrative that his mother and grandfather have enforced, his entire view is obviously tainted. His entire intention through the last few minutes of the episode is not to kill Lucerys, but to MAIM him. Toy with him in some way. So when Vhagar does the deed, his shock is expected. Not because he cares about the kid (hell no), but because he just did the most stupid thing he could’ve done - starting an irreversible war. In the last episode, we see that he is not above duty and does what he needs to for his family because those are the values that he was brought up with. And by playing around with a child, and losing control of his dragon, he just forfeited his duty AND threw his family into war.

Why I’ve enjoyed this show much more than game of thrones is for the reason that I haven’t been able to stick by one character or even one team. Yes, it seems like I am on team black (Rhaenyra as my profile pic), but at the end of the day, everyone on this show is such a nuanced character. They have their good, but they also have their bad. No one is meant to be a hero, and there are no good guys/gals to save the day. Look to the end of the dance of dragons in the book, and you’ll know what I’m talking about.

So say what you will about Aemond, but at least acknowledge where he comes from. If y’all are willing to get on your knees for Daemon who’s a GROWN ASS ADULT doing irredeemable actions, then maybe extend that same energy to Aemond.

As GRRM said, “The most interesting characters are gray characters… all of these characters have good and evil in them and it’s all about the choices they make.”

[plum-pitt]

Brief bit of context before jumping in, i wrote this lil guy years ago with intents of making a oneshot or brief multi chapter fic of it, and it never got past the planning stage. It doesn’t contain any totk lore for obvious reasons, mainly that it was conceptualized damn near 3 yrs ago. I found it while looking thru my notes earlier today and decided i’d clean it up a bit and post it on my tumblr like a sad little orphan baby with the rest of my deranged ramblings. Its a Breath of the Wild AU that borrows the everything’s great and everyone’s alive concept from Age of Calamity(if only to ruthlessly tear it to shreds), but not much else, so don’t worry about spoilers or confusion with that game’s lore or anything. With all that said, enjoy

So i suppose this is for anyone who thought Age of Calamity went just a *little* bit too well. So, hear me out, a what if scenario where AoC was all just a wish fulfillment fantasy created from Links fragmented subconscious being affected by Ganon’s Malice, in a last ditch attempt to pacify the hero and slowly kill him from the inside? And in order to break free Zelda uses what little remained of her power to manipulate the illusion just enough to give his subconscious a chance at fighting back? Well dear reader, i bring you (the vague conceptal ramblings of) a harrowing tale of this poor boy living the life he always(?) wanted, having to watch it crumble all around him, trying to fight reality every step of the way, and finally coming to accept the harsh truths of his reality and finding hope in its future.

We open in the castle sanctum with Zelda and Link standing in the center of the room. Zelda hands him the sheikah slate with an almost apologetic look on her face, only for Link to discover a peculiar set of photos, the very same photos Link used in the failed future to rediscover his memories of the past. She then tells him that he must head to the Great Plateau and investigate, explaining she has reason to believe the visual data is linked to that location and that her duties with rebuilding do not allow her to do so herself. Link, of course, agrees and sets off immediately, but as he leaves the room, the scene focuses in on Zelda’s face in the final moments, twisted with guilt before fading out.

The scene cuts back to the present with Link back at the plateau, except, something is… off. Structures from all corners of Hyrule are scattered haphazardly across the terrain, mixed in with decimated ruins completely overtaken by nature. The time of day and the weather fluctuate erratically as he wanders, and thick, hazy fog that his legs refuse to carry him through envelops countless areas, paired with an ever present feeling of eyes boring into his back. Eventually he finds the ceremonial grounds that should have been in Hyrule field, now half destroyed and covered with moss and decaying guardian shells, also the site of the first photo on the slate. In a flash he finds himself experiencing the subdued ceremony memory, where he is appointed as Zelda’s knight, except, this isn’t his memory. It isn’t right. Just like that he is thrown back into his body, and the ceremonial grounds that were once in front of him had vanished completely.

After such a rattling experience, despite the job he was given he finds himself looking for the place he entered, only to find it too had vanished, leaving him no choice but to keep looking for the other locations in the photos. Each time he encounters a new memory location, he has another vision, and with each one, the land further warps and distorts itself around him. Vaguely familiar faces begin to fade in and out of the spreading fog like phantoms, almost taunting him as he progresses, while the feeling of eyes watching him only grows more and more intense. These strange visions don’t line up with his memories at all, yet the foreboding and heavy feeling in his gut leaves him feeling more anxious and confused with each passing moment. Eventually, after he sees them all lose, sees himself die in Zelda’s arms, sees her go to the castle to face Ganon alone, he finally arrives at the entrance to the Shrine of Resurrection. There he sees himself, mutilated and deathly still, laying in the chamber, and collapses to his knees, the yawning feeling of dread and emptiness hitting him full force.

He looks up once more and finds himself in an empty, eerie lost woods with an unresponsive deku tree and nary a korok to be found. His eyes catch immediately on the master sword, decrepit and broken like everything else in that place, sat lifelessly in the pedestal he had just pulled it from not a month earlier. The feeling of being watched increased tenfold, making him turn around only to see the cloaked form of… himself. But, no! This couldn’t be him. This person had countless burn scars the same ones as the corpse in the shrine marring nearly every inch of him, long unkempt hair spilling out of his oversized hood, and a wild undead glint in his eyes. Link is given barely a moment to take in the appearance of his stalking shadow before the figure’s weapon is drawn and he’s flinging himself at him.

Imagine an epic, symbolic ahh fight scene where these mfs duke it out, that i’m too lazy to describe. The dynamic i’m imagining is that our POV Link is a manifestation of the Malice’s temptation. The one who wants to stay in the happy dream provided to him by the Malice invading his mind, pacified by the fake memory. The Link he’s fighting (let’s just call him Wild cuz LU brain and also it makes shit easier) is the part of his brain that wants to move forward, accept his true past, and face the future. Each time Wild lands a blow on POV Link, he’s bombarded with more memories that bring him closer to true clarity and acceptance, knocking down his resistance to the truth. Conversely, every time POV Link lands a blow, his resolve to fight the temptations of this fake happy ending weaken. The fight stretches on, and for a moment it looks like POV Link might win, but Wild being a shifty fuck manages to turn the tide and land a killing blow.

In that moment, our POV Link finally feels clarity, enough to accept what he knew in his gut all along. That none of this was real, and that the one he’s been fighting all this time was none other than himself. Still, he can’t help but feel mournful over this happy dream, even as it literally falls apart all around him. In this moment of weakness he looks up at Wild, the grief written across his eyes drawing a look of sympathy from his other half, before the cloaked figure spoke in a gravely timbre

“We can’t run from the truth anymore.”

“…Why not? Can’t we just have this? Don’t we deserve a happy ending? After everything?”

“We do, and we can find it outside this place. But only if you have the will to get us there.”

“….Okay.”

With that exchange, our POV Link finds himself fading away with a small, hopeful smile as he metaphorically rejoins with his other half. Leaving just one, reunited Link left in the clearing, smiling up at the sky as the illusion begins to completely break down and collapse under his wholehearted resolve to escape. From one of the fissures in the sky, he hears Zelda’s echoing voice call out to him, and he takes a moment to thank her for the wake up call and apologize for the wait. Ending it off by saying he’d be there soon, before he too fades away. The golden light where he once stood, gently floating upwards toward the fissure in the sky.

Was this any good? Fuck if i know dawg I wrote this my junior year of highschool and just cleaned it up for shits n giggles. But hey! Let me know your thoughts on this strange blend between outline of a oneshot and actual oneshot. Or if you’d wanna flesh it out more and write it for yourself, then by all means do so! Just uh, credit me ig? Oh and send me a link cuz i wanna read the hell out of it.

[l223m0nade]

Chill

———————————

I wrote a thing! A Bucky-With-A-Cold scenario bc that is my favorite thing in this life, in which he is pretty Winter Soldier-y but not in an angsty way, and Steve is all tender for him.

Canon-ish, post-WS, Steve Bucky and Sam are going on missions against Hydra while Bucky/the Soldier recovers his memories & self.

IDK about this title but I'm stoked I finished this so it's goin up :D

———————————

“…Hey Buck. You wakin’ up?”

            The Soldier cracked his eyes open. Took stock of his surroundings: bare wood, high windows looking out onto cold gray sky and earth, unfamiliar lumpy couch, scratchy wool blanket, tall blond man hovering with a cup of something steaming in his hands— Steve. He was with Steve.

            He relaxed as the rest came trickling back. Safehouse. Northern Canada. A mission: chasing down a small Hydra cell that had gone to ground in this remote area. Then… helicopters…

            “How are you feeling?” Steve liked to ask that question. The Soldier had come to realize it wasn’t a taunt or a deliberate attempt to confuse him or make him feel weak, but it was still hard to answer most of the time. He grunted vaguely, then frowned at the scratchy ache in his throat. Had he been screaming in his sleep? There wasn’t the tight misery on Steve’s face that usually resulted from that.

            He was actually smiling a bit, managing to look concerned but also the slightest bit amused. “Do you remember what happened?”

            “Helicopters.” Big ones. “Three of them. You, me, and” the man with the wings— “Sam. He was fine. I took out the crew on mine. You fell,” he finished accusingly. Talking scratched at his throat and resonated oddly in his nose, which felt sort of cotton-wool-stuffed and sensitive and increasingly tingly.

            Steve’s eyes went to his leg and he finally noticed the splint and bandage engulfing his right knee. “…Then what happened.” He still forgot to put inflection into his voice sometimes, to make his words a question instead of a flat statement. Steve didn’t mind, anyhow.

            “You went jumping right after me, ya goof.” Steve suppressed a chuckle as Bucky’s eyes narrowed further at the suggestion that he and not Steve was the goof. “Threw me clear of the hole in the ice while the damn helicopter crashed on top of you.” It hadn’t been funny at the time, but Bucky lying safe on the couch, bundled in blankets, and giving him that accusing narrow-eyed glare that was so familiar, was making him feel giddy with relief and happiness.

He was also starting to scrunch and wrinkle his nose a little —Steve had a guess why— and it was a little, well, cute. “A rotor hit your leg, not too hard but hard enough for a fracture and a pretty bad wound, and you sunk with the chopper, so you were under for a few minutes before me and Sam could get to you. You were hypothermic. I was worried.” He knew his face was doing something very soft and tender but he couldn’t help it. Bucky looked exasperated as he often did in response to Steve’s worry. He was also getting a hazy, confused little expression on his face.

            The Soldier wanted to roll his eyes, a recently discovered expression Steve often inspired, and snark back at the big blond idiot, but before he could, the building tingling itch in his nose crested, seized his breath in a series of hitches, and— “heh…hih-ehschoo!” it only abated for an instant, and then returned. “hitschoo! …heh-heh, adt—” the last one fizzled away and left him blinking and shaking his head. The cotton-wool feeling was still there, even more than before.

            Steve looked more sympathetic than surprised. “Bless you. This is for you to drink, if you want it—” he put the cup of tea on the coffee table within arm’s reach. “It’s good for sore throats, which I think you might have right now.”

            The Soldier squinted at him suspiciously. How did he know that? He sniffled. The feeling that had made him sneeze had backed off, but felt like it could return any second.  

            Steve did his concerned smile thing. “I think you might be a little, well, sick. There was a mention in—in a file I found” now he was glaring at the floor like he’d like to murder it. “Something about immune sensitivity to severe cold temperature. And even though the serum’s supposed to stop us ever getting sick, I’ve gotten a little under the weather when I was healing from an injury before. You might be dealing with a cold, pal. Might not have had one since the last one you caught off me in the ‘40s, or, I guess, you might not remember.”

The Soldier didn’t remember much from Before, though things came back once in a while. Did he remember feeling like this? He had to sniffle again. His head and face were starting to feel big, and heavy, and a soft pounding had started up behind his eyes. His leg hurt, but that was more familiar than this other —just feel crummy, Stevie—feeling.

He shrugged uncertainly in lieu of answering, sat upright just enough to reach the cup of tea and take a few cautious sips. It hadn’t been an order, but he could tell Steve wanted him to drink it. It did feel good on the soreness in his throat. But the steam rising from the cup, despite being a barely perceptible sensation, felt like a feather tickling his nose, and suddenly the sneezes were back.

“hdtsch, h-h-hitsch!...hitshiew!” He turned toward the back of the couch and managed not to spill the tea, sniffled a few times in a row, but his nose wasn’t done: “huh…huh-ISHhhoo!”

“Bless you, Buck! I think that’s a ‘yes’ on catching a cold. Let me get you some tissues, or find something in this place that’ll work…” Steve moved off with purpose as he spoke. It was a safehouse: well-stocked with non-perishable food and basic medical necessities, but not much else. He waffled between bandage cloth and toilet paper for a few seconds and then grabbed both. As he returned to Bucky on the couch he heard another soft but itchy-sounding sneeze— “hih-etssch!” followed by a series of urgent sniffles. “Here you go, pal. Couldn’t find tissues but you can blow your nose with either of these.”

Bucky grabbed a rectangular piece of cloth meant for bandaging wounds, clearly needing to tend to his nose too much to freeze over the decision as he still sometimes did with minor choices offered to him, and blew his nose with an expression of relief.

“Sorry I don’t have any handkerchiefs. I carried one for a while after I woke up, but people don’t use them much anymore and I got tired of getting looks like I was insane or getting called ‘Grandpa’ every time I pulled one out.”

Bucky blinked up at him. His nostrils were already pink and sensitive-looking, and there was a slight flush showing on his cheeks as well. “I don’t remember…this,” he said, gesturing at his face with the makeshift tissue. His voice was getting a bit rough and congested. He cleared his throat. “S’not too bad.” He rubbed his nose itchily, turning it more red, and gave a soft cough. His eyebrows turned up and he gave a shivery inhale like he was about to sneeze, but then it deserted him and he sunk back onto the couch cushion with a sigh. He looked like he was feeling pretty miserable, whatever he might say.

“Not too bad, but not too much fun, either. I sure remember how it felt for me.” Steve said softly, putting his hand on his friend’s warm forehead. Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut, and on instinct Steve put the back of his hand to Bucky’s cheek, and watched as he leaned into the soft cool touch, vulnerable in a way he so rarely was. Something clenched in Steve’s chest. “You definitely have a fever. I’m sure you’ll be better before long, especially if you rest. Get some more sleep; I’ll heat up some soup when you wake up.”

“What ‘bout you,” murmured Bucky sleepily, followed by another soft sniffle.

“Don’t worry about me, Buck.” Steve could feel how sappy his expression must be, and was grateful Sam was sacked out in the back bedroom. “I ain’t tired yet, I’ll be on watch.”

“You were—snfff—in the water too” said Bucky accusingly, fighting sleep as he tried to turn the tables of fussing onto Steve.

“You tossed me outta there so fast I barely had time to get wet.” Steve’s eyes twinkled as he smiled. “Too worried about me, as usual.” Bucky scowled at that like Steve knew he would, scrunching his red nose.

“Like hell. Just didn’t want you to go getting yourself…fro—frohoze…huhh…HUH—USHchoo! Ugh. Frozen againd.” Bucky replied, interrupting himself with a heavy sneeze into the cloth in his hand. He really sounded like he had a cold. He lifted the cloth again just as he shivered into a tiny soft “hih-tishh” and blew his nose tiredly.

“Sleep, Buck.” Steve gave into the urge to stroke his hair and Bucky gave a little sigh, eyes finally sliding closed. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[sunlitmcgee]

CUT SCENES FROM HEAL WHAT HAS BEEN HURT CHAPTER 81

Yo yo yo, my good folks! This here’s a post that’s gonna talk about some stuff that didn’t make it into Chapter 81, either due to a change in creative vision or plain old pacing. It’s got bits of gore/violence/self-harm under the cut, as well as general creepy imagery/stuff with bugs. Please be safe!

So firstly, I’ll say that originally I did want more of Puffy being with Tommy this chapter. I had several scenes in my head where she and him walked through various memories together, such as through Pogtopia’s main cavern, Logstedshire’s campsite, or even a moment where they visited Thrent and Tommy gave her a sort of “tour” of his living conditions in exile. That last idea bled over a bit into the final scene with clingyduo, but in all honest I do feel very bad that Puffy got sidelined in this chapter, and would really like to try and fit her in in future ones where possible. She just got in over her head there at some point. Magical whatchimacllit and therapy really don’t mix. :”) not her fault.

Another scrapped idea was for the scene with alliumduo when they were both lil’ bugs! Originally that scene was going to end with Ranboo turning into basically a butterfly-winged fairy prince type of character(think something out of Disney’s Fairies lol) with his wings being the elytra he won from XD’s gameshow. Tommy would in turn become a version of his usual self with fluffy white  moth wings and a big poofy dress that would mimic a poodle moth’s floof, which he’d be very giddy about as he and Ranboo locked hands and began to slow dance on top of the allium. This idea was cut for pacing/story flow, and because at that point Tommy was a very tired boy that just wanted to move onto something else after what happened in the prison cell a few moments prior.

Speaking of the cell.

This was the moment that changed the most. It was originally going to last much long and be a much more graphic, drawn out scene. Tommy was originally going to flagellate himself in that box to the point where his whole body would’ve just.....melted? Into this mass of dark red bloody ooze that only had the vague shape of his body along with his two blue eyes. He’d scream until he couldn’t, then breakdown crying as his whole body oozed around him in this visceral moment of just...pain.

One bit I had very clearly in mind was of him thrashing back and forth while both Ranboo and Tubbo screamed at him to stop while Puffy rushed to call XD from where they stayed during the sessions(they were basically inbetween Tommy’s mind and the rest of the world so he could have privacy unless they needed him). It was gonna involve Tommy repeating the phrases “No one cared”, “No one came”, “No one wants me”, and most painfully of all, “This is what he made me into.” All while viscously and violently beating himself against the walls, floor and ceiling of the room where his life was almost beaten out of him by a very evil man. He’d end up clawing at his body at some point. Lots of blood. Lots of maggots and other icky nasty wigglies. All very symbolic in ways I’m sure you all could pick up on from how that concept of being “full of spiders” lingered in the final draft.

I scrapped it because it hurt too much to write. Even I have my limits :”)

The scene with the multiple dead Ranboos was also going to last longer. There were going to be a few moments where some of the bodies were still half alive and would drag themselves up to talk to Tommy. They’d say some of the things Ranboo said when he visited in exile, but there would also be bits of mockery and taunting sprinkled in, all of which would’ve come straight from Tommy’s mind from when he was alone in exile/after the prison. Scrapped it for time. There was so much already and I didn’t wanna drag it out longer than needed. Plus ever since Ghostboo became a thing in canon lore, I find the idea of c!Ranboo being dead to be Very Upsetting in a Very Not Fun Way. It upsets me to see boo baby in pain :( im senstive about it

 Another scrapped concept involved the green smile that taunted Tommy with all his Dream-related conditioning. It was gonna turn into some manner of Silent Hill-esque creature that would chase Tommy down while repeating the last words he said in the prison prior to trying to kill him. Felt too actiony for such an intimate, slow-burn type chapter. Still have the design in my head. Maybe it’ll pop up, somehow.

There was going to be a very cute, mostly lighthearted scene involving clingyduo at one point. I actually made concept art of it in MS Paint and posted in onto discord! It was basically gonna be a moment where Tommy woke up in a large room filled with pretty blue curtains, which would then pull back to reveal Tubbo, who had been turned into what I can best descibe as a 9 feet tall buff ‘n burly strong man caraicature of himself that was shirtless with a pair of poofy purple pants and some very pretty necklaces that were made of beads Tommy often wore in his hair whenever Ranboo braids it. It was gonna be.....just....plain ol’ platonic gay panic. Very cute, very silly. Lots of Tubbo being sweet and soft and trying to pick Tommy up while he was just freaking the fuck out, mortified by his brain and desprate for it to be over so they could never speak of it again all “We Take This To Our Graves” style. He’d be a very blushy baby boyo.

It was scrapped for tonal purposes. Clingyduo in this chapter had many very intimate, serious moments together. I didn’t wanna ruin that for the joke. It is a good joke, tho.

The last major change was very last minute. In the scene where XD was leading Tommy out of his head, I originally wanted to reference the last scene in Turning Red where Mei Mei and her mom have that personal moment and she helps lead her mother out of the bamboo forest. Originally Tommy was going to shift between the various versions of himself from all the major points in his life, before finally settling on his current self, aka the cumination of all those lived experiences that he lives as today. No reason why this one changed. Just ended up writing the scene differently :) happens sometimes.

To close this off, I wanna talk some more about this chapter in general. Mostly because it was a very personal one to write. All of Heal What Has Been Hurt has been personal to write due to the nature of its themes, but this one was very intimate in how I had to approach it, in such a way that as I went through it and described many of the details and enviroments within Tommy’s mindscape, I came to understand a lot of things about my own traumas and how they’ve shaped me, things I won’t share but that the mention of is still important to note.

Trauma is...messy.

Trauma is weird.

Trauma is one of the most horrific yet varied things we as humans can go though.

It changes us completely. We are never the same after it’s happened. We are forever altered by its effects, forever under its unpredictable and oftentimes almost seemingly malevolent influence.

It’s always there when you want it the least. You always get triggered when you’re finally starting to feel okay. You always spiral just as you think you’ve gotten yourself out of it. And just when you think you’ve figured one thing out, that you’ve pinned down the root of all your pain and are ready to snuff it into the dirt, a whole new wave comes in and you’re forced to grapple with the fact that it will well and truly never be over, and that this is your life, and that this, this mess, this awfulness, this tiresome labor of a life........is you.

And it goes on.

And on.

And on and on and on for the rest of your short time in forever.

There’s no endpoint to recovery from trauma. There’s not climax. There’s no grand finale where you’ll have this lovely musical swell of emotions to accompany some grand “ah-ha! NOW I’ll be happy again” type moment. There’s just always more. More pain. More tired. More anger. More sadness.

More life. Life with your trauma. Life with yourself.

It doesn’t have to be miserable. It is at times. But it doesn’t always have to be.

That’s what chapter 81 was. For me, at the very least. I encourage you all always to find whatever meaning you need in my works. That’s part of why I make them :) 

[amoristt]

Grazing the Fire | IV

well hello. here i am, four years later, once again enamored with nathan enough to finally dust this baby off and pick up where i left it. im a little rusty so bear with me this chapter! much more to come <3

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)! it also helps motivate me!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

Warning: language, very vague s/a mentions

want to support me? heres my kofi!

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“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?” 

A few hands raise in the corners of your eye, but yours remains atop your desk. Eyes far away, mind in a murky haze and almost completely unaware. All you could focus on were the memories playing on repeat within the confines of your tired, tired brain. Hours ago, you were warm, you were comfortable. Safe.

Cheeks heated to a dusting blush when you remind yourself just how you had awoken that morning. At some point in the night, an angel had blessed you. Allowed you to wake up wrapped around none other than big, bad, Nathan Prescott. Your face nuzzled into his chest, broad but wiry hands pressed firmly over your shoulder and his arm slung over your waist to keep you against him. Thankfully you had been the first to wake up, blinking away the morning sun blazing through his blinds and painting the room stripes of gold. At that moment, before your headache came crashing down onto your skull, you were astounded by him. 

Eye lashes brushing the top of his cheeks, his lips parted ever so slightly, chest rising and falling rhythmically. In that moment, there was no anger, no bitterness. Just a soft and peaceful slumber. It was like being the sole viewer of a magnificent painting- each stroke and detail placed just there just for you to pick out, to remember the curves and sharp edges down to the very foundation. From his unkempt hair down to the way his hand flattened onto the mattress where your indent still lived. Nathan was so beautiful like this. 

For a long time you stayed there. It was as though you were afraid to move- you couldn’t bear to disturb him. You had wondered, if he was always like this, so at peace, what would he be like? Likely soft voiced, mild mannered. He’d do his school assignments without hassle and donate to the charity board. He would wander the town with his friends and listen to music in a beat up truck flying down the stretch of highway overlooking the bold, blue, and beautiful ocean. An entirely different version of himself- carefree, and a fair blue as opposed to a burning flame of red. 

But, if that were the case, you’d never have gotten here. You’d never been both the outsider, and the only seeing eye. A lucky, albeit firstly unwilling witness to the display of depth before you. 

It never hit you like it had quite in that moment how lucky you were.

But- just then- an alarm disturbed what serendipity existed. You nearly leapt out of your skin, clutched your hands to your chest at the sudden sound. A headache wove its way into your once untouched temples. Nathan groaned, mumbled, ‘god damn it’, under his breath, and thus his body was reanimated into life. He rubbed his eyes and he stretched, that familiar scowl coming over his eyes and lips as he took in the sunlight damn near blinding him. A polar opposite to the being you’d appreciated just moments earlier.

“Ugh, fuck, how the fuck is it seven already.” He groaned. “I feel like shit.”

“Well good morning to you too,” You started, welcoming Nathan into the world. “‘I’m feeling pretty shitty as well.” 

You said that, but really… You were more than alright. Your head had hurt, slight nausea crept into the wells of your stomach, but other than that you’re sure you were phenomenally better than you’d have been waking up whereverTate would have left your ass.

“You need to get outta here, before everyone gets up.” Nathan drawled, but he didn’t sound as urgent as you expected him to be. You’d expected him to be angry that you were still in his room, but instead he just… accepted it. 

You snickered, climbing out of his throne of a bed. “Wow, you’re giving me the morning after treatment?” 

“Sure am. Get outta here, whore.”

“Oh fuck you.” 

You located your heels from last night, resting upright near his dorm room door. Heels didn’t sound like the most  practical to sneak out of a dorm with, so you instead opted to grappling them by the straps and carrying them at your side. Hair a mess, outfit riddled with wrinkles and makeup smudged under your eyes, you stood before Nathan in all your glory. He stared at you for a long, odd moment- and you for some reason felt exposed, or even, shy. 

“What?” You ask expectantly, placing a hand on your hip. 

His eyes trail to your line of vision. He shakes his head. “Just thinking about how now you really do look like my morning after.”

“Yeah?” You hummed. “Find it hard to believe you get a lot of those.”

Nathan shoots you a suggestive glance. “You’d be surprised. Everyone wants a piece of Prescott.”

Surely, he was joking, or maybe he wasn’t, but you… Didn’t like hearing that. It made your stomach feel odd, uncomfortably heavy.  As he stood up, reminding you how many inches he had over your size, you swallowed and cleared your throat to flush out that crappy feeling. “Well,” you started, mood having dropped. “I’m gonna go, then.” 

“What got your panties in a twist all the sudden?” He asked, raising a brow and pulling some clothes from his closet, tossing them onto the bed.

The bed you two had shared.

You hated the idea of his morning afters- whoever they may be. 

“Not feeling great. Probably a side effect of the roofies.” You mumbled.

Nathan breathed a laugh. “Probably.”

He seemed so calm, right now. Perhaps due to it being so early, before the outside world had a chance to remind him just why he was so uptight all the tight. Before he needed to be so uptight all the time. He really did have so many versions of himself- all of whom you were slowly becoming familiar with. Compared to the person you’d believed him to be before your run ins, you’d never have assumed someone so dangerous could be so soft as last night, as this morning. In the beginning, you’d feared him. Avoided him like a plague, or a wild animal. Even when you were enraptured in the existence of him, you still wanted to keep away. You’d never have believed someone like you could wake up clutched to his chest, as though he were afraid if he released you, you’d be gone long before he woke. 

Then, a sudden thought struck your mind. 

He’d held you so tight. He’d welcomed you in the morning. No anger, no annoyance. His soft laugh at your banter and taunts. How your heels were standing upright instead of tossed haphazardly into some random corner, where he’d watch your struggle to find. 

How he’d stayed awake to ensure your sleep.

“So are you just gonna stand there?” Nathan called you back to reality, hands gripping the hems of his shirt. “I gotta get ready and you need to wash up so you don’t look like a five dollar stripper.” Cruel words, but with absolutely no bite. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah. But, hey,” You started. “Thank you for last night.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You gotta start learning to watch your own back.” He says. “There’s gonna be times I won’t be there to drag your ass out of the fire.”

If you’d been charged, if you’d been stricken with a strange defensiveness, you’d have retorted, ‘than stop helping me’, but… Instead you allowed yourself the comfort of protection. You allowed Nathan Prescott to watch you.  

“I know,” You reached for the door. “Thank you.”

With that, you bounded out of the dorm silent as a mouse. 

-----------

In hindsight, you should have left earlier. Class was merely 15 minutes away when you slipped out of Nathan's room and bounded towards the women's dorm. Albeit not exactly a long walk, by the time you discreetly snuck back into your own dorm, you had roughly twenty minutes to somehow pick an outfit from your countless unopened boxes and make yourself even slightly presentable. 

Wiping off whatever make-up you could get and reapplying it, brushing out the tangles of your hair and nearly tearing off your scalp in the process, scattering your nightclothes over your floor and managing to scrounge out a semi-decent outfit for the day… You still looked a mess. If the mirror could laugh, it would have. Black mascara smudges under your eyes and frizzy untreated hair. What a lovely look. 

You’d made it to class just five minutes late, but those five minutes were all it took for all eyes to be on you as you tried to slide into the classroom unnoticed. A couple classmates whispered to their table mates as you passed by, smelling of oversaturated cherry blossom perfume to hopefully cover the scent of alcohol. You sauntered to your seat and sank down with all your weight, suddenly exhausted. You’d made it with just five minutes tainting your record of attendance. The teacher greeted you with a disappointed sigh, and thus, the day began. 

But, it was so hard to focus. All you could think about was Nathan. 

“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?” 

You lowered your head. 

“Ah, how about, ___?”

You snaked back into reality, blinking up at the chalk board that was somehow already riddled with math equations. Since you hadn’t been paying attention even in the slightest, your mouth gaped wide open, eyes scanning for something you understood even slightly so you didn’t look like a total idiot. 

Sadly, you were out of luck. The teacher shook his head. “I’m shocked,” He said. “You're normally so on top of things. Oh well.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was on top of things,” A female voice sniggered behind you “Last night.”

Your face flushed a red, hot, ruby. What the hell was she talking about? How had they found out you were with Nathan? You were so sure of being sneaky, there was no way-

“Her and Tate totally got it on last night.”

You whipped around in your seat, facing girls who looked to be clones of some sort. Both with the same dark eyes, short brown hair, and freckles. “What?”

“Alright-” Your teacher blurted. “That's enough. April, May, enough. Let’s not discuss things outside of the classroom.”

The two girls batted their eyes. “Sorry sir.” One spoke, twirling a hand through her hair. Her sister's wide toothy grin never fumbled. 

“Back to it then. Kate, can you help out __ with number four?” 

The small, blonde girl nodded quickly, brushing a lock of hair behind her eyes and offering an empathic nod. 

As you turned around in your seat, her answer fell on deaf ears. Your heart was racing in your chest, hands balled into fists while you stared ahead blankly.  

They couldn’t seriously think that you chose to leave with Tate, could they? Surely someone must have seen the state you were in. Someone other than Nathan.

The clock ticks forward but time feels like it's passing almost unnaturally slow. With just 10 minutes left, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

‘Nathan: consider ur favor officially returned 

Your tongue poked from your lips, the tiniest of smiles taking over your once sullen features. Terrible thoughts and worries flew out the window while you type back, ‘damn. here i was gonna to ask you to do a backflip off the roof with me. there goes my plans.’

Nathan types for a moment. Typing, stopping, typing again. 

‘Nathan: soundz like a blast. where and when?’

A small blush heats your cheeks. ‘very funny. thanks to last night i have an entire 24 hour session of studying to catch up with.’

His response is almost instant. ‘Nathan: boringgg. txt me when ur fun.’

Rolling your eyes, you shove your phone back into your pocket. It seems you’ve been able to secure enough of a friendship with him for some mindless banter even outside your little visits. You smile. He’s… Fun to talk to. Surprisingly. 

Class comes to an end and you start to pack up the books and papers you’d hardly even glanced at the whole period. Whatever had been upsetting you before is lost in your mind while you think of the morning, the night before. All the things in-between. But, your happiness doesn’t last long. As you get up, you’re almost forced right back into your seat as a weight shoves into your shoulder. Your books scatter to the floor. April, the one who’d remarked about you earlier, glares at you in what looks to be disgust. 

“Careful April,” Her sister hums as she saunters past you, keeping distance and raising her already shrill tone of voice. “Might wanna watch where you’re walking- I’d hate for you to catch something from this slut.”

You absolutely gawk at her. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

April scoffs. “Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t know what you were up to last night.”

“Sleeping around isn’t a good color on you.” May hikes her bag over her shoulder and snickers at you. They both leave the class together, sickeningly in sync. You’re left stunned where you stand, unsure how the hell your life came to this so quickly. How you’ve stooped so low that the daughters of the world's most uncreative parents are able to bully you based on something that didn’t even happen.

Next class goes no better. The person to your right, a jockey looking brunette guy, asks, ‘have you ever heard of a Tate?’. You say no, that that’s the dumbest name you’ve ever heard. The idiot grins and goes back to marking down likely wrong answers on his test sheet and you debate kicking the leg of his chair out- but you don’t to avoid even more eyes on you. It makes you sick to your stomach- even more than recovering from the roofies does. How can everyone believe it? You barely even knew the guy and you were clearly uncomfortable with his advances. No one saw that? 

After everything you’d worked for to build a reputation, trying so hard to not call out peoples shit for the sake of seeming friendly, tainted over something that didn’t even happen? And the kicker was that it hadn’t even been your fault! He’d drugged you, he’d have taken advantage of you! Yet you were the bad person? 

Class came and went in the blink of an eye this time. Your mind wrapped up in the situation, your stomach churning. You wanted the day to be over with but you still had 4 more classes to suffer through. Why was this happening to you? Was Tate being treated just as horribly, or was he getting pats on the backs of his unaware friends?

Wandering down the halls to your locker, you noticed Lance and Kaz hanging around one of the drinking fountains. Your nerves quelled- your friends would surely make you feel much better. Especially since they had witnessed how awful you were feeling as you left. You approach with a relieved smile, ready to say your truth and finally have someone on your side.

“Hey guys.” You smile, but Lance looks down at his feet while Kaz places her hands to his hips. Your smile fades.

“You could have told us you were gonna spend the night with Tate,” Kaz snaps. “You didn’t need to lie like that just to leave. We were all worried about you and it was for nothing.”

“What?” You feel like you could cry. “No, Kaz, I really did try to leave. Tate tried to drug me and take me home, and-”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Lance interrupts, with a frown. He looks back down at the floor with knitted brows. “I’ve known Tate since before time. He wouldn't do something like that, especially not to one of my best friends. Plus he told me he was really into you. Why would he even try?”

“Are you serious?” You sputter. “You think I’d lie about something like that?”

“You’ve been lying about all sorts of things!” Kaz huffs. “What’s going on with you lately? You’ve been so distant, and secretive. What are you hiding that’s making you lie like this? We’re supposed to be your friends and then you lie to our faces just to go and fuck the first guy that shows you attention.”

“What…?” It was like acid. It was like the rug had been pulled from your feet sending you spiraling down the unending cliff. Kaz, your best friend, all that venom. How could they turn against you like this? What the hell is going on? You felt your throat tighten. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been distant, but I’m not lying to you, I-”

“We gotta go.” Lance isn’t in the mood to hear it. “We’ll catch up to you.. Some other time.”

Kaz says nothing as she pushes past you. Lance, at least, spares a short glance over his shoulder. You stood there alone in the hallway, your bag falling off your shoulder and clattering onto the floor with a thud echoing off the walls. Everything you had, all gone at once. 

No one believed you.

---------

With nowhere to go where you felt like you could truly allow yourself to process the day's events, you went to the only place you knew. 

Just outside of campus, where rocks lined the edge of the boundary, overlooking the outskirts of the town and the ocean stretching as far as the eye could see. You settled yourself there, staring at the vast waters and wondering how this had all happened. Unlucky didn’t even begin to cover how it felt. Not only did you feel violated with Tate attempting to do unthinkable things with your unconscious body, but you also felt alone, and walked on. Your best friends hadn’t believed you. While Lance seemed saddened, Kaz was so… Angry. Her words cut like knives into your skin. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve this.

You want to talk to Nathan, but knowing him, he’d see your state and bounce instantly. After all, this isn’t exactly very fun of you.

As the sun began to fall, splaying orange and blues over the wide open sky, behind you, you could hear voices. A group of them, some male, some female. Memories of when your notebook had gotten snatched by those two horsed face assholes came flooding back and with all your alertness, you stood up, and decided that this sitting place was no longer safe. Nothing was.

Before you even made it ten feet away, the group had found their way to your spot and gotten comfortable, one of the girls cheering, ‘this’ll be our hangout! look at how pretty the view is!’

You took a short drive down the stretches of road and decided that if you were going to lament in your own sadness, you were at least going to do so in a place that had something to cover the sound of your tears. Plus a nice view.

The beach, littered with its picnic tables and the sounds of crashing waves would suffice just fine. So, you pulled in the desolate parking lot and wandered down the sandy shores until you stumbled upon a picnic table shaded by a large willow cascading lushious branches to block out the sun- a perfect canopy for you to wallow under. 

You had nothing at that moment. No friends, no reputation, no one to believe your tragic tale. And now, you’d just lost the one spot that made you feel comfortable when stress was building into your body like concrete. Tears pricked into the corners of your eyes and you bit your lip, dreading that feeling of a lump in your throat. Why you? Everything had been going so well. How could not even a single person believe that Tate had tried to hurt you?

Well, actually, there was one person.

Of course Nathan believed you. He’d been the one to rescue you, after all. Time and time again it seemed.  How was it that even the ones closest to you would turn their back so fast, yet Nathan seemed to be there even when you didn’t want him to be? Even when you yelled at him, and he yelled right back, fire and sparks falling into embers around the two of you. 

In that moment, you almost felt like you could finally relate to him. A reputation based on lies and things out of your control, paired with a hardheaded attitude to try and combat all the assumptions. 

No wonder he was so angry. 

“Hey bitch,” A voice suddenly called, and you had a split second moment where you were terrified of once again being the victim of a cruel prank or some classmates boredom. “How about next time you have a pity party you don’t fucking call me in the middle of it.”

You blinked away your tears and through the blurriness saw a figure coming towards you. All that sass, the tone...

“Nathan?” You breathed. It only takes moments before he’s in front of you, holding his phone in view, seeing that the call that had been running for nearly ten minute. You flush in embarrassment, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “How did that happen?”

“Well, can your ass dial numbers?” He taunts, ending the call. 

“Damn it, dumb phone must have butt-dialed you. I knew I should’ve gotten a different one.” You mentally kick yourself. “It must have unlocked in my pocket.”

“You don’t have a password on your phone?” He taunts. When you shake your head, he whistles. “You are just begging for a robbery. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m in the mood to send random messages to all your buddies.” 

“Fuck off.” You scowl, and he grins, hopping up on the picnic table next to you. The sun flatters his skin. He’s almost glowing. 

“Speaking of buddies, how the hell did it pick my number out of your sea of friends?”

You shrug. “Probably cuz’ it’s a priority contact.” 

“Oh lala, I’ve been upgraded to priority huh? Does it display a superman logo whenever you give it a ring?”

“Nope. When I press call it rings the nearest asshole in my vicinity. The fact that it’s you is your own problem.”

“Haha, fucking ha.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He stares out at the water, watching waves pull and crash onto the beach. It’s almost beautiful, until he ruins it. “Yknow, you’re a really ugly crier.”

“Wow, thanks.” You shake your head. “That's exactly what I needed to hear right now. Why did you even stay on the line?.” Wiping your eyes, you start to forget your tears. “Couldn’t have been that wild of a conversation.”

Nathan shrugs. “Between the crying and the sound of the waves it was pretty nice.” He grins. “Very educational.” 

“Awesome. Glad I was able to make your day.” It doesn’t feel like your usual bitey remarks. You’re tired, you’re still a little hurt and you can’t stop thinking about how such an amazing morning had turned into such a horrible day.

“So what’s got you all fucked up? Never seen you act like this big of a baby before.”

“Nothing. You already paid off your debt to me per this morning, so feel free to resume our regularly scheduled mutual hatred.” You say, lying through your teeth. You know you’re both past the point of hatred, but you’re feeling jaded, you can’t help it. 

“Oh shut the fuck up,” He groans. “I didn’t drag my ass all the fucking way out to this shit hole of a beach just for you to give me that bullshit. What, did you fail a test? No one matched you on tinder?”

“Everyone thinks me and Tate slept together last night.” You blurt. “I think he’s telling people me and him had sex.”

Nathan tenses his shoulders and grimaces. “Fucking werido.”

“I told my best friends that he tried to take advantage of me and they don’t believe me. One of em’ even said he wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Fuck em’. Who needs best friends.”

“And to make everything so much better, these two bitches that I share four of my classes with harassed me all goddamn day. I mean, fucks sake, how the hell are girls named April and May of all things able to get to me. It’s bullshit. And to make matters worse, Tate is just… Getting away with it.”

“Yeah well, something tells me that Tate’s gonna get a real nice fucking taste of medicine eventually. I just gotta find him first. He’s got a lot of nerve spreading shit around given I knocked his ass onto the pavement.” Nathan brows knit at the memory.

You test the waters. “Why would you do that for me?”

He seems caught off guard, or maybe, surprised that you’d ask. Maybe he thinks you’re both beyond that point. He grumbles, “Why does it matter.”

“I’m just curious. We don’t owe each other anything, remember?”

“Yeah, well,” He huffs. “Don’t ask me questions to shit I don’t know the answer to.”

“You say that an awful lot.” You tease.

“Yeah well you ask dumbass questions an awful lot. Not everything I do has to have some weird ass motives behind it, ___. Maybe I’ve got beef with Tate that’s outside of you.”

“Uhuh. Sure.” You’re about to say something else, when your phone lights up with a text. The display makes your heart fall all over again. 

Unknown Number: you should just pack up and go somewhere else. no one wants std’s from breathing your air xoxo

You don’t even know who that is. Now absolute strangers are on your case. You want to throw your phone into the ocean and leave.

Nathan scoffs. “Don’t even bat a fucking eye for that bitch, whoever the hell they are. Half the hoes you’ve mentioned have slept with half the football team,” he pinches his jacket, “and I would know.”

“Ew, Nathan,” You grimace, that same feeling from the morning returning. It feels, oddly, like jealousy.  He nudges your arm with his elbow and grins playfully. It’s cute.

“Chill, I’m just fucking with you. You gotta know even I wouldn’t fuck girls that desperate. I’m a man of class.”

That last comment actually forces a laugh from you. It’s soft, but it’s real. The first laugh you’ve genuinely had all day. “That’s horrible.” You remark, giggling again.

It's almost like the slight restoration of your mood puts him at ease as well. He leans back on his hands and stares off into the ocean, those sparkling waters under the setting, orange sun. “I’m for real though. Those hoes aren’t worth your time. One day when we blow this shithole of a town they’re not even gonna matter.”

Your brows knit, eyes blinking up at him. Had you heard that right? 

“We?” You ask, perplexed, albeit a little… Hopeful.

Nathan sputters. “Well- Like, when everyone’s older and-”

“You know what, it's fine.” You interrupt. “Fuck it. You’re right. We’re gonna blow this town and they’re just gonna be some shitty memories.”

He sucks in a shaky breath. You’ve never heard him scramble like that, like he’s been unmasked. The look he casts you when you agree, when you don’t tease or patronize and finally hop on the idea that yeah, what if the two of you really didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

What if the two of you could just exist, without the anger. 

You look up at him. “Would you actually do that though?” You start. “With me, of all people?”

He swallows. His expression is tense, but he’s not upset. He appears nervous, caught off guard. Nathan tries, “I-”

Your phone rings. Shrill, piercing. Mood destroying. 

“Jesus Christ, it’s my mom.” You grab your phone and Nathan looks forward, stone faced and silent as you hop off the table and answer. It’s your mother, who all but shouts into the phone that her and your father are taking a surprising visit to Arcadia Bay while they’re traveling by on their vacation. She insists that you be ready in about an hour for dinner, and likely there will be family photos. 

Which means if you still look as wrecked as you did this morning, you’re gonna have a lot of washing up to do. With a quick goodbye, a short and sweet, ‘love you’, you hang up and sigh. 

“You still tell your mom you love her?” He teases. “What are you, five?”

You frown. “You don’t tell your parents you love them?”

Nathan side eyes you, and just shrugs. It is all the answer you need, really, and for his sake you decide it wouldn’t be best to press the issue. Not now. But- it still makes your heart hurt just a little. You wished that he’d had it better growing up. 

“Right… Do you want a ride home?”

“Fuck no, what am I,” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “a fucking girl scout?” 

“I was just offering, weirdo.” When he doesn't get up, you feel like you’re missing out. Like if you stayed, maybe, just maybe, you’d get to know him a little better. “Hey, if you want, I can stay for a bit longer.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re needed elsewhere. But,” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Fuckin’... Text me or something. Or not, I don’t care either way.”

There’s a small warmth in your chest that rises to your cheeks. He wants you to text him. “Yeah,” You say. “If I’m feeling fun.”

And with that, you bid him farewell, beginning your descent to the parking lot. 

“Hey,” He calls, and you turn just in time to catch a small item he’s tossed right at you. A tiny key resides in the palm of your hand. “Spare. If shit hits the fan again-...” He shrugs, and actually looks away. “Just don’t be too fucking loud of I’ll kick your ass out myself. No Madison needed.”

The widest grin plays over your lips. “I’m gonna re-decorate your room while you’re gone.”

“Ah, you fucking better not.” He shouts. “Actually- you know what, give it back.” 

“No, no! I’m sorry.” You play with the key between your fingers. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t lose it and remember- emergencies only. I don’t need you watching me sleep like fucking freak. We’re past that stage.” 

“How many times will I have to say I was never watching you. Christ… But, alright. See ya, then.” The key is heavy in your palm. 

You place it into your pocket and give him one last glance before you take off, leaving him to enjoy the sound of waves, birds, and the absence of your tears.

[drowninghell]

Cross fire

Ch 3

Riona x Raphael

An; minors dni!! Mature themes! Also unedited!!

He asked for a month.

So she gave him a month.

A month of stolen glances, held for far too long.

A month of secret meetings on the rooftops.

Of gentle laughter and easiness.

Of Raphael, the great, powerful force that he is, attempting to flirt, and , well failing. She always taunted him with it, teasing him with that wicked grin of hers. He loved it. The great bara enjoyed the daily verbal sparring, the idea of always being kept on his toes. He could never feel comfortable with her, she always had him guessing. To him, Ryan was enigmatic in a sense. Always guarded and straight. She was always rigid and ready, it always had him wondering about her background.

She didn’t talk about family, avidly so, he avoided the subject all together for her sake . She distracted him , never answering what she did before New York, always giving him a vague non-answer. Just that she did odd jobs for a while, moving about.

It was always one step forward, two steps back with her. Though he didn’t mind. He asked Donnie about it, the skittishness, oddly enough, the purple clad terrapin stated that she sounded to have her own certain issues, whatever that meant. So patient he was. The big brute’s thought process was that if the universe assigned her to be his one true mate, then he had all the time in the world to go at her pace.

Although, there was these rare glimpses, little sights of the person she was, behind that cold, vicious exterior. Anytime he caught her heartily laughing at a line he slipped up, or when he seen a true smile , dimples and all. It made his heart swell, it made sense that she was his mate.

Riona

With creaking metal of her fire escape, she pulled back her blinds and shoved open the heavy wooden frame. Standing on the edge, was Raphael. She subtly noticed how his hardened expression softened a fraction, just because he seen her. He was soaked, the rain pelting its torrents down, riona grinned. “ you look like a drowned rat.” She chimed, he snorted, waving her away from the window. “ yeah? And you look like a dry one.” She rolled her deep emerald eyes before moving aside, giving him access to her room.

Once inside, he shrugged off his heavy sai’s. They had this ritual now, any free time together, would be spent in each others company. whether riona liked to admit it. He clawed his way in. In just a month, this man-turtle got farther than any man had before. “ how was patrol? “ she asked , shuffling over to give him space to sit on her bed, he just groaned. “ awe don’t even mention it. This vigilante-person-guy was at it again.” She looked amused, schooled her features and then feigned an expression of curiosity before quickly looking to divert the conversation.

Maybe she was playing with fire, actively seeing the extremely talented and powerful being that wanted to take her down. Then again, riona couldn’t deny that he was the one for her, as much as she ignored it. It was ironic in a sense. The person actively trying to hunt her down was the one she was beginning to grow fond of.

Before meeting Raphael, she would have cut her loses, maybe had she the strength to do that , her reason for being in New York would be long done. As she thought down that line, in her mind, flashes. Bouts of painful memories, the sound of her own blood curdling screams. Silver sterile equipment glinting, the coppery taste of blood.

“ you still there short stuff?” Blinking back to reality, she turned to stare into those amber golden eyes, she smiled , somewhat sadly before rolling her shoulders back. “ I am indeed.” He furrowed his brow bone, and she mirrored his expression. “ what are you looking at.” She was sharp, she had to be careful. She had to get herself under control. He used a finger to push her forehead back. “ stop calling me short stuff aswell.” She grumbled, rubbing her forehead roughly.

On today’s agenda, the two took to playing cards , and in every single game, riona absolutely annihilated him. Which, did not help the hot heads temper. “ you’re cheating.” He would groan, She gasped, feigning shock. “ no, you just suck, my darling.” Her tightly held lips broke into a smile before she winked. He gulped before He threw his cards down in a huff , she only rolled her eyes. “ you just gotta get better, read if I’m lying or not. “ he released an exasperated sigh. That wasn’t happening anytime soon.

She noticed his frustration, slowly, she shuffled closer to him. “It’s easy to read people you know.” Tipping her head back, she looked up to his height, even set on the bed, the height difference was staggering. Anytime they got close, fear always bubbled up in his throat. He was completely at her mercy. Putty in her hand and she hadn’t even touched him. “ you’re not.” He answered and she chuckled. “ I’m different, I’m talking about other people. “ taking her hand, she raised it to hover inches away from his lips, her thumb gently brushing over the scar along his lip.” The mouth is always a good way to tell a liar, if the tension is set hard.” She whispered. Her face inches from his own.

This close, He could see the gold flakes in the inner centre of her eye, swarmed with that dark green, the odd freckle dotted across her olive toned skin. She always had a mischievous glint and he knew, she got a hit out of making him back down. Today would be the day, he left her frazzled. His large, three digit hand came and wrapped around hers. Raphael, taking the initiative, he moved forward, “ I always thought it was tha’ eyes.” His deep voice rumbling low. She grinned roguishly, her teasing was getting the desired reaction. “ shows why I can pick out the liars, and you can’t..” he could feel her breath brush along his lips. Raphael’s patience was dwindling, his eyes flicking between those soft plump lips , and those predatory eyes.

Leaning forwards, he connected his lips, he kissed her, soft, delicately. Tender even. When he pulled back, she actually looked shocked, taken aback.

That was it, he ruined this. He forced the speed and she would back off now. “ ah, I’m sorry ab-“

In an instant she had pulled him down into a kiss. Acting purely on instinct , this couldn’t have felt more right. Returning the kiss with as much passion as he had shown her. Soft lips brushing against much tougher ones. He returned without a moments thought. Upon breaking for air, she looked up and couldn’t believe the expression on his usually stoic features.

He was smiling breathily , god, he looked so happy. Raphael bumped his forehead against her own before he went in for thirds. Finding his confidence, he gripped riona’s thighs, gently pulling her into his lap, she moved to be straddling him. Their previously tender embrace began to grow hotter and more hunger fuelled. Greedily he asked for entrance and she allowed it, tongues meshing together. This felt right.

In their lust filled hunger, riona began to tug at the ends of the red fabric framing his eyes. Begrudgingly , his hands left her thick, muscled thighs , working on the knot at the back of his head. In between kisses, she got to work removing some of her own items of clothing. Once his mask was free, he got to helping her pull her shirt from over her head. Massive hands reaching and soothing her disheveled hair back out of her face. Leaning in to kiss her again. She was gorgeous to him.

Here she sat before him , dishevelled, shirtless and wanting more. He couldn’t have been happier. Turning his attention to her tattooed throat, his left hand reaching up and cupping her face, kissing along her jaw, and down her neck. The hums of approval coming from her had him nipping at her soft skin. Hands moving to grip at her wide hips.

He stopped dead, pulling back to look down at the sensitive skin. From her hip bone, the whole way down in a long line was a painful slash scar. As he noticed one, he noticed more. What looked to be a bullet wound under the wire of her bra. And then another one left of her abdomen. A few short slash marks aswell dotted all over. Following his eye line, her breath caught in her throat. Was this okay?

For a moment, all he felt was boiling , white hot rage. “ what happened ya?” He asked, when he noticed the slight worry, he gave her hips reassuring squeeze. “ I was in the military.” She answered simply. Fear bubbling “ you’ve been through the wars then huh?” He whispered against her neck. Moving, he easily manoeuvred her to be below him. Resting on his elbows, on either side of her head, he stared down, Could she get any sexier to him right now? Continuing right where he left off. He worshipped her body, leaving hot open mouthed kisses all Along her skin, giving her scars plenty of attention.

Their exchange was wordless, the two savouring Each other’s bodies. Subconsciously they had both been waiting for this , for their other half and in the moment, Raphael and riona had never felt more complete. Over and over again, they had each other. Passionate and hungry and long into the night.

When he awoke a few hours later, it was still dark out, the rain however had long subsided. Taking a minute to come around to himself he went to stretch, only to realise his hand and arm where dead as door nails. Staring down at the cause, he smiled tentatively. Hand reaching to brush her wild brunette locks out of her eyes, tucking them neatly behind her ear. There was no way this happened , it all felt like some all to real , utterly amazing dream.

Gently he pulled the covers up over her nude body, tucking them over her muscle lined shoulder. He couldn’t help but notice that even asleep. Ryan was stressed, brows knotting together. With his thumb he gently rubbed the tension from them before placing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“ Ryan.” He whispered. She hummed, still not full awake but acknowledging him. “ Ryan.” He spoke again. As softly as that deep voice could go. Slowly, cracking her eyes open, she stared up at his looming form, groaned and then turned and tucked herself further into his chest. “ too early.” She grumbled, oh? She wasn’t a morning person? He couldn’t help but chuckle. Wrapping his arms around her tightly before giving her a tight squeeze. “ i gotta go. Suns commin’ up.” Shaking her head she grabbed at him tighter, securing her position, stopping his escape. This was precious, he was so gonna tease her when she was fully awake. “ I’ll see you later, alright?” He whispered huskily, dotting kisses along her shoulder and jaw. After adequate kisses she deemed him free to go and begrudgingly he did.

He would always see her later, right?

Ch 4 here

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