#i lurk in every shadow ( musings ) ;;

[trueebeauty]

- the kings + their problems

𝖩𝖨𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦 𝖪𝖶𝖠𝖪 - ᴘᴀʀᴀɴᴏɪᴀ

The dimly lit apartment casted an eerie shadow over Jichang's tense features as he paced back and forth, his fingers twitching. 

Gitae Kim was definitely something… and it had left him on edge, his mind plagued with thoughts of potential danger lurking around every corner, worsened by the fresh bandage on his neck – a reminder of what he had barely escaped.

A soft knock at the door made Jichang freeze, his eyes widening ever so slightly as his gaze darted toward the sound. With a slight tremble in his hands, he approached the door cautiously, peering through the peephole with bated breath.

Relief washed over him when he spotted your familiar face on the other side. Quickly, he unlocked the door, ushering you inside with a forced smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hey," you greeted, concern etched on your features as you took in his tense demeanor and the bandage peeking out from beneath his collar. "How are you holding up?"

Jichang forced a nonchalant shrug, but his eyes betrayed him, "Yeah, I'm fine," he lied, his voice wavering ever so slightly. "Just been a long day, you know?"

You stepped closer, gently brushing your fingers against the bandage on his neck. Jichang flinched at the sudden contact, his muscles taut, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he seemed to melt into your touch, craving the comfort and security you provided.

"Jichang," you murmured, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on the tense muscles of his neck. "You don't have to put up a brave front with me. Talk to me."

A tremor ran through Jichang's body as he exhaled a shaky breath, his walls slowly crumbling under your tender gaze. "I can't shake this feeling that something bad is going to happen," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Ever since the run-in, I've been constantly on edge, waiting for something else to happen."

You pulled him into a warm embrace, your fingers combing through his hair in a calming motion while your other hand continued to soothe the tension in his neck. "I'm here now," you whispered, your lips brushing against his cheek. "You're safe here, Jichang. We won't let anything happen to you."

Jichang leaned into your embrace, his rigid posture gradually relaxing as he allowed himself to bask in your presence. His trembling subsided, and his racing heartbeat slowed to a steady rhythm, lulled by your gentle voice and the caress of your touch.

𝖲𝖤𝖮𝖭𝖦𝖩𝖨 𝖸𝖴𝖪 - ᴜɴᴡᴏʀᴛʜɪɴᴇꜱꜱ 

The sweet aroma of simmering sugar filled the air as Seongji and you worked side by side, carefully threading sugar on top of the strawberries.

A playful grin tugged at your lips as you nudged Seongji's shoulder, earning you a mock-offended gasp from him.

"Hey, watch it! You're going to make me mess up," Seongji chided.

"Oh, please, like yours could ever be anything less than perfect," you teased.

Seongji rolled his eyes, but the faint blush dusting his cheeks betrayed his pleasure at your compliment. As you reached for another skewer, your movements slowed, his gaze fixating on your hand – your perfectly normal, five-fingered hand.

A pang of insecurity flickered in his chest, and he quickly averted his eyes, turning his attention back to the simmering pot of sugar. But as he stirred, his mind wandered, dwelling on the differences between the two of you.

You were the complete opposite of him.

You were kind, loving, compassionate, open, and definitely more social.

He was cold, distrusting, introverted, he hated people (minus the children that you call **your nickname for them**).

"Who could ever love someone like me?" he thought, his brow furrowing as self-doubt crept in.

So lost in his troubled musings, Seongji failed to notice the splattering of hot sugar until a droplet landed on your hand, eliciting a hiss of pain from you.

"Ouch! Seongji, the pot!" you exclaimed, quickly grabbing a towel and wiping the sugar from your hand.

Seongji's head snapped up, his eyes widening as he realized the sugar had begun to burn and without thinking, he reached for the pot.

"Seongji, wait!" you cried out, but it was too late. He grasped the handle of the hot pot, and a pained hiss escaped his lips as the searing heat made contact with his hand.

Quickly, you grabbed your towel and wrapped it around your hand before carefully removing the pot from the heat and setting it aside. Your heart raced with concern as you rushed back to Seongji's side, gently cradling his injured hand in yours.

"Oh, Seongji," you murmured, your voice laced with worry as you examined the angry red burn marring his skin.

Seongji remained silent, his body tense as he watched you tenderly care for his wound. He couldn't comprehend why you were fussing over him, why you weren't repulsed.

"How can you stand to look at me, let alone touch me?" he whispered, his voice thick with self-loathing.

Your heart ached at the pain lacing his words, and you gently took his hand in yours, cradling it with the utmost tenderness. "Seongji, you are not a monster," you said firmly, your thumb caressing the extra digits with awe. "This is a part of you, and it's beautiful."

Seongji's eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief flickering across his features. "But—"

You shook your head vehemently, not letting him finish his sentence, leaning forward to press a featherlight kiss to each of his fingertips, cherishing every inch of his being. "You are perfect, just as you are."

Tears welled up in Seongji's eyes, but for the first time in a long while, they weren't born of anguish. Instead, they were tears of relief and acceptance.

"How did I get so lucky?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he gazed at you with adoration.

You smiled warmly, intertwining your fingers with his uninjured hand. "I'm the lucky one. And I'll spend every day reminding you of how truly special and loved you are if that's what it takes."

Seongji's lips curved into a genuine smile, gently, he raised your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the exact spot where the sugar had burned you earlier.

"Thank you," he murmured, his eyes filled with gratitude and love. "For seeing me, for loving me, for everything."

𝖳𝖠𝖤𝖲𝖮𝖮 𝖬𝖠 - ᴠɪɴᴅɪᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ 

Taesoo Ma's muscles ached with fatigue as he unleashed a flurry of punches against the sturdy trunk of a pine tree. His knuckles stung with each impact, but the physical pain was a mere distraction from the burning rage that consumed him.

"That bastard," he growled through gritted teeth, his voice dripping with venom as he punched away at the stubborn tree. "I'll make you pay for everything you've done."

Taesoo had bought this secluded mountain property for hunting purposes, but it just turned into a place to train and hone his skills until he was ready for his rematch.

But as the days turned into weeks, his thirst for vengeance had morphed into an all-consuming obsession, driving him to push himself to the brink of exhaustion.

The sound of a tent flap unzipping behind him barely registered in Taesoo's mind, consumed as he was by his relentless assault on the tree. It wasn't until a familiar voice called out to him that he finally paused, chest heaving with exertion.

"Taesoo? Have you been out here all night?" you asked, concern lacing your tone as you took in his disheveled appearance.

Taesoo wiped the sweat from his brow, offering you a tired smile. "I lost track of time."

You frowned, crossing the clearing to stand closer to him. "You're going to run yourself into the ground at this rate," you chided gently, reaching out to cradle his bruised knuckles in your hands, your gaze lingering on the eye patch covering his missing eye.

Taesoo tensed, his good eye narrowing as he turned his head away, shielding himself from your view. He braced himself for the inevitable look of pity or disgust, but it never came.

Instead, you gently cupped his cheek, turning his face back towards you with a tender touch. "Hey," you murmured, your voice soft and reassuring. "You don't have to hide from me."

Before Taesoo could protest, you pulled him into a warm embrace, your arms wrapping around him as you rested your cheek against his chest. "I'm here, Taesoo. All of you. The scars, the pain, the anger – I'll carry it all with you."

"I have to get stronger," he murmured, his voice laced with determination. "I can't let him get away with what he did to me, to the others."

Your heart ached at the pain etched into his features, and you gently guided him towards a nearby fallen log, coaxing him to sit down beside you.

"Taesoo, you're already one of the strongest people I know," you said earnestly, your thumb tracing soothing circles over his calloused knuckles. "But strength alone won't be enough to defeat someone like James Lee."

Taesoo's brow furrowed, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. "Then what else is there?"

You offered him a soft smile, "You need to take care of yourself, too," you murmured. "Pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion won't do you any good in the long run."

Taesoo let out a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world rested upon them. "I just... I can't let him win. Not after what he's taken from me."

"And he won't," you assured him, your fingers gently carding through his hair. "But you need to trust that you'll be ready when the time comes. For now, focus on your own well-being. Let me take care of you."

A flicker of vulnerability flickered across Taesoo's face, but he didn't shy away from your tender touch. Instead, he leaned into your embrace, "I don't know what I did to deserve you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You pressed a featherlight kiss to his temple, your arms wrapping around him in a comforting embrace. "You deserve the world, Taesoo. And I'll be right here, every step of the way, reminding you of that."

𝖩𝖠𝖤𝖦𝖸𝖤𝖮𝖭 𝖭𝖠 -  ᴍᴀᴛᴇʀɪᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ

The roar of a powerful engine echoed through the bustling streets as Jaegyeon Na pulled up in yet another sleek, high-end sports car. His face was alight with childlike glee as he stepped out of the driver's seat, running his hands along the pristine exterior with joy.

"Isn't she a beauty?" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with uncontrolled enthusiasm.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you approached him, a small frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Jaegyeon, didn't you just buy a new car last month?"

Jaegyeon's grin faltered slightly at your scolding tone, but he quickly recovered, waving a dismissive hand. "Ah, that old thing? It was starting to feel a bit dated, you know how it is."

You arched an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. "No, Jaegyeon, I don't know how it is. You can't keep going through cars like this. It's a colossal waste of money."

Jaegyeon's pout deepened, his lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated display of grumpiness. "But, I take good care of my cars! It's not my fault that they get... a little scratched up now and then."

You fixed him with a pointed look, recalling the numerous instances of Jaegyeon's "minor scratches" turning into full-blown dents and shattered windshields. "Jaegyeon, you need to stop damaging your cars. This habit of yours is getting out of hand."

Jaegyeon's shoulders slumped, and he kicked at an imaginary pebble on the ground, his expression almost comically dejected. "It's not like I mean to wreck them," he mumbled, his voice tinged with disappointment.

Your heart softened at the genuine sadness in his tone, and you stepped closer, gently cupping his cheek in your hand. "I know, Jaegyeon. But you have to drive carefully, especially ones as expensive as these cars."

Jaegyeon leaned into your touch, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "I do, I just get so caught up in the thrill of driving, you know? And besides half the time, someone else breaks it."

You couldn't help but smile, even as you shook your head in exasperated fondness. "I know, but that's no excuse for recklessness. Promise me you'll take better care of this one?"

A slow grin spread across Jaegyeon's face, and he nodded eagerly. "I promise. No more scratches, dents, or shattered windshields. Scout's honor!"

You chuckled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Somehow, I doubt you were ever a scout, but I'll take your word for it."

Jaegyeon beamed, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. "You know, you're the best."

You rolled your eyes playfully but returned his embrace with equal warmth anyways.

𝖦𝖮𝖭𝖦𝖲𝖤𝖮𝖡 𝖩𝖨 - ɪᴍᴘᴜʟꜱɪᴠᴇ

Gongseob Ji let out a triumphant whoop as his opponent crumpled to the ground, knocked out cold. He puffed out his chest, reveling in his victory, when a sudden urge struck him – an impulsive desire to assert his dominance even further.

Hands immediately unzipping his zipper, just as he was about to act on that ill-advised impulse, a familiar voice cut through the haze of adrenaline.

"Gongseob Ji, don't you dare!" you exclaimed, rushing towards him with a look of sheer disgust engraved on your face.

Gongseob froze, his eyes widening as you grabbed him by the ear, tugging him away from the unconscious figure on the ground.

"Ow, ow, ow! [Your Name], what gives?" he protested, wincing at the firm grip you had on his ear.

You fixed him with a stern look, your free hand reaching to his zipper, pulling it up. "You know exactly what gives, Gongseob. Don't even try to play innocent with me."

Gongseob pouted, his bravado deflating under your disapproving gaze. "But I won fair and square! I was just going to celebrate a little."

You arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his justification. "By peeing on your opponent? Yeah, that's not happening."

Gongseob's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and he averted his gaze, mumbling under his breath. "Well, when you put it like that..."

Your expression softened, and you released his ear, opting instead to gently cup his face in your hands. "Gongseob, you're an amazing fighter, but you can't just do that. It's disrespectful and frankly, a bit gross."

Gongseob's shoulders slumped, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes full of remorse. "You're right, I got carried away again, didn't I?"

You smiled softly, brushing his braid to the back. "It's okay, Just remember, true strength isn't about showing off or humiliating others. It's about having the discipline and self-control to use your abilities responsibly."

Gongseob nodded, his lips quirking into a lopsided grin. "You always know just what to say, don't you?"

You chuckled, linking your arm through his as you guided him away from the scene. "Someone has to keep that impulsive streak of yours in check, Mr. Hotshot Fighter."

[iconchae]

MYSTIC BONDS, p.sh | teaser

PAIRING: superhero ! sunghoon × heiress ! afab reader. . GENRE: angst + smut, superhero au. . SYNOPSIS: you and sunghoon have been classmates at a prestigious magic academy, but what you didn’t know is that sunghoon is secretly an undercover agent on a mission to recruit skilled magic users for a hidden organization. tasked with keeping his true identity under wraps, sunghoon’s plan takes an unexpected turn when a powerful spell traps both of you together in a mysterious realm. as tensions rise and secrets unravel, you must rely on each other to survive, navigating growing emotions and hidden dangers. . WARNINGS: smut, mdni, kisses, unprotected sex, blowjob, handjob, cum eating, more to be added for the fic. . WORD COUNT: 15k—30k estimated. . RELEASE DATE: n/a

THE WORLD thrummed with the hum of magic, a hidden force that danced between the lines of reality and fantasy. It was in this world that Sunghoon and you found yourselves, navigating through opposing paths. Yet, those paths seemed to intertwine more than you liked, his presence a shadow that lingered far too close.

You’d noticed him first, lurking in the corners, his gaze never straying too far. SUNGHOON was always there, watching with an intensity that made your skin prickle. But you never let on that you knew—it was a game of cat and mouse, and you weren’t about to let him have the upper hand.

But today, he decided to break the rules.

"Are you going to pretend like you haven't noticed me following you?" Sunghoon's voice, low and amused, cut through the quiet alleyway. He stepped closer, his movements fluid and predatory, until you were backed against the cold, rough brick wall.

You met his gaze with a challenge in your eyes, a sly smile tugging at your lips. "Well… I'll keep pretending if that's what you want," you murmured, your fingers twitching as you summoned a thin, sharp blade of wind into your palm, the air shimmering like glass.

Sunghoon's eyes flickered with something dark and unreadable. Before you could react, he surged forward, his lips crashing onto yours with a desperate, hungry need. His hands cupped your jaw, fingers digging into your skin as if anchoring himself to this moment. Your wind blade SHATTERED into a harmless breeze as the shock rippled through you. Instinctively, your hands found his chest, not to push him away but to steady yourself as the kiss deepened.

His tongue slid against yours, warm and insistent, and for a heartbeat, you lost yourself in the taste of him—cold mint and something uniquely Sunghoon. When he finally pulled back, the kiss broke with a soft, wet sound, a thin string of saliva still connecting your lips.

You gasped, your chest heaving as you punched weakly at his shoulder, anger and something else you couldn’t name flaring within you. "I hate you, Park Sunghoon," you spat, though your breathless voice betrayed you, trembling at the edges.

Sunghoon’s smirk was infuriatingly smug, his forehead resting against yours as he panted lightly, his breath fanning your face. "Your body language says otherwise," he whispered, voice hoarse and teasing. He leaned closer, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck, inhaling the faint trace of your scent.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, the thrill of danger mingling with the sharp sting of irritation. SUMMONING every ounce of will, you pushed against his chest with a burst of wind, sending him stumbling back. "You should stay away," you warned, your voice a low growl as you wiped the corner of your mouth, still tingling from the force of his kiss.

Sunghoon chuckled, the sound rich and dark, rubbing his jaw where your wind had grazed him. "It's funny coming from you," he mused, his eyes gleaming with a challenge. His fingers twitched, and suddenly, a crystalline bubble formed from the snow beneath your feet, rising and expanding until it encased you completely. The walls of the bubble shimmered with delicate ice, reflecting the startled look in your eyes.

You pounded against the barrier, your MAGIC flaring as you tried to break free, but the snow was stronger than it looked, resistant to your attempts. Sunghoon watched, his expression amused yet intent, enjoying the struggle in your eyes. "This game between us…" he began, stepping closer to the bubble, his fingers tracing the icy surface, "it’s far from over."

You glared at him, defiance burning in your gaze even as the cold seeped into your bones. "I’ll break out of this, Sunghoon," you vowed, your voice steady despite the confinement.

Sunghoon’s smile was a slow, dangerous curve, his eyes never leaving yours. "I’m counting on it," he replied, his tone laced with anticipation as if he couldn't wait to see what you'd do next. The GAME was far from over and both of you were playing to win.

© iconchae | tumblr

COMING SOON. taglist, open.

[prythianpages]

Golden Hour | Eris x Reader

summary: Eris sneaks you out of the Forest house to watch the lantern festival in private and it's getting harder to ignore his feelings for you.

warnings: fluff a little break from the angst to come hehe

a/n: this one is inspired by Kacey Musgrave's Golden Hour and the movie Tangled (: you can find the masterlist for this series here or just read this as a stand alone imagine. All you have to know for context is that reader is arranged to be married to his younger brother.

“How do I look?”

Eris stares at you, feeling a surge of warmth rush to his neck. You stand right in front of him, arms extended slightly, dressed in his clothes. Though the garments hang loosely on your frame, they do nothing to conceal the beauty that radiates from you. He wonders if this is a mistake, if perhaps he should call off your–

“Just say I look hideous,” you muse, your voice pulling him back from his thoughts.

“You could never,” he murmurs as he meets your gaze.

Your eyes twinkle with anticipation. He had promised to take you–sneak you out, more like it– to the lantern festival and it was a vow he was determined to uphold. Anything to not let the light dim from your eyes.

Eris takes a deep breath and regrets it immediately as you overwhelm his senses. You smell like him and the thought pleases him more than it should, stirring emotions he dares not name. Clearing his throat, Eris forces himself to look away and says, “we should, um, we should go now.”

He then strides towards the full-length mirror, aware of your curious gaze following his every move. His fingertips trace along the edges of the mirror, seeking out the concealed lock with practiced precision. With a deft touch, he unlatches it, revealing the hidden doorway leading to the dark passageways nestled within the Forest house.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” you ask, peering over his shoulder into the shadows beyond.

Eris startles slightly at your sudden proximity. “Yes,” he reassures you, his hand rising as he summons forth his powers. Flames dance from his fingertips before he turns to you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But we don’t have to go. We can simply stay here—”

You cut him off before he can finish his sentence, stepping forward eagerly and venturing into the concealed corridors. Eris follows suit, closing the door behind you both. Turning around, you cast a curious glance towards the door, relieved to find no glimpse into your room. You let Eris walk ahead to guide you both.

Your eyes are wide as you look around the dark, twisting passageways of the forest house. The only source of light are Eris’s flames. They cast shadows along the stone walls and as you walk behind him, you can’t help but ask again.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” 

You grimace as you nearly walk into a spider web, feeling a shiver run down your spine. It's undeniably creepy here. You can't help but wonder how Eris travels through these secret passageways alone just to see you. 

“No monsters lurking in the shadows, right?” 

Eris abruptly pauses on a step and then turns around, causing you to jump. You stand a step or two above and he grins, finally at eye level with you. Even in the dim lighting, you can see the flicker of mischief in his eyes. “The only monster in here is me.”

“Ha-ha,” you respond dryly, rolling your eyes. “Very funny.”

The flames flickering from his fingertips brighten, allowing him to study your face. Despite your attempt at a playful glare, he can see the lingering fear in your expression. “Here,” he says, holding out his other hand to you, smiling when you eagerly grasp onto it. “It’s best if you hold onto me for the rest of the way down. It’ll be easier for me to pull you away from the naga that linger in the shadows.”

“Eris!” you exclaim in a hushed tone, your grip tightening around his hand as you draw closer to him, practically clinging to his arm. “Stop it!”

Eris chuckles, a warmth spreading through him as he revels in your proximity. He continues to guide you both down the passageways, slowing his pace. He tells himself it’s for your sake but the smile gracing his lips betrays him. He just longs to linger in this moment.

**

When the two of you finally emerge from the passageways, you welcome the blinding sunlight. You let out a deep exhale of relief, thanking the Mother as you let go of his hand. It’s Eris’s turn to roll his eyes.

He pulls two cloaks out from the pocket realm. He helps you with yours before putting his on and placing a glamor over you both. One can never be too safe. He takes your hand again and the two of you walk quietly until you reach the edge of the forest house’s magic barrier.

“Are you ready?” Eris whispers.

“Yes,” you reply, giving his hand a tight squeeze.

Then, he winnows you both.

You gasp in awe at the meadow, lost in the beauty of the autumn flowers surrounding you. Eris smiles softly to himself as he walks toward the riverbed, where a canoe sits, gently rocking with the water. Wanting to make it onto the river before the sun sets, he prepares the canoe swiftly.

“It’s so peaceful here,” you remark, voice filled with wonder.

“I often come here,” Eris confides, a hint of nostalgia in his tone. “It’s a nice walk here too. I like bringing my hounds with me, even though Clover tends to spend her time eating the flowers,” he adds with a chuckle.

“I love her.”

There’s a fond smile on your face as you think about the adorable hound, picturing her frolicking amidst the blooms. She had been the first one to greet you with kindness upon your arrival. Your first friend.

"She loves you," Eris murmurs, his gaze softening. And who wouldn’t? He muses to himself as you step closer to him.

Your eyes meet, holding onto each other. There’s so much said in your gazes but no words dare to slip out. You’re so close to him, you can appreciate the light freckles scattered over his nose and cheeks. One more step and you’d be able to trace your lips over them. Eris swallows hard, as if he could sense the unspoken desire that pulses in the air. There’s a gleam in his amber eyes as he looks down at you, pulling you in and enticing you to take that step.

But your foot catches onto the cloak that is much too long for you. Your hands instinctively find purchase on his chest and he helps steady you, his hands on your waist sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. “Sorry,” you mutter, a blush staining your cheeks.

“Good thing I caught you this time. Wouldn’t want a repeat of last time now, would we?” Eris teases lightly, referring to the time you fell into the water fountain at the palace’s gardens.

“I’d bring you down with me again,” you reply, matching his tone.

Eris laughs. He realizes in that moment that he would let you. He’d follow you anywhere. 

“You still owe me my book, you know.”

“I know,” Eris says as helps you into the awaiting canoe. He waits until you’re seated before taking the seat across from you. “I’m not done with it yet. I just finished the chapter where they spent the night at the inn... that just so happened to have only one bed and I–”

You cut him off abruptly, sending a splash of water his way. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes has your blush deepening. You know exactly what happens in that chapter. “I don’t want to know,” you reply quickly. 

“You don’t want to hear my thoughts on the book?” Eris teases further, using his power to give the boat the push it needs. He picks up both oars, shaking his head at you when you offer to help row.

“Save it for when you’re finished.”

“Okay,” Eris chuckles and you’ve never been more grateful for the silence that follows.

With a small sigh of contentment, you brace yourself on your palms and tilt your head upwards. Your eyes flutter shut, finding comfort in the gentle rocking of the water as your blush begins to settle. Eris doesn’t mind, admiring the sight of you basking in the glow of the setting sun. The tension that often weighs on your shoulder is gone and so is the usual furrow of worry that marks your brow. 

You’re free from the burden of the forest house. Free to speak your mind and you do so quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Eris.”

You don’t know what you do to me, Eris wants to respond, feeling his chest tighten at your words. Instead, he lets out a low hum in question, yearning to know more.

Your eyes flutter open, revealing the reflection of the setting sun within their depths. “You’re my golden hour,” you say and Eris feels a surge of warmth coursing through his veins. Different to the fire that usually lingers there. “I used to get sad and lonely when the sun went down but it’s different now. Sometimes, I–I wish it was you…”

You don’t finish your sentence but you don’t have to. Eris knows. You lower your head, a slight frown taking over your features and he longs to coax your gaze to his. To have a taste of your lips and kiss that frown away. To tug on the bond that tethers him to you until you feel it.

He doesn’t do any of those things. You’re marrying his brother soon. Something he has to remind himself constantly of. It doesn't matter if you're his mate. You're upcoming loveless marriage with his brother puts you at a place much safer than you would be with him.

Still, it doesn't stop him from murmuring a quiet, "me too."

You lift your head, allowing your gazes to meet again. Your mouth parts to speak but a gasp leaves your lips instead. Eris catches the slight widening of your eyes as your gaze fixates on something behind him. He follows your gaze, and together you're both captivated by the mesmerizing sight unfolding before you.

Lanterns ascend gracefully into the dusk sky, their gentle glow mirroring the ascent of the sun and bathing you in its ethereal light. The river below shimmers like a canvas of stars, the lanterns' reflections dancing upon its surface.

“I used to hear about this night all the time when traveling with my parents. My father didn’t care for it but my mother said she’d take me one year…,” your voice trails off. “I never thought I’d be able to see it in person.”

Eris quietly shifts in his seat, moving to sit beside you instead. He lifts his hand and his magic brings forth a lantern. You’re too lost in the moment to notice his proximity.

"The festival is a celebration of hope," Eris explains softly, his gaze alight. "Even in the darkest of nights, the smallest flicker of light–" Flames burst forth from his fingertips, illuminating the lantern. "–can bring forth a fiery hope that perseveres against all odds. Some believe that if you make a wish as you release your lantern, it’ll come true by the next festival.”

He holds the lantern to you, dimming the flames in his hand to not burn you as you take it. 

“And do you believe?” You find yourself asking, tearing your gaze from the lantern to glance at him.

“I do,” he responds without hesitation.

"Then let's release it together," you propose, gesturing for him to grasp the other side. Eris complies, his fingers brushing against yours as you hold the lantern between you. "On three. One... two..."

"Three," you declare in unison, releasing the lantern into the night sky.

You tilt your head back, tracing the path of your lantern as it ascends, joining the myriad of twinkling lights above. As they disappear into the heavens, you're left mesmerized as you can no longer discern them from the stars shining above.

But for Eris, his gaze remains fixed on you, his heart swelling with adoration as he beholds the radiant smile that graces your face. A sight he cherishes as it’s one that illuminates his own darkened world.

When you finally turn to look back at him, you’re beaming. There’s a light in you, warm and real and bright, and all he wants to do is be kept in your glow. Leaning forward, you press a tender kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you," you whisper to him and as the sensation of your lips against his skin lingers, Eris finds himself overcome with a wave of emotion.

He should be the one thanking you. Despite catching him at a time when he least expected it, you've ignited a flame within him. A flame that burns with an intensity that terrifies him because he can no longer ignore it.

You're setting his world ablaze with a fire unlike he's ever known.

a/n: Sorry that this took so long to update. I actually ended up writing another part to this series that was supposed to come before this part but then, I decided to just keep my original order.

tagging: @fabulouslyflamboyant5 @fxckmiup @stormhearty @skyesayshi @sfhsgrad-blog @crazylokonugget @evergreenlark @secretlyhers @mybestfriendmademe @ib525, @96jnie, @kennedy-brooke, @scooobies, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria,

(idk why the tags didn't work for everyone :/ sorry if you asked to be added and I didn't. Please leave a heart emoji if you'd like to be tagged on the next part. I have like 4 more imagines planned.)

[salty-autistic-writer]

A little headcanon fic. Buck and Tommy talk about scars and Chimney. ~

“And this one?” Buck asks, tracing a long moon-shaped silver scar on Tommy’s arm.

“Cut myself while working on a car,” Tommy says. “It happened before. But never like this. This bitch of a cut didn’t stop bleeding. Sal had to drive me to the hospital where they stitched me up. He was constantly complaining about how I was bleeding all over his car seats even though we wrapped a towel around my arm.”

Buck hums. His eyes wander over Tommy’s stretched-out body. All that exposed skin. So much skin. And a lot of scars. Every single one tells a story. He wants to know them all.

“This one?” He asks, gently touching a circle of raised skin on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Got shot during my time in the military. Didn’t even really notice. I was too focused on flying us out of there. I only noticed when I got dizzy from blood loss and someone from my team took over, landing the chopper. The bullet went right through. Fortunately, it didn’t hit anything important.”

Buck swallows. He stares at the scar. Tommy could have died back then. He almost died a few more times after that, of course. Buck focuses on the shrapnel scars, which always look more like a flower tattoo to him. His throat tightens as he realizes once again, how dangerous their jobs are. Death is a constant shadow lurking in the corner.

“You have to be more careful,” he says pointedly, putting his head on Tommy’s warm chest with a content sigh.

Tommy raises a brow. “Says the guy who stumbles into a life-threatening event twice a year.”

Buck shrugs. “It’s not like I want to. They seem to find me.”

“Maybe it’s just the 118,” Tommy muses. “Maybe it is cursed after all.”

“Now you sound just like Chimney,” Buck chuckles.

Tommy smiles. “That reminds me … I still have to properly thank Howie.”

Buck frowns in confusion. “Why?”

“Well, if he hadn’t saved my life, I wouldn’t be here now. And if he hadn’t called me for help with saving Bobby and Athena, I wouldn’t have met you,” Tommy says seriously.

Buck freezes. He raises his head from Tommy’s chest, staring at him. “Wait. Chimney saved your life?!”

“Yeah. Back when he joined the 118, he dragged my unconscious ass out of an exploding building even though I was an insufferable idiot who first insulted, then ignored him. They told me about it in the hospital. I felt horrible. Later we talked and hugged. He gave me his number. Told me we could go for a beer after shift sometime. It was the first time after the army that I dared to open up a little more to a colleague. Friend, now. Of course.”

“Wow,” Buck breathes. “I had no idea. He never told me. Guess I have to thank him too.”

Tommy chuckles and brushes his fingers through Buck’s hair. “Yeah. Well, Howie is way too quiet about how awesome he is. Let’s buy him a fruit basket.”

“Or,” Buck says, a grin spreading on his face. “Let’s bake him a heart-shaped cake with “for our favourite matchmaker” on it. He loves those cakes.”

Right?

[nomercymaster11]

Silent Longings (Chapter 3)

@GOKUJOUNOMAGURO

WC: 3,381 / Law x afab!reader / continuation of Two-way dilemma (Chapter 2)

A/N: Apologies for the delayed update! I had to discard the original idea for this chapter as I aim to avoid extending the series excessively.

DAY 0

The scene unfolds within the cramped confines of the Polar Tang. The air is thick with a mixture of anticipation and tension as the crew gathers for a crucial meeting. The dim lighting casts long shadows across the metal walls, accentuating the seriousness of their situation.

Law sits at the head of a makeshift table, his expression stoic and unwavering. His voice cuts through the silence with authority as he addresses Bepo, his first mate, with a stern tone.

"How long before we could reach the next island?" he demands, his eyes fixed on the map spread out before them.

Bepo studies the map intently before offering his assessment. "I could say, less than a week," he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

Penguin steps forward, laying out the blueprint of the Polar Tang with a sense of urgency. He points to the damaged section of the submarine, where the sea monster had struck them just the other day. His words are measured, each one emphasizing the gravity of their predicament.

"Emergency repairs were implemented," Penguin explains, his tone grave. “However, because of the impact, we are unable to dive deep into the ocean for the time being.”

Shachi adds to the mounting list of concerns, reporting on their dwindling supplies with a sense of grim inevitability.

"Our supplies are running low as well," he interjects, his voice tinged with worry. "I estimate they could last right before we could reach the next island."

Law listens intently, his mind already racing with plans and contingencies calculating their next move. He brushes his chin thoughtfully with his right hand, a gesture that belies the weight of his responsibilities as captain. Nodding in understanding, he acknowledges the reports with a silent resolve.

"Anything else to address?" he asks the crew, his gaze sweeping over each member in turn. After a tense moment of silence, Law takes charge, rolling out different duties to each crewmate with a sense of purpose. With the meeting adjourned, the crew disperses, each member focused on their assigned tasks as they prepare to face the challenges that lie ahead.

Law's sigh reverberated in the quiet room; a heavy exhale laden with the weight of their precarious situation. As he sat at the edge of the table, the coin in his hand danced with the flicker of his thoughts. The room seemed to close in around him, the silence thickening with every passing moment.

“I hope we won't find ourselves on the Navy's radar.” He mused quietly to himself. His mind already preoccupied with the myriad dangers that lurk on the horizon.

Lost in his thoughts, Law was startled when you entered the room. Your presence was unexpected, a break in the solitude he had grown accustomed to. For a fleeting moment, your eyes met his, a silent exchange of acknowledgment before you looked away.

"I'm on cleaning duty today," you announced, your voice cutting through the silence like a lifeline. Law's gaze lingered on you; his scrutiny almost recognizable.

"You're not taking additional duties from anyone, are you?" he asked, his tone laced with a knowing edge that sent a chill down your spine. How did he know? The question hung in the air, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"No, I won't do that again," you replied, the admission weighing heavily on your conscience. There was no point in hiding the truth from him, not when he already knew. You busied yourself with tidying the scattered maps and blueprints, a feeble attempt to distract yourself from his penetrating gaze.

"How are you now?" Law's question caught you off guard, his concern genuine and unexpected. Your heart fluttered in response, uncertainty clouding your thoughts.

"I feel better now. Thank you for the other day," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Law moves closer, his steps measured and deliberate, prompting a flicker of apprehension within you. You brace yourself, expecting the unexpected, only to be caught off guard as his hand touches your forehead and gently tugging the skin below your eye with his thumb assessing your well-being with clinical precision.

Meeting his gaze, you find yourself caught in the intensity of his scrutiny. His actions, though gentle, carry a weight of concern that resonates deep within you, prompting a surge of conflicting emotions.

"Let me take those." Law's offer is accompanied by a subtle brush of his hand against yours, a fleeting touch that make your heart flutter.

"You're also relieved of your duties for today." His statement is firm, yet beneath the surface lies a genuine desire to ensure your well-being.

"Captain! I told you I'm fine!" You protest, your voice tinged with frustration and defiance, yet it's clear that your resolve is beginning to waver.

"You look pale. Are you going to disobey the doctor's orders too?" Law's question cuts through your protests like a surgeon's scalpel, leaving you momentarily speechless. In his words, there's a blend of concern and authority, a reminder of his role not just as your captain but also as the doctor of the ship.

Faced with his unwavering gaze, you feel a sense of resignation wash over you, the weight of his concern impossible to ignore. In that moment, you realize that resistance is futile, and with a resigned sigh, you reluctantly concede defeat.

With the room finally tidied, Law motioned for you to follow him, his demeanor calm and composed. Unease gnawed at the edges of your consciousness as you trailed behind him, the weight of his sudden kindness lingering like a shadow.

Stopping at his quarters, Law disappeared momentarily before returning with a handful of medicines. He explained their purpose and dosage with the precision of a seasoned doctor.

As he handed you the medicines, a flicker of hope ignited within you, only to be extinguished by the harsh reality of his rejection. He was your captain, your mentor, and nothing more. With a heavy heart, you resigned yourself to your fate. Despite his kindness, you reminded yourself not to read too much into his actions, knowing all too well the boundaries that had been set between you.

Leaving his quarters, the weight of unspoken emotions hung heavy in the air, leaving you to grapple with the conflicting feelings stirred by Law's unexpected care and your own guarded heart. You understood that his kindness was merely a duty, not a sign of affection.

DAY 2

Feeling rejuvenated by the restorative effects of the medicine Law had provided, you greet the day with newfound energy.

Do I still look sick? You stand before the mirror; you notice a lingering hint of paleness in your complexion. With a deft hand, you apply a touch of blush and lipstick, hoping to mask the telltale signs of your weakened state.

Glancing out the window, you're greeted by the sight of a school of fish gracefully swimming past, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the muted tones of the submarine's interior. The muffled voices and footsteps outside your door pull you from your reverie, prompting you to hastily tie your hair back before stepping into the hallway.

There, you find Penguin and Shachi, each carrying buckets and fishing rods, their faces alight with anticipation.

"Hi, <y/n>!" Shachi calls out, waving enthusiastically as you approach.

"Wanna join us?" Penguin chimes in, his smile warm and inviting.

You nod eagerly, grateful for the chance to spend time with your crewmates and catch some fresh food for the journey ahead. United in camaraderie, you stride alongside them, anticipation of adventure gleaming in your eyes as you set sail for another day on the boundless ocean.

Stepping onto the submarine's deck, you're greeted by the soothing embrace of the ocean breeze, the salty air filling your lungs and rejuvenating your spirit. As you approach Bepo, you can't help but marvel at the sight of him effortlessly reeling in yet another fish, the creature flipping and flopping on the fishing rod in a desperate bid for freedom.

"The cooler is almost full, Bepo!" you exclaim, genuinely impressed by the bounty he's managed to capture.

"Someone's having a feast tonight!" Shachi interjects with a mischievous grin, his playful jab aimed at Bepo's undeniable love for fish. A chorus of laughter fills the air as you join in the lighthearted banter, the camaraderie of the moment washing away any lingering traces of worry or doubt.

Penguin extends the fishing rod towards you, his expression eager as he offers to teach you the art of angling.

"Do you know how to use it?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with anticipation.

"I'm afraid not," you admit with a nervous smile, feeling a pang of embarrassment at your lack of expertise.

Without hesitation, Penguin steps forward to demonstrate, guiding you through the process with patience and encouragement. You watch intently as he explains each step, nodding along in understanding as you prepare to cast your line into the depths below.

"Here goes nothing!" you declare with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, casting the reel with a flick of your wrist. Your heart races as you wait with bated breath, the anticipation building with each passing moment.

Before long, you feel a gentle tug on the line, signaling that you've hooked your first catch. With a surge of adrenaline, you begin to reel in your prize, a triumphant grin spreading across your face as you hold up the fish for Penguin to see.

"Look, Penguin!" you exclaim, your voice filled with pride as you display your achievement.

Penguin's reaction is a mix of surprise and delight, his gaze lingering on you with a warmth that sends a flutter of butterflies through your stomach.

"Penguin?" you inquire, noticing the slight flush that colors his cheeks.

"You're doing great!" he assures you with a smile, his attempt to conceal his emotions only serving to endear him to you even more.

“Let me know if you need help.” Penguin offered to give you some space on the other side of the ship. You nod eagerly, feeling a newfound sense of confidence lifting your spirits as you resume fishing with renewed determination. With each cast of your line, you feel a deep connection to the expansive and enigmatic world beneath the surface, grateful for the chance to explore its wonders alongside your crewmates.

You cast your bait once more, anticipation tingles through your veins, mingling with the thrill of the hunt. However, this time, the wait seems to stretch on longer than before, prompting a furrow of confusion to crease your brow. Sensing something amiss, you glance down into the depths of the ocean, your eyes scanning the shimmering expanse for any sign of movement.

Suddenly, a gentle tug on your rod jolts you back to attention, followed by a powerful, relentless pull that sends the reel into a frenzy. With a gasp of surprise, you struggle to maintain your grip as the unseen behemoth beneath the waves puts up a fierce fight, its strength evident in the strain it exerts on the line.

"This is a big one!" you exclaim, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you brace yourself for the battle ahead. With each tug of the rod, you can feel the fish's raw power, its determination matched only by your own resolve to emerge victorious in this exhilarating duel of strength and willpower.

With every ounce of strength you possess, you grapple with the fishing rod, your muscles straining against the relentless pull of the unseen adversary below. Frustration simmers beneath the surface as you struggle to gain the upper hand, your determination matched only by the stubborn resilience of the creature on the other end of the line.

"Why. Can't. You. Just. Give. UP!!!" you grit out through clenched teeth, your frustration boiling over into a fierce battle cry as you pour every ounce of your being into the struggle.

Your foot finds purchase on the rail, anchoring you in place as you muster all your strength for one final pull. But despite your best efforts, the fish proves to be a formidable opponent, its strength far surpassing your own.

With a forceful tug, you lose your balance, teetering dangerously on the edge of the deck as gravity threatens to claim you. But before you can plummet into the churning waters below, a strong arm wraps around your torso, pulling you back from the brink with a jolt.

Your back collides with the solid warmth of Law's chest, his presence a stabilizing force amid chaos. You feel a rush of relief flood through you as his touch grounds you, his left arm seamlessly intertwining with yours as he takes charge of the rod.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice laced with concern as he releases his hold on you, his attention focused solely on the immediate job helping out with catching the elusive fish.

You draw in a ragged breath, your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline courses through your veins.

"Yes," you manage to gasp out, your voice barely above a whisper as you watch in awe as Law assumes control, his expertise evident in the confident ease.

As you stand side by side, you can't help but feel a sense of gratitude wash over you, grateful for the unwavering support of the man who stands beside you. You can't help but feel the surge of admiration for him.

                                                       ////////

As Penguin rushes to your aid, his heart pounding in his chest, he finds himself frozen in place at the sight of you enveloped in Law's embrace. A knot forms in his stomach, a mixture of concern and uncertainty swirling within him as he watches from a distance, waiting for the opportune moment to intervene.

As Law releases you, Penguin steps forward, his expression a mask of concern as he moves to stand beside you. Shachi and Bepo follow suit, their eyes wide with astonishment at the spectacle unfolding before them.

"What happened?" Penguin inquires, his voice laced with worry as he surveys the scene before him.

With each passing moment, the tension mounts as Law continues to battle against the powerful sea creature, his movements precise and calculated as he strives to overcome the obstacle in front of him. And as the struggle reaches its climax, you find yourself holding your breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait with bated breath for the moment of victory.

The surface of the water erupts in a tumultuous display of raw power, the massive fish that had eluded you moments before breaching the surface with a deafening roar. Gasps of awe escape the lips of the onlookers as they bear witness to the sheer size and strength of the creature, their senses overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of its presence.

But the awe is short-lived as an even larger sea creature emerges from the depths, its colossal form eclipsing everything in its wake. With a mighty crash, it engulfs the elusive fish whole, sending shockwaves rippling through the water, making the submarine rock precariously.

"Shit!" Shachi curses under his breath, his eyes wide with fear as he watches the colossal creature disappear back into the depths from whence it came.

With a sense of urgency, you and your companions waste no time in making your way to the safety of the ship's main entrance, the adrenaline-fueled rush of fear propelling you forward as you seek refuge from the unpredictable chaos of the ocean.

"Keep watch and be ready to act at a moment's notice." Law steps forward, his voice steady and commanding. His hand already on the hilt of his sword. The crew nods in agreement, their resolve strengthened by Law's unwavering leadership.

As the moments tick by intense anticipation, the crew holds their breath, their eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of the colossal sea creature that had sent shockwaves through their midst. With each passing second, the tension mounts, the air thick with uncertainty as they brace themselves for whatever may come.

But as the minutes stretch into eternity, the ocean remains eerily calm, its surface undisturbed by the presence of the elusive behemoth. A collective sigh of relief escapes from the lips of the crew, the tension slowly dissipating as they realize that the danger has passed, at least for now.

The silence is broken by the sound of your laughter, the unexpected release of tension sparking a wave of amusement that washes over you and your companions alike. Your laughter rings out across the deck, a melodic symphony of relief and nervous energy that fills the air with warmth and camaraderie.

Law's gaze softens as he turns to look at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. In that moment, the weight of the world seems to lift from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of lightheartedness and joy at the sight of your infectious laughter.

"I'm sorry! I just can't!" you gasp between fits of laughter, wiping the tears from your eyes as you struggle to regain your composure.

A smile spreads across Penguin's face as he watches you, his own amusement mirroring yours.

"You sure had fun!" he remarks, his voice warm with affection as he joins in the chorus of laughter that echoes across the deck.

                                                      /////////

As you and the rest of the crew gather around the coolers filled with the day's bounty, Bepo's eyes sparkle with delight at the sight of the freshly caught fish, his enthusiasm infectious as he eagerly examines each specimen with childlike wonder.

"It's a shame we weren't able to catch the big fish earlier," you remark with a hint of disappointment, a wistful sigh escaping your lips as you glance at the smaller catches nestled within the cool confines of the containers.

"Haha! At least we don't have to deal with that sea creature. You hooked its prey!" Penguin chimes in with a laugh, his playful tone easing the tension and drawing a chuckle from the rest of the crew. Absentmindedly, he places his left arm around your shoulder, offering a comforting squeeze that sends a warm flutter through your chest.

"It's not my fault though!" you protest with a playful bump of your elbow, the camaraderie of the moment dispelling any lingering traces of unease.

Unbeknownst to you, Law watches from a distance, his expression unreadable as he observes the interaction between you and Penguin. A flicker of something crosses his features, too fleeting to decipher. He grips his sword tightly, a silent sentinel standing watch over the scene before him.

For a moment, he considers intervening, of asserting his presence and reclaiming your attention. But the weight of his responsibilities as captain holds him back, anchoring him in place like an invisible tether.

In the end, he knows that now is not the time nor the place for such confrontations. With a sigh of resignation, Law turns away, his footsteps silent against the metal deck as he retreats back inside the submarine, unnoticed by the crew.

Still on the deck, you contemplate the portions to be set aside for future consumption and plan out the evening's dinner menu, various fish recipes dance through your mind, each one more tantalizing than the last.

"Let's cook grilled fish!" Bepo exclaims, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "It's the captain's favorite too," he adds, a note of excitement in his tone.

"Ok! then that's settled!" you reply with a smile, your enthusiasm matching his own as you eagerly agree to his suggestion. You turn around to share the news with the rest of the crew, your smile faltering slightly as you realize that Law is nowhere to be found.

For a moment, a pang of disappointment washes over you, the absence of Law's familiar presence casting a shadow over the excitement of the evening.

Why am I even looking for him? you wonder to yourself, shaking off the fleeting sense of longing as you focus on your task. With a renewed sense of purpose, you join the rest of the crew in preparing for the evening's festivities, determined to make the most of the time you have together, even in Law's absence.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3.5

[golden-buddle]

I admittedly am not up on the cryptid batfam, so if I am remembering wrong, that is why. :p There's a monster under the bed. Children know it. Especially the children whose parents aren't kind. Whose parents lash out and abuse. There's a monster under the bed, who will not let children in its territory get harmed. (Redhood is the thing that lurks under the bed, to the woe of any abusive caretaker. However feel free to choose whoever fits your muse if it strikes.)

ohoho..

————

There was a Monster Under the Bed.

Every child in Gotham knew it, every child in Gotham has seen it.

It’s a young spirit, the older kids whisper at recess. Just like it’s sire had taken it, it will take you. The murmur louder, in hopes of scaring those who were listening in. But they’re leaving out something very important. That the Monster would never take anyone that didn’t willingly climb into its grasp.

The Monster is big, the monster is scary, it smells like copper and drips blood everywhere, but it isn’t scary. Not in the ways the children who needed it the most would see.

The Monster was big, and the Monster was perfect for those who needed to hide. For those who climbed under their own beds in hopes that their guardians, if the word could be used, wouldn’t see them just that night.

Whenever that would happen, when an adult would stomp down a hallway, their words carrying a drunken slur or an angry tone, the child would get desperate, they would throw away their blankets, grab their pillows and favorite toys, and climb off their bed.

They would crawl under the bed, murmuring ‘Please, I need help, please-‘ and curl up in the corner.

The shadows under the bed would coalesce, curl around the child in a soft embrace and to drown out the angry noises of any nearby adult.

As the shadows would whisper to the child, telling story after story, wind would swirl in child’s room. Curling and wisping in anger, the Monster would climb out from under the bed.

The shadows would warp, creaking and groaning as the giant figure clawed and deformed itself to get out of the small area.

Blood would drip from its stripped skull, it’s face streaked with so much blood that only the whites of its glowing eyes could be seen. No mouth, no nose, nothing but the glowing visage of haunted and angry eyes could be seen.

If the adult was wise, if they only had listened to the murmurs of their colleagues, they would recognize the creaks of the walls as the warning it was.

But not all adults are bright enough to realize that, not all of them were sober enough to flee the hissing rattle of a snake.

Some open their child’s doors, whether it’s by force or something else, and the lights of the hallway would shine in.

They would see It, the Bloody Hood of the shadows, second Eldest of the Gotham’s Knight, and they would scream.

Underneath their bed, the child would be lulled to sleep by the soft lullabies and rocking of the shadows, but outside the bed, the Bloody Hood would feast.

Both on the blood it was named after, and the aftertaste of fear that still clung to the air.

But once it was full, once it’s prey was drained off all it could give, the Hood would return back to the bed. It would break its bones, twisting and squeezing into the bed it came out of to whisk the child away.

Whereever it was talking the child, said child would never have to worry about the person who sent them running to the monster that dripped with blood.

[ptn-imagines]

I bloody hope you aren't overwhelmed with numerous requests yet (please take care of yourself and rest well!) but may I please request a one shot telling how Adela wants to help her beloved (female sinner as well) get rid of her unpleasant remembrances via a haircut but the sinner refuses to cut her hair as it now holds the most precious and charming memories as well – the ones about Adela? Thank you very much in advance.

Here you go, anon! This is my very first imagine for this blog, so I hope it was worth the wait! I feel like I fell off towards the end, but eh... You know what they say about being your own worst critic.

THE PRICE OF FORSAKEN MEMORIES [ sinner reader x adela ]

rating. teen and up audiences cws. depictions of ptsd and disassociation, implicit hallucinations (visual and audible) word count. 1,683 words.

Mania, among those afflicted, was primarily characterized by the suffering it wrought. Blood, sweat and tears; these were the things that the illness seemed to feed on, the things it was most skilled at drawing out. Mania would bleed a person's heart dry, and then, and only then, would it allow the withered husk left behind to depart from the world. It was a brutal and sadistic inevitability, and even Sinners knew they simply had more time than the rest. Still, amid all the misery and pain, there were good days; days where the Mania was quiet, and the afflicted could play at being “normal.” Healthy. Uninfected. Something other than the refuse of society.

Today, for you, was not one of those days.

You'd buried yourself underneath every duvet you owned to stave off the frigid chill that seeped into your bones. Now, your skin sweltered, drops of sweat pouring down your forehead; and yet, your teeth continued to chatter as shivers wracked your body, fragile in a way known only to the Mania-ridden.

You could feel your blood sprinting through your veins like it had places to be, your treacherous heart spurred into an overtime frenzy. Reason and past experience told you you weren't going to die here – but oh, it certainly felt as though the last grain of sand in the hourglass had fallen for you.

At least I'm not coughing blood this time. A macabre musing that claws its way to the surface of the muck. It carves a smile onto your lips, half-delirious with pain as you are.

You keep your eyes shut. Nothing can muffle the whispers, then the shouts and the screams – but you can blind yourself to the hazy shadows that lurk in the corners, turn your back to the memories that vie for you to bring them to life. No. Not today.

Your body shudders. A cough spills from your throat. If you spoke, would you know your own voice? Nightmares thread with reality as you lay there, a prisoner with no chains, shackled to that day, both your origin and your ending.

A bell rings through the apartment, sharp enough to cut through the empty haze. A bell, a bell, what did it mean again? Your mind struggles under the weight of your half-buried past as Mania tries to claw you back into its wretched grasp. A bell…

Adela. The thought is a lantern shining through the oppressive gloom. Your eyes snap open, the specters fleeing from the light she has brought to the tiny apartment. Your heart still beats to an uneven tempo, but it's no longer the sickness making you dizzy.

“Dearest, are you in here?” Her voice, sweet and silvery like birdsong, is muffled, but you can hear her footsteps approach. You're still too weak to get up, so you wait, a little smile on your lips. It's been a long day. You can't wait to see her.

The door creaks open – you were supposed to call someone about that, weren't you? – and Adela's beautiful face peers into the bedroom. You offer her a little wave, and she breaks out into a radiant smile.

At least, until she notices your ashen-faced features; her smile melts into a worried frown, and she's at your side in a moment. She feels your forehead for a temperature, fretting like a mother hen. She always does this. It never gets any less adorable.

“Are you alright, dear?” she worries, scanning you for obvious signs of malady. “You have a fever… Are you sick?”

You giggle a bit despite how it scrapes at your raw throat, leaning into her tender touch. You are sick, but not in the way she means. “Just a bad day,” you whisper, reaching to intertwine your fingers, and you see the moment realization dawns on her. Of course, she knows; she's a Sinner too, after all. She cannot remember what trauma triggered her change like you can, but Mania finds its ways to torment her even so.

“Oh, my beloved…” Adela's free hand goes to your cheek, gently caressing your face. “I'm sorry. I should have been here.” She's always like this; always blaming herself for things she couldn't possibly control. You don't think you'll ever change this about her, not for lack of trying.

Still, you don't want to let her dwell on it, so you shake your head, rasping a reply: “You're here now, ‘dela. That's… what matters most to me.” You give her the best smile you can, comforting her in the only way you currently know how.

Adela blinks a few times, as though she's surprised you're not blaming her. She probably is; the silly woman takes so much of others’ burdens onto her own shoulders that she's forgotten what it's like not to be responsible for somebody else's woes. “...Thank you, dearest,” she finally manages to say, giving your hand a little squeeze. “Still, forgive my saying this, but you look truly awful. How can I help?”

Your eyes flutter close as you let out a considering hum. “Tea. Then cuddles.”

A few minutes later, you're sipping at a cup of Adela's special tea blend while sitting in your girlfriend's lap. Her hands stroke through your hair, so gentle and kind, and her warmth combined with the sweet and delicate aroma of the drink banishes the darkness that yet lingers. A contented silence settles over the pair of you, basking in the safety and adoration of one another.

…No, not quite contented. Something's on Adela's mind; you can tell by the way her hands occasionally pause before resuming their stroking. You think about asking her about it, but she beats you to it; a gentle sigh passes her lips, and she speaks.

“It was a very bad day for you, wasn't it?” she asks quietly. You glance at the mirror on the wall and see that Adela is fixated on a particular spot on your back. You can imagine what she's seeing, even if it's only in her mind; tresses of twisted, mangy hair spilling over your shoulders, the embodiment of your stress and your anxiety. You wonder how long it is after today.

You can't deny it, so you give an affirmative hum. Adela leans forward to slowly rest against your back, eyes meeting yours in the mirror as she rubs gentle circles into your shoulders. It's a blissful sensation, and only the prospect of the upcoming conversation keeps you present in the moment.

“I don't know why you don't let me cut it away, my love,” she whispers, her breath tickling your ear. You don't remember quite exactly how you found out about Mad Shears; you suspect Adela tampered with those memories. Nevertheless, you'd remembered enough to find your way back to the hairdresser, even after she fled to another neighborhood. She'd been shocked, but… that was years ago now, and you didn't like to think of it much. It had led to a beautiful love blossoming between the two of you, and that's all you cared to dwell on. 

“You're in so much pain,” Adela continues, and you remain silent, trying to gather together the words to say. Adela takes that as a cue to keep talking. “I could fix it all for you. Dearest, why won't you let me help you?”

You sit up properly, and do your best to ignore the twinge of your heart at Adela's little disappointed sigh. “My pain… It's not just tied to the day I became a Sinner, is it?” you answer, your eyes never leaving those of your most beloved in the mirror. “It's entrenched in my Mania. You'd have to wipe my memory completely to erase it, and even then, there's a chance traces of it could linger, right?”

Adela was silent for a moment, hesitant in the face of the flaws in her ability. Her eyes lowered, gaze once again falling your hallucinatory locks of hair; by the way her fingers twisted around nothing, she was fruitlessly attempting to comb out the mess of worries. “But you'd still feel much better than you do now,” she murmured. “Isn't it worth a try?”

“It's a short-term solution to a long-term problem, Adela.” You finally turned around to face your girlfriend properly; her shocked gaze lifted up to your face, and you reached out to stroke her cheeks, smiling. “Besides, even if I was happier for a little bit… I'd eventually just end up even more miserable. Do you know why?”

Adela is silent for a long while, her gaze on you feeling like flames licking your skin. Eventually, ever so slowly, she shakes her head, looking lost. “I don't know. Please tell me.”

“Because… I'd be losing you, the person I love more than anyone or anything.” Adela's eyes widen with shock; even though you feel this should be plain to see, it's clear that such an answer hadn't ever crossed her mind. “Adela, my love, you're the reason I ultimately get up each morning; you're why I haven't curled up and died yet. Without you… I'd be swallowed by my Mania sooner or later, memories or no.”

The other Sinner stared at you as though she was seeing you in a whole new light. Wonder was the one word to describe her expression. Eventually, she shook herself out of it, features curling into the heartfelt smile you adored so much. “I can't say I understand, but… I do trust you. When you say these things… I can't help but feel they must be true.”

“That's good enough for me.” You hold out your arms, and Adela melts into them. She's deceptively strong, but right now, with her body curled against yours, she reminds you of a weak and fragile baby animal. You hold her closer. “You don't have to understand, love. As long as you don't go all Mad Shears on me in my sleep.”

It's a joke, and Adela must know it, judging by the light giggle she lets out. Still, her reply, almost inaudible, is in earnest.

“I promise, my dearest.”

[ghostwise]

in the gardens of Thay 3.2k words, Astarion/Durge cw: blood drinking, non-consensual illithid powers, bhaalspawn, bard durge In exchange for a taste of her blood, Astarion finds himself unexpectedly recruited for a part in Aya's charade.

Shadowheart pressed her hands over Aya’s head, smoothing down her dark curls with a rush of blue healing magic. For a moment the glow of the spell held fast—then it dissipated quickly, like rainwater on parched earth.

“It would be easier,” she said ruefully, “if we knew what happened to you.”

“It’s no great mystery, Shadowheart,” the bard murmured, her sulphur-yellow eyes closing. “You don’t cheat death and come away without some wounds to show for it.”

“But your wounds from the crash are healed.” There was a tinge of frustration to the cleric’s voice as she regarded the stubbornly broken head of her companion. “Your amnesia should be resolving by now. Unless it wasn’t caused by your wounds to begin with.”

A shadow fell across camp suddenly, as clouds drifted in front of the sun. Astarion blinked and waited for the warmth to return, and it did, moments later. He was still wholly unused to it.

“I’m open to any theories,” Aya said, a small smile curling her lips.

Shadowheart sighed and ran her hands through Aya’s brown locks of hair.

The Sharran was getting rather familiar, Astarion noted. Ironic, considering the cold image she tried so hard to project, but anyone could see that their resident amnesiac had become Shadowheart’s favorite project. One she doted on quite attentively, at that.

“There’s all sorts of magic that could cause it,” Shadowheart mused. “I think if the root were physical, it would already be resolved. And the druids know about physical ailments better than most, yet they too have been unable to help…”

“That doesn’t necessarily point to a magical cause. I could simply be mad.”

“You’re too lucid,” Shadowheart said, not even entertaining the notion.

Astarion bit back a laugh.

He could not truly tell if Aya was being manipulative, but he had to commend her either way. Shadowheart was a powerful ally to have.

Come to think of it, that was exactly what he needed: allies. More than these tenuous traveling bonds, he needed someone on his side. Especially if he planned on sticking around, which he very much did.

Mad or sane, Aya said nothing.

She only turned her yellow gaze towards him, inscrutable as ever.

.

Shadowheart did not understand madness. But Astarion fancied he did.

Madness was terrible and transient. You could be mad and make a life for yourself all the same, and blend in with the muck of the day to day, with some effort. He’d felt a little mad himself when he’d first awoken after the crash. He’d felt it when he was starving and when he was alone, too.

He was quite himself now, and for that he was grateful.

But it was enough to know that those things lurked within him still, cohabiting with that wretched tadpole and liable to exert their influence over him with the right trigger: hunger, pain, fear, grief. Such things were not uncommon these days. Tragedy could befall anyone, at any time, in an instant. The little tiefling bard was a stark reminder of this.

But if only he’d managed to lap up some of her blood before it’d congealed in the mud…!

Meanwhile Aya did not yet remember anything with the exception of her songs, and perhaps this too was a type of madness. She remembered more songs every day, and had lately spent hours plucking away at her lute, singing in her gravelly voice.

“I courted a lass in the gardens of Thay,

Her voice was honey sweet

And we hand in hand spent many a day

In happiness’ blinding reach.”

Her voice crooned softly in the night. Astarion heard it from his bedroll where he lay, awake and uncomfortable, trying to ignore the ache of hunger in his limbs.

He longed to hunt. But it was nearing midnight, and when she started like this she could go on for hours.

“I slaughtered my love in the gardens of Thay,

Her blood was a symphony

And her soft hands could not allay

All of my fury and grief.”

He weighed his options. Once they set off for the goblin camp, there was no telling when or how he would feed. Could he steal a few sips of goblin blood without anyone noticing? Unlikely, as everyone would be on high alert. This could be his last chance.

Outside his tent, Aya’s voice dipped softly, swooning through the night.

“An unsent letter in the gardens of Thay

The delicate writing reads:

‘My beloved I’ll never betray.

Your wicked bribes you may keep.’”

“Ooh, a drama,” he muttered under his breath. For a moment he nearly hoped she was done but the playing and singing resumed in yet another encore. He stifled a groan.

The songs were largely about people encountering the unexpected. Betrayed lovers, gold that vanished as quickly as it was acquired, curses and prophecies going awry. Many of the songs had a morbid slant to the verse. He did not recognize any of them.

He willed her to go to sleep, but of course, she did not. By the time everyone else was awake, Aya had not slept a wink. Nor, for that matter, had he.

And he was still hungry.

A vampire’s hunger was a terrible thing. It sat not in the belly, but in the heart, and it bled over every single part of him.

“Sleep well last night?” he asked Aya that morning, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Like a dove,” she hummed.

A liar, too. What in the Nine Hells did that even mean?

Astarion frowned. He’d have to deal with this sooner rather than later.

.

It wound up being sooner.

The goblin camp was a veritable assault on all his senses: noise and grime and screams. The scent of smoke and blood pervaded the ransacked temple, and he hadn’t eaten in days. Aya had been up every single night, singing with her lute, leaving him no chance to steal away. Nonetheless, she exhibited none of the fatigue she should; instead, she’d carved a path through the cultists like they were butter and she a hot blade.

There was something more to the amnesiac bard, that was certain. This was not the first time she’d killed. The sight of her reveling in their enemies’ deaths was enough to make him very thankful they were on the same side.

That night, when it was finally safe to make camp, and when everyone had fallen into a heavy slumber, he crept towards her bedroll.

His hunger made it hard to think. He’d hoped not to feed on an ally, but he knew what happened when he was deprived of a meal too long.

Surely she was as exhausted as he, if not more, after her little rampage. She wouldn’t stir, if he was careful. If he only took a mouthful… he could make a small cut with his blade, to disguise the bite.

Too hungry to quell his instincts, he leaned in.

Then a calloused hand was at his chest, pinching the fabric in a vice-grip.

It startled him. He jolted away, but couldn’t move; he was stuck. Caught.

“Shit,” he uttered.

Aya was looking up at him, breathing fast, and something in her gaze made him wonder if she was awake at all.

“No- no, it’s not what it looks like,” he said, anxious as her grip tightened. She’d clutched a handful of his shirt and twisted it in her hand with shocking ease, holding him still and off-balance.

“I swear! I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just- needed-” The word tumbled out, surprising and honest. “Blood.”

Aya blinked slowly. Still keeping a firm grip on him, she scooted over on her bedroll and sat up.

“Of course,” she said slowly, her voice thick with slumber. “I’m beginning to understand now. How long since you killed someone in cold blood?” Her lips stretched back, forming a half-smile. “Since Alfira?”

“What?” Astarion yanked himself loose at last—or she released him—and he fell backwards. “No! I’ve never killed anyone. Well. Not for food.”

He looked at her, suspicion flooding his mind along with the deep-seated instinct to appease her. Why bring up Alfira now? He’d never gotten the impression that he was a suspect. He chose his words carefully.

“I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds—whatever I can get. Alfira’s murder was senseless, without rhyme or reason… as you, no doubt, recall.”

There was just a hint of a challenge in his words, and he held onto this challenge resolutely, meeting Aya’s steady gaze with his own.

It was a mistake. He felt something at the edge of his mind—then in the very midst of him. He sucked in a gasp of air as Aya delved further.

“What’s this-?” He looked away as if by doing so he could flee from it. “What’s happening?”

He was being mined for truth.

He’d seen her do this before, without a single care. Seen her bend others to her whims without mercy. He felt a jolt of fear at the idea that he might suffer a similar fate.

His memories were shuffled through like one would flip through the pages of a dull book. Then it was over as quickly as it began.

“You’re being truthful,” Aya muttered. “But don’t act so virtuous. You feed on vermin because you have been forced to. Not out of some noble attempt at morality.”

“I…”

The weight of what had just transpired settled on him, and he realized what she must’ve seen, what she now knew. When he looked at her again he found her alert, inquisitive, albeit tired, with a deep-seated darkness around her eyes.

And there was pity in those eyes. Vile and unwelcome, yet, malleable.

“Yes,” he admitted, gritting his teeth and ignoring the frantic spasms of his starving heart. “Yes, I ate whatever disgusting vermin my master picked. So… you can see why I’m slow to trust you.”

He paused, and thought of the fresh link Aya had just forged between their minds. It was a two-way street, if that was how she wanted to play it. So, somewhat desperate, he gave a push back along the same bridge.

“But I do trust you,” he continued firmly. “And you can trust me.”

“Uh-uh,” Aya said, tapping at her head. “Out.”

“Oh, you started it!”

“No, you started it,” she snapped. “When you tried to feed on me in my sleep.”

The tug of war between their thoughts left him nauseous. “Fine!” Astarion wrinkled his nose and aimed a short-lived glare at her. “I propose a deal, then: No more tadpole powers from you, and no more attempts from me to feed on you. Cross my heart, hope to die, pinky promise and so on-”

“Deal,” Aya said evenly, and with the cadence of someone who surely was crossing her fingers behind her back.

But for now it would do. The uninvited link vanished.

She reclined on her bedroll, and Astarion nearly sighed in relief.

“I’m so glad,” he said, attempting to recapture some of his composure. He should have tried to make a meal of Wyll instead… but it was too late now. He aimed an amicable smile at her. “I trust this can remain, er, our little secret?”

Aya gave a steely nod.

“Thank you,” Astarion sighed. “Thank you ever so much. Well! That being settled, I suppose I should go find a rat to gnaw on or something…”

“Oh, please,” Aya scoffed. “There’s hardly any need for that. I’m right here.”

Astarion frowned. He watched her for a moment, but her meaning became no clearer for it.

“Come again?”

“You’re not well, Astarion,” Aya said quietly. “I could sense it, even before I touched your thoughts. If you can’t fight you’ll just drag us down. So… have your damn meal.”

“You’re… offering?”

“I’m offering.” Aya raised a brow. “Do try to contain your excitement. And take only what you need—not a drop more.”

“Of course,” Astarion said, still in disbelief. “I shall be gentle as a babe.”

He perched himself carefully beside her and felt along her neck. Anatomy varied from person to person; he needed to bite just the right spot, or he’d risk her bleeding out. Aya regarded these preparations with an air of amusement.

When he was ready, he pierced her sweat-tinged skin with his fangs. He was met with a bloom of salt, copper, and beneath that, something he couldn’t name.

Now came the graceless part. Not wanting to waste a drop, he angled his head and clamped around the wound, and drank slowly, but deeply. As the blood settled within him it ushered away his pain, filled him with strength… it made him realize he’d been hungry for months, years, decades.

He was already sated, but the sudden high made it hard to even consider depriving himself of a few more mouthfuls of her blood.

It was like being submerged in a hot bath. It was like a chorus compared to a single voice. There was a presence in it, an awe-inspiring shiver, almost reverent, as if it were not just he and Aya in the tent.

But who else was there, in Aya’s blood?

And should it be such a surprise how different it was from that of the animals he’d subsisted on all his undeath? Not that he had any real point of reference. As he searched the sensation, he felt that there was a message in the red. A message for him, he realized in shock, twitching a little and feeling a thick droplet slide out of his mouth. Aya’s distant voice singing a wordless dirge, and a deeper voice singing with her.

Oh, if he had just a little more, he could understand…

Aya pried him off like a tick, her hand clamped around his gullet.

“Greedy,” she slurred.

He snapped back to lucidity with embarrassing quickness. “Ah,” he said, a stupid syllable mouthed around the last drops of blood he’d taken. He tried to coax his mind back from incoherence, refocusing on her with ease. “Of course. I was just- swept up in the moment.”

He glowed. How wonderful. Was this what Cazador had deprived him of all those centuries? The other spawn would surely simmer with envy and hate if they knew how good blood could taste, how beautiful an afterlife could be; powerful, uninhibited and unstarved. He grinned, flexing his fingers. He felt awareness and keen insight from the very top of his white curls to the very earth below.

Aya, blessed blood, let out a giggle.

“Oooh,” she intoned. “Bit stronger than what you’re used to, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he admitted. “But it worked! I feel good. Strong. Happy.”

She smiled, pressing a rag to the wound to stifle its bleeding. “How nice,” she said in perfect monotone. “Alright. Fuck off now, please and thanks. I must clean up and get back to my perverse dreams.”

Astarion nodded slowly. He’d already pushed his luck and succeeded; no need to push further. As he withdrew from her tent, he glanced over his shoulder, driven to seek some sort of sentimental closure, to counter her rather abrupt dismissal.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

.

The next day, Aya was unsteady as a newborn fawn.

Thankfully the bulk of the fighting was behind them. As the others ventured forth to pick off the stragglers of the goblin horde, Shadowheart stayed behind to tend to her project.

Astarion pushed down an uneasy rush of feeling when their return from the field found Shadowheart and Aya waiting. There was no mistaking that look—the cleric glowered at him, and from behind her, Aya watched him silently.

“A vampire,” Shadowheart said.

Astarion pursed his lips and looked at Aya, who shrugged with a meager smile.

“That explains the pallor,” Shadowheart continued. “Though it doesn’t explain what you were thinking, feeding off the weakest in our number. Do you think I’m throwing healing magic at her for fun for you to be sapping her strength like this, night after night?”

“What-?” Astarion stammered, but he could recognize an ambush when he walked into one.

“A vampire among us?” Lae’zel asked.

“Aya has been hiding her wounds. She succeeded until this morning. Apparently she’d lost too much blood,” Shadowheart explained.

As if on cue, Aya tugged the collar of her shirt down. At the very least, Astarion could pride himself on doing a tidy job. Two symmetrical little bite wounds were visible on her neck, perfectly placed and not unseemly at all.

Lae’zel recoiled from the sight. “Tsk’va!”

“Hunting with vampires!” Wyll exclaimed. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Settle down, everyone, please,” Aya said.

Astarion waited, half-annoyed and half-curious. What was she playing at? Her lie hung tenuously in the air, recognized by no one but he and she. But she was a performer. So he let her perform.

“He trusted me with his secret, and perhaps we should have told everyone sooner, yes… but I saw no harm in letting him feed from me, just a little. Just until he was no longer starving.”

Appealing to their compassion, she turned with her hands outstretched and her eyes wide with feeling.

“He’s been dedicating himself to hunting animal blood as much as possible, to keep from hurting anyone. Should he suffer for what he is? I didn’t believe so. Hopefully neither do you. He fed on me at the grove, and again, the night Alfira…” Her words trailed off, pained.

“So it couldn’t have been him that killed her,” Wyll concluded, watching the display with interest.

The charade clicked in Astarion’s mind.

“Whatever the case, should I wake with so much as a drop of blood on my neck, I will end him,” Lae’zel said.

“Fair enough!” Aya quipped. Before Astarion knew it, she was at his side, one hand gracefully alighting on his shoulder. “You needn’t worry about that. Right, my friend?”

“Right.” Astarion looked at her. Her smile twitched slightly, coaxing him to continue. “And I am terribly sorry for all this?” he added, and Aya squeezed his shoulder gently.

That seemed to do the trick.

As the others walked away to process this new revelation, Astarion set a hand over Aya’s, keeping her close. In the vacuum of truth she had created, it was easy to walk her away from camp, just enough to have a private exchange.

He looked at her, noting the self-satisfied look in her eyes.

“So. That was fun. But tell me something: Why did you do it?” he asked. “Why did you kill Alfira?”

She let out a woozy chuckle. “Not sure. She annoyed me. I think that must be why.”

“I see.” Astarion mulled it over. “That does sound pretty reasonable, actually. But I can do my own lying, you know. You could have… clued me in a little?”

“And you would have played along?” Aya tilted her head, exposing, for a moment, the sinewed shape of neck. Her eyes shone with interest. “Full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Against his better judgment, he laughed.

“I could say much the same for you. Stick around and you’ll see just how surprising I can be.”

[heliads]

'wckd is good' part 2 - newt

Based on a past request for a Maze Runner fic set in the MCU where Newt was Venom, Reader was Spider-Woman.

part one / masterlist

a/n yes this is wayy longer than i expected lmao but i choose to see this as a good thing

Running has always been easier than staying to face the truth. As you swing back through the dark city, you hear Newt’s words echoing in your head with every snap of web hitting concrete and glass. It is foolish to let one conversation shatter your entire worldview, but even running can’t convince your mind to settle back the way it had been. Newt has done his part well. 

Worst of all, you think he was right about you, about everything. Usually, when the moon hangs low over the city such that its glow can be hidden by the shadows of the skyscrapers around you, your worst fears about this city seem like they couldn’t be more true. On nights like these, you always see a monster lurking in the face of every man, the darkness bleeding from every eye. Now, though, in every face you see only a blond boy grinning back at you. If the worst monster you’ve seen lately was just a kid like you, what does that say about every creature you’ve killed in the name of preserving the peace? What does that say about you?

You don’t get into any more confrontations that night, electing instead to perch on the edge of a dark roof and watch the lights of the cars go by far below you. Your shift ends, but you only return to WCKD headquarters when you’re certain no one else will be there. A few rooms have lights on, but you avoid them as best you can. There is no one you want to see right now. No, not true— there is one person you want to see, but if he’s in WCKD’s clutches, it’s all over. 

Sleep comes fitfully that night, as it has every night before that and will every night again. You see Newt reaching out a hand to you, smiling easily, but then his jaw ripples and the monster’s awful fangs come out again, distorting his charm into something terrible. You wake up screaming; for you or for him, you can’t be sure. 

Even more restless than usual that morning, you decide to go on a walk to clear your head. Normally, walking around in the bright sunshine, seeing the smiling families, the upturned faces, all serves to lift your mood. A strong city is a happy city; this is why you do it, remember? You protect these people, all of them. It’s worth every sacrifice. 

Turning down another street, though, your spirits refuse to lift. How many more people would be here if you hadn’t been in charge of taking them out? How many times did you get it wrong? How many Albys do there have to be before you realize that you can’t make judgment calls on someone’s life?

Lost in thought, your guard slips unconsciously. You don’t notice the hand snaking out to grab your arm until someone’s already pulled you under a shadowy overhang. Immediately, you’re on high alert, grabbing a knife from your belt to press against their throat, but your attacker just laughs. It is this sound and this sound alone, that call like the high-pitched ring of a bell, that stops you from slitting his throat. 

“You shouldn’t have done that, Newt,” you warn him as you pull your knife away from his neck. 

For someone who’s life almost ended, he seems remarkably unaffected by your words. “It’s lovely to see you, too. Didn’t realize you remembered my name.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s my job to know things. Don’t take it personally.”

“Yes, Y/N, because it would be terrible to not be as affectionate as you,” Newt muses. “Forgive me for wanting to be friendly.”

“Being friendly gets you killed.” You remark plainly. “So does trying to sneak up on an assassin. Don’t let that happen again.”

You turn away and walk back onto the sidewalk. Newt, however, just joins you without a heartbeat’s delay. “It’s not up to me whether this happens again. I think you wanted to see me a little more than you care to admit.”

You shoot him an angry look, but Newt remains resolutely cheerful. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Newt asks. Without giving you a chance to interject, he carried on blithely, “Or maybe you’re right. Here, I’ll give you a chance to prove it. I’m meeting up with some friends tonight to discuss our favorite enemy. If you don’t want any of this, feel free to stay away. Or don’t.”

He casually passes you a folded paper that’s been creased from staying in his pocket. A quick glance towards its contents reveals a place and time. 

You arch a brow. “If this little gathering is happening so you can denounce WCKD, I don’t think giving the location to one of its best soldiers is really the brightest idea.”

Newt lifts a shoulder. “That’s what they said too, but I know what I saw last night. They don’t have a chokehold on you, Y/N, despite what you might try to tell me. Somewhere in there,” he says, brushing a hand against your temples, “you want out. Let me help you with that.”

You press your lips together, thinking. Going could be suicide. What if this is just a trap to take out WCKD’s finest agents one by one, and Newt’s just telling you this so he can lure you into letting your guard down?

At the same time, your mind whispers selfishly, what if he isn’t lying? What if there was a world without WCKD? You haven’t dared to let yourself imagine such a thing in a long time; security cracked down after Thomas and Minho ran away a year or so ago. There’s no way they’d let you go without a fight. If Newt’s friends had your back, then maybe, just maybe, you might win this one. 

“You told your friends about me? Moving awfully fast, aren’t you?” You question. 

Newt grins. “Don’t take it personally, baby. I tell them a lot. Doesn’t mean we aren’t special, of course, but you wouldn’t be the first girl I’ve brought home.”

You laugh, surprising yourself. “No need to get carried away.”

“Too late,” he says, smiling back at you, and then he turns down a corner and disappears into the crowd. You’re left clutching the note, wondering if this mistake might cost you your life, and if you’re leading any sort of life that’s worth saving to avoid a chance like this. 

You shouldn’t go. Odds are, WCKD has someone tailing you, and even though you’re always careful to shake anyone you even suspect to be following you, there’s no way to tell for certain that you got rid of everyone. You check your clothes and personal items thoroughly for recording devices every time you leave WCKD headquarters, but what’s the precautions of one girl against such a massive organization?

You check the note once, twice, and then again. The time is later tonight, the pickup location outside the docks near the south of the city. Newt hasn’t given you many hours to deliberate, although you suspect that was intentional. The less time you have to ponder about whether or not you’ll take him up on his offer, the less time you have to turn them into WCKD if you decide to betray him instead of trying to run.

In the end, you put away your sense of self-preservation and head out again. You aren’t scheduled to go out on patrol until tomorrow, so you’ll have plenty of time in case something happens. You don nondescript clothing and pull a baseball cap low over your head to disguise your face. After taking a long, roundabout way to the docks to avoid suspicion, you stand on a pier, watching the dark water go by.

It was smart of them to pick this place. The sound of the tides, the churning of the boats up and down the water, the roaring of distant traffic echoing off of the tall buildings, all serve to muffle the sound of the strangers as they walk up to you. Normally, you’re able to sense trouble when it comes to you, but maybe your reflexes decide that your assailants aren’t a threat before your head makes that call, because you don’t notice anyone sneaking up behind you until they’ve already shoved a dark hood over your head and clamped a mouth over your hand to silence any shouts.

The second the hood is pulled over your eyes, you’re swimming in dark danger. You can feel the heartbeats of the people around you; four of them, men, young men. Boys. Newt’s age. Your age. They’re desperate, you can taste their fear like metal on your tongue. One of them has a limp. If you strike now, you could break a leg, roll away long enough to get the hood off of your head, then kill them all. They’d be dead before they even hit the ground. The blood would run scarlet into the river and ruin your last chances of leaving this hell. You’d be alive, though. Isn’t that why you do all of this, to live? Isn’t that the only motivation any of us have ever had?

A whisper in your ear, sharp and urgent:  “Trust me. Please.”

Newt.

You don’t trust people. You shouldn’t. He knows this. If Newt set you up to die, though, he would have killed you already. Newt’s monster doesn’t need to sneak up on you and blind you to kill you. One snap of those jaws would do the trick. If Newt wants you to play by these shifty rules, there must be a reason. Strangely enough, you realize that you believe in him enough to want to know what that reason is.

You comply, going limp long enough for the others to seize hold of your arms and take you with them into a waiting car. They intentionally take a confusing, circuitous route so as to confuse you. Still, you carefully note each turn, how long you stop at traffic lights or stop signs. Then you’re bustled out of the car again and into a building with tall ceilings; you can tell from how your footsteps echo against the top that the sound has a long way to go.

Eventually, you’re sat down on a chair, your hands bound behind you. The others hover nearby, you can sense their presences. There are more of them now, probably a dozen. Mostly inhumans, with the occasional exception. Not bad numbers, but not enough to really challenge WCKD. That’s why they’ve gone to you, though, you suppose. Foolhardy, but not completely insane.

A voice, loud and challenging, calls you sharply back to reality. “Y/N. You work for WCKD, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you answer deadpan. “None of you do. That’s why you were so kind as to bring me here, right? You were desperate. Now, can you take this hood off of my head? I would hate for you to miss anything I said.”

The loud boy scoffs. “There’s no way we’re letting you get a good look at us. You’d just turn us in.”

You cock your head to the side, staring exactly where you think the boy’s eyes are. “Would I? I don’t need my sight to do that. There are fifteen of you in this room right now, but that’s not all of you. About five leaders, I think. All teenagers. One adult, though. He drove. And one little boy. I can hear your heartbeats. I know who you are.”

A young voice lets out a muffled complaint from the far side of the room. “I’m not a little boy.”

Instantly, he’s shamed into silence. “Shut it, Chuck. Don’t give yourself away.”

A weakness. You grin, even though they can’t see it. “Chuck? That’s the boy, then. If I looked up connections between boys named Newt and Chuck, how long do you think it would take for me to track all of you down? I’d start by checking security cams near the docks. We’re in the warehouses near the docks. I’d guess the third from the left in the second row, yes? Usually used for temporary storage of agricultural products, but you’re in between seasons, so it’s empty for now and you’ve been borrowing it for meetings.”

A collection of gasps confirms your theory. You press on. “I know where you are, I know who you are. Bonds and a hood won’t keep me. Hell, I don’t even need you to undo me. I can manage that by myself.”

See, your would-be captors were so distracted by their own seeming safety that they didn’t check to make sure your wrists were fully together when they tied you down. Also, they were so stunned by you being able to catch onto them that they didn’t notice you slowly pulling a blade from your sleeve, nor spot when you sawed through your bonds. You stand up easily, toss the ropes to the ground, and pull the hood from your head.

You’re greeted with fifteen shocked faces. Well, fourteen. One’s grinning proudly. Newt. He winks when you catch his eye, but he’s careful not to let his friends see. Another boy, with close-cropped hair and a dark glare, looks particularly unhappy about your little escape. This is the one who had been speaking to you, you assume, and there’s the man in the back who drove you here. Silver touches his dark hair near his temples, but he looks intimidating enough anyway. Close by him is a girl about your age.

The angry boy who had spoken earlier groans in disgust. The angrier he gets, the more his eyes start to flicker, turning from green to a fiery red. Sparks flash along his clenched fists. Another inhuman, then. Fire powers. He’s probably somewhere on your list. “Who tied her up? Winston, you know to make the bonds stronger than that.”

“Wasn’t his fault,” you call out, and hold up the knife you’d disguised in your sleeve to make your point.

The boy groans again. “What is that? No one checked her for weapons?”

“You certainly didn’t, Gally,” Newt points out.

The boy– Gally– tosses Newt an irritated look. “Don’t start with me, Newt. I bet you’re just delighted with her for this bit of showmanship, aren’t you?���

“Very,” Newt says, grinning over at you.

Gally looks like he can’t decide who he wants to throttle more, you or Newt. “Fine. Fine. Let’s get started, if that’s what you really want. How do we know we can trust you?”

“You’re the ones who kidnapped me,” you argue. “I think I should be asking that question first.”

Gally might actually try to kill you this time, so Newt quickly steps in before things can escalate further. “Play along, will you?” Newt asks. “We’ll get nowhere if both of you are bickering the whole time.”

You sigh. “Alright, fine. If I wanted to turn you guys in, you’d already be dead. WCKD doesn’t cut corners, you know that. We would have burned your entire establishment to the ground. Happy?”

“Very,” Gally remarks dryly. “We’re familiar with your typical way of handling things, thank you very much. We know how WCKD operates.”

“If you know so much, why do you need me?” You ask. “Newt knew where to find me even on my off day. I’m assuming you’ve done your research thoroughly or you’ve got a source, in which case you’d have no reason to reach out to me, too. Why take a risk like this?”

“Because our source is no longer in WCKD,” Newt interjects. “Our information is out of date. We want more relevant gossip, to put it plainly.”

You frown. “You used to have a source in WCKD? Who?”

Newt goes silent, something almost like pity in his eyes. Gally, unencumbered by weak things like empathy, answers your question. “Thomas.”

You draw in a harsh breath. “You know Thomas?”

This changes the whole situation. Thomas– Thomas was everything. He and Teresa were the very first to show up to WCKD. You were the third, but they’d been there for at least a year before you. It changed them, you think. It made them closer than anyone else. When Thomas left, it destroyed Teresa. You and Teresa have known each other for years now, but it’s nowhere remotely close to the bond she shared with Thomas. Nothing can ever match that.

Thomas had been the last of the good ones, you think. After he left, everything was ruined. It was the first sign of the end of days. If Thomas, Thomas the believer, Thomas, the one who was willing to give everything to cause even when it left him broken and bloody, could walk away, what claim did the rest of you have to anything at all?

Thomas’ departure changed the way that WCKD worked. Neither Thomas nor Teresa had been true experiments. Teresa was trained as a Black Widow, and Thomas made himself an indestructible shield, running around the city as Captain America and saving people wherever he went. They juiced him up a little to make him stronger, but nothing as intense as the rest of you. No cuts were made.

Thomas was the last ideal any of you had that humanity could be protected by other humans. Once Thomas was gone, WCKD started up their labs in earnest. Now, almost every one of their teenage recruits is modified in some way. They say it’s because you have to fight fire with fire, that you can’t possibly compete with mutants if you’re not more than human yourself, but many terrible things have been done in the name of scientific progress. This would not be the first.

And now you find out that Thomas had once been here. Thomas had been friends with everyone in this room. You look wildly from face to face, expecting to find the boy you had once pledged to defend until your dying breath. The two of you had saved each other on countless dangerous missions, but now he’s just gone, and you aren’t even entirely sure that you would recognize him were you to see him again.

Newt saves you from the peril of not knowing. “He’s not here,” he answers you gently. “Thomas got out. He told us to try to reach you, though. Said you could be trusted.”

“Not Teresa?” You ask softly. That surprises you. If Thomas could save anyone, wouldn’t it be her?

Newt shakes his head. “He said Teresa was better than him. She would never leave.”

“But I would?” You say bitterly.

“He knew you could save us, not just the city,” Newt supplies. You’re not sure if that makes it all better or worse, but it is an answer to fill the empty silence curling between your ribs, so that helps with something, at least.

You nod curtly. “Alright, then. If you’ve got Thomas on your side, I’ll help. Just– have you seen him recently? Is he still alive? I would ask on my end, but I don’t know if WCKD would tell us if they– if they killed him.”

Gally looks vaguely irritated. “No, the asshole’s still alive. He’s a major pain, won’t stop asking questions or getting in the way we do things, but he’s still kicking.”

You grin in spite of yourself. “That’s Thomas for you. He has a way of getting under your skin. He means well, though.”

Newt laughs. “That’s one way of putting it. He skipped town a week or so back. Said he was going to try to look for an old friend.”

At first, you’re confused about who that would be except for you and Teresa, and then– Oh. It hits you like a tidal wave. “Minho.”

Newt nods. “You knew him too?”

You smile. “The four of us were always the closest. Maybe we can do a little family reunion if I can get away without WCKD always watching my back.”

Gally coughs pointedly. “Let’s get back to business. You can reminisce later about the good old days of killing mutants together. You’re willing to help?”

You incline your head. “As best I can. Tell me what you need and I’ll do my best to get it. It might be slow going at first, I’ve got to divert suspicion, but I have access to just about everything. Perks of working for them since I was small. Satellite feeds, location tracking, anything.”

For the first time all night, you think Gally smiles. “You know what, I think we just might be friends after all.”

Isn’t that a lovely thought? As it turns out, Gally isn’t wrong. Days turn into weeks, and the information you accumulate for Newt’s friends steadily turns into a virtual mountain. You find mutants for them, people with abilities who WCKD would kill but they can save. They have friends, too, who are already on WCKD’s radar and need to be removed from the list. You pretend to kill them to erase any sign of their existence. After that, they can run without getting gunned down when they try to leave the city. WCKD has this place on lockdown, the only way you can escape their clutches is in a bodybag, so you fake that part and everything goes according to plan.

You usually rotate members of Newt’s group when handing off information to avoid suspicion, but your favorite blond shows up the most often. You heard one of the other boys grumbling once that Newt has a habit of insisting that it be him to meet up with you, even threatening to set his monster on someone who argued too hard against it, but that just makes you laugh. Newt’s a sweetheart. He wouldn’t hurt any of his friends to stop them from flirting with you. Hopefully.

One evening, the two of you are walking along the river for such a handoff when Newt breaks the one boundary both of you have had the good sense to maintain and asks you when you’re going to leave along with them. Newt’s friends aren’t interested in making a stand against WCKD, they just want to get the last of their allies out of the city before the whole thing burns down.

The more you research on Newt’s behalf, the more you realize how precarious the whole affair is. WCKD has no surefire way of keeping crime out. Their only solution for stopping violence is to nip it in the bud, so to speak, but innocents get caught in the crossfires more often than not. The murder rate is skyrocketing anyway. Nothing any of you do will matter in the long run, and it just puts the teenagers WCKD hires in harm’s way more than the adults who hide in the wings and keep their hands clean.

It’s like working just downhill from a volcano. At some point, the lava will flood into your streets and engulf you all in an inferno of blood and tears. You pretend that you can just work hard enough to fight that, but it isn’t working. It hasn’t since the start. You can push off the inevitable a few weeks, but it always comes in the end.

That’s why Newt and his friends are so interested in getting out. WCKD keeps clear tags on all mutants and inhumans in the area. The second any of you try to run, they send an assassin out to kill you. Supposedly, it’s all about containing the threat, but none of this has ever been about having a good motive, no matter what you say. Everything leads back to power. If you run the city with all the inhumans, you have more power than the rest. Easy as that.

You’ve been steadily helping people escape. Chuck was one of the first to go, all of you agreed. He was just a kid, hardly twelve. He ended up on WCKD’s list because he figured out how to turn his flesh and bone into any material. Soft skin could become as hard as diamond or as pliable as water in a second if he just thought about it. Often, he didn’t, electing instead to just ignore his mutation in favor of trying to blend in with the rest of the guys he idolized, but WCKD doesn’t forget as easily as a preteen.

There were others, too. Clint, a boy about your age, who could heal from any injury. Frypan found an old spell book and learned how to cook up portals to other places and fantastic rings of glowing energy. Zart could shrink as small as an ant or grow taller than a skyscraper. Jorge had a mechanical suit impervious to most attacks that let him fly so long as he kept it up to date; he taught a girl named Brenda how to do the same. They don’t like being apart.

Only a few remain now. Newt, with his monster. Gally, with his fire abilities. You, with your webs. Thomas has appeared a few times now to help ferry people out of the city. The first time you saw him, you nearly wept. It was like seeing a ghost. You assumed he had died a long time ago, but then you’d walked into the warehouse one day and there he was, making a sarcastic joke to Newt. He’d turned to look at you as you slowly approached, and said it was good to see you again. It had taken everything in you not to break down at that very moment.

So he’s alive, then, and Minho is too. Hypothetically, the rest of the boys you’ve been slowly ferrying out are with them. In reality, you have no idea if any of them managed to survive past the edge of the city, but you can hope. That’s all any of you have at this point, hope that someday, you’ll all live past WCKD’s imposed expiration date.

There is, of course, the idea that once the last of them leave, you’ll be left alone with the organization you’ve been steadily betraying, but truth be told, you thought you’d be found out long before the last of Newt’s crew left, so that decision was never going to be yours to make anyway.

Newt doesn’t care about that, though. Newt has told you that he’d break into WCKD headquarters all by himself if you were captured or discovered. So of course it makes sense that Newt is the one to look you in the eyes at last and ask when– not if, but when– you’d be leaving with the rest of them.

You let out a shaky breath. “I wasn’t under the impression that I would be going with you.”

Newt reacts as if you’ve slapped him. “Why wouldn’t you? You don’t believe in WCKD anymore. Burn them to the ground one last time, then leave with us.”

You sigh. “I would be abandoning the only life I’ve ever known. If I leave, WCKD would know for certain that I’d betrayed them, if they haven’t figured it out already. They have evidence of dozens of murders I’ve committed. If they wanted to, they could release that information and have the police drag me back to them. WCKD doesn’t like it when their experiments try to run away.”

You learned that lesson well enough with Thomas. Newt’s jaw locks at the mention of what WCKD had done to you, but he manages to keep his cool. “Exactly why you should leave. Where we’re going, no one will find us. It’s wild land in the middle of nowhere. There’s a total maze of forest cutting off outside access. We’ve got farmland and a big house for all of us. It’ll be a simpler life than we’re used to leading, sure, but no one can find us there. You’ll be safe, Y/N. We all will.”

You’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry at the fierce hope in his eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes,” Newt says decisively. “We’re so close, Y/N. Most of us are gone, only a few left. Promise me that you’ll go with us when the last of us leave. Maybe we can fake our deaths or something to stop them from looking. Just promise me you won’t let me leave alone.”

Promises are dangerous. They have a way of being broken. Still, you nod, and press your fingers against his when Newt takes your hand. “I’ll do it. I promise.”

A sunrise of a smile splits Newt’s face. “I’m holding you to that.”

You hope against everything that he does. To be honest, hearing him talk, you almost think that you could do it; make it out alive. The last few kids are shipped out of the city, and then Newt meets up with you, says that only he and Gally are left. It’s time to go. You agree to meet him that night to run. You haven’t let your hopes truly rise all this time, but it’s impossible to avoid now. A life without killing. It seems like a dream, but it might be yours after all.

And then, a few hours before you’re scheduled to meet Newt to leave the city behind, you get a call from WCKD saying they want to meet with you to discuss recent progress. You text Newt from a burner phone telling him that you might be late and to go on without you if you take too long. You know he won’t, but the comforting lie that he might make it out without getting caught up in your capture carries you to WCKD.

Your heels click on the tiled floor. You know everyone here, you have since you were small. That fact used to fill you with pride; after years of watching people get replaced, you alone stayed, along with Teresa. You had what it took to put your life on the line and keep going. You were the best of the best.

Now, it just seems like another betrayal. How could all of those people watch you grow up and still condone what they had forced you to do? You try to imagine making Chuck go out and hunt down kids his age. It makes you sick to your stomach. All of these people are complicit in the blood caking your hands, and they will never, ever be accountable for it.

You’re certain that they must know what you’ve done. You walk to the conference room in a haze. Newt is on the other side of the city by now. Maybe he’s already out. Maybe they’re all out. If there was one good thing you did in your life, you couldn’t be more proud that it was for him. After years of senseless death, you saved the lives of other mutants just like you. It won’t be enough to wash your ledger clean, but it’s a start. It’s a shame it’s all over now. No more chances to improve. Just one last opportunity to die.

You walk into the meeting room and take the only empty seat. Around you are many familiar faces. Dr. Ava Paige sits at the head of the table, her second in command, a sickly man named Janson at one side, Teresa at the other. Teresa eyes you with no small amount of judgment. How righteous she must feel, knowing that of the three kids who started it all, she alone was capable of carrying out the blessed mission without getting corrupted. How challenging, to wonder why both you and Thomas needed to leave and she could never find a reason why.

Other WCKD officials and high-level agents crowd the ranks. There are only a dozen people in here, maximum, but Ava Paige has chosen them well. They’re all older than you, making the aura in here quite sinister indeed.

Once you’ve sat down and the door closes behind you (do you hear a lock slide shut, or are you just paranoid?), Dr. Paige begins. “We’ve had reason to worry about you, Y/N,” she says. “You’ve always been one of our best agents, but your quotas have been down as of late.”

“By quotas, you mean the people that I’ve killed, correct?” You clarify, sending a ripple of whispers around the room.

Dr. Paige’s face tightens. “I refer to the threats you have eliminated from our glorious city, but if that’s the way you’d like to put it, fine. You have killed fewer times, yes. Why?”

“Maybe I didn’t find any more threats,” you reply.

Janson arches a brow. “There are always threats. Have you lost your stomach for it?”

You smile, although the expression is cold. “I have a question, Dr. Janson. Why is it always me?”

He frowns. “Pardon?”

“Why is it always me out there in the field?” You repeat. “All of you in this room would rather send a child out to kill inhumans than do it yourselves. Does that ease your conscience? Does it reduce variables of concern for human life if you force a teenager to kill instead of doing it yourself?”

Ava Paige rises to her feet. “Y/N L/N, you have been a part of this organization since the start. I remember when you were fiercely dedicated to the cause. Don’t tell me you’re walking away now because you’ve decided to reinsert morals into the equation. What about the people who will die because you are no longer willing to protect them?”

“I’ll find another way to protect them,” you shoot back, “One that doesn’t involve murdering people just because you think they might one day become a problem.”

“That’s naive and you know it. You can’t leave,” Dr. Paige says, her face bleached pale.

“Why not?” You ask. “Are you afraid that I’ll tell people what you had me do? What will you do to stop me?”

When she remains silent, you realize that it’s not just you who has something to fear from WCKD’s actions becoming public. They’ve sanctioned killing dozens if not hundreds of times. They can’t afford to call you back without letting all of their dirty secrets go, and that is a loophole you will most certainly exploit.

You stand. “I think we’re done here. I am.”

They don’t try to stop you. Teresa, however, runs out the door after you. “Don’t you leave us, Y/N. You know what WCKD means to this city.”

“I know what it means to innocent inhumans who have to fear for their lives every time they leave their homes,” you retort.

She pulls you into an empty room. In the half-light of the nearby windows, her eyes are frantic. “You’re the only one I have left. The only one who believed like I did. You know we have a responsibility to this city.”

“Not like this,” you whisper sadly. “Teresa, you know this isn’t the way. We can still save the world in our own right, but it shouldn’t come at the cost of this much blood. There are other ways.”

“What, like with that little group of mutants you’ve been running around with recently?” Teresa’s voice is shrill, and you feel your blood ice over in your veins. “I know, Y/N. I know everything. I know you’ve been feeding them information. You’ve been working with the enemy all along.”

“Then why haven’t you turned me in yet?” You ask quietly. “That would be what WCKD wanted, to know about moles or liars. Why are you telling me this now?”

She’s silent for a while, then:  “I wanted to know why you would throw all of this away for nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” you tell her. “I made friends there. Real friends, who wanted me to be safe.”

“They’re not your friends, I am. Those are perfect strangers who could be planning to kill you the second you all leave the city. You can’t trust any of them.” Teresa argues.

You look her steadily in the eyes. “Maybe not, but I trust Thomas.”

That finally gets through to her. Teresa rears back. “No. He wouldn’t–”

“He would,” you continue. “I’ve seen him, Teresa. He knows all of my friends. Thomas is the one who wants us to get out alive.”

She shakes her head, but the fight is gone from her eyes, you can see it. “No. That can’t be true.”

“It is, Teresa,” you say, then on a sudden urge, “Come with us. There’s still time. WCKD is going to destroy itself in a matter of months, you know this. I don’t want you there when the whole thing goes up in flames. Come with me. Stay alive.”

You reach out to her, but Teresa backs away slowly. “I can’t abandon the cause,” she whispers.

It hurts like a broken bone, but you can’t say you didn’t see it coming. “Goodbye,” you tell her at last. “Thank you for being my friend.”

She nods once, tight and controlled. “You should go now. Before they try to stop you.”

There is nothing else to say, so you take one last look at her and run. She’s saved you one final time by not turning you in, but she’ll do no more for you from here on out. This is the end of you and her, although if you were going to be honest, you would know that your friendship effectively ended when you first started going against WCKD. Everything past that was a betrayal of your work with her, and Teresa knew it all along but didn’t say a word. She has always been the best at sacrifices, hasn’t she?

You should still have time to get to Newt before their car leaves. He’s probably stalling with everything he has so you can make it to him, and you won’t let him down now. You practically sprint out the door and down the sidewalk, hurtling towards the pickup location. Secrecy doesn’t matter anymore. WCKD caught on to the fact that you no longer want anything to do with them, and they’ll be sending someone after you to kill you soon if they haven’t already.

You whip around a few corners. You’re meeting at the docks one last time, it’s just a few corners down. You take a shortcut across a parking lot, but several dark cars screech into the space behind you just as you enter. WCKD already. You swear under your breath and pick up speed, turning down an alley so they can’t follow you except on foot.

One of your stalkers is crazy enough to run after you. He’s bigger than you, and gains ground quicker than you’d like. You take several quick turns, but can’t shake him. The alley opens up to the docks, and you sprint towards the empty pavement of the loading area. You’ve hardly left the shade of the alleys behind when someone collides with you from behind, sending both of you toppling to the ground.

You shove the man off of you, staggering to your knees to come eye to eye with Janson. “Experiments can’t leave,” he growls. “We’ll learn from your bones if not your missions.”

He draws a gun from his belt and points it at you. “Come with me, now. Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be. I can collect your corpse if that’s easier.”

You wonder if Newt is still here, if he can hear you. You hope that he’s already gone. It’ll be far worse for him to watch you die. He’s already watched too many of his friends lose their lives to WCKD, you cannot be another one.

You hold up your hand slowly. “Don’t do something you’d regret.”

“I should be telling you that,” Janson snarls.

You wait for him to be distracted trying to move across the uneven ground, then lunge for the ground, shooting a web at his hand to muffle the trigger. He shifts at the last second, and the spider web hits the trigger instead, sending a rogue shot against the side of a nearby shipping container instead of you.

You duck on instinct, rolling away in case he tries to shoot again. Janson looks half mad as he aims at you again. “You can’t leave us,” he says, “We made you. You cannot abandon your creators.”

There’s a shadow moving somewhere behind him. With a chill, you realize you know who it is. Newt doesn’t know that Janson has reinforcements; although they’re still a little behind, they’ll catch up soon enough. You cannot afford for Newt to be caught, not now.

You shout as loud as you can, “Don’t do it! You have to run!”

Janson glances at you, confused. “Who are you talking to?”

You ignore him, calling again to the shifting mass of shadows steadily growing darker by the edge of the shipping containers. “You have to go! Leave me!”

“No,” answers the darkness slithering across the ground, forming into a massive monster behind Janson.

Janson whips around, and his eyes grow large at the sight of Newt’s monster. It snarls at him, displaying rows of wickedly sharp teeth. He tries to shoot, but the monster grabs the gun with one muscular hand, forcing it away and snapping several of the bones in Janson’s hand at the same time.

Janson screams in pain. “This is what you leave us for, Y/N? This monster? You’re no better than everyone you killed. You’ll always be a disease upon this earth.”

“Actually,” the monster corrects, “You are.”

Before your eyes, the shadows start to run away from Newt all at once, but instead of disappearing like normal, they coalesce onto Janson instead. Janson’s head is flung back as the monster enters him, eyes shot with dark veins. When it’s over, Janson is comatose on the ground, arms and face shadowed with the monster, and Newt is running over to you, human, anxiously searching you for any sign of harm.

“I’m fine,” you promise him, “But– what did you do?”

“I gave it up,” Newt says wryly. “I didn’t need the hate anymore. I just needed you to be alive.”

At last, you understand. Newt needed the monster so he could protect his friends from WCKD, but that’s over now. The last car is about to leave, and then the city, the dying, all of it will be a nightmare that has finally ended.

He grabs your hand. “We need to hurry. Jorge’s waiting, but he won’t want to stick around much longer.”

You run with him towards the waiting car. Gally’s in shotgun, and although he’s always sworn that he doesn’t need any of you, you swear he almost smiles in relief when he sees you and Newt slide in. “Way to cut it close, you guys,” he admonishes you.

Newt rolls his eyes. “We’re here now, aren’t we? Let’s go.”

“I’m perfectly fine with that,” Jorge says, and pulls away into the night.

You watch the dock disappear behind you into a web of roads and street lights. You thought it would be impossible somehow, leaving, like there would be an invisible wall to keep you here. When the lights of the city fade into a dim skyline, then vanish behind the safety of miles of distance crossed, you realize at last that you’ve done it, you’ve left. Now, all that exists for you is a wild dream of a simple life, one with your friends where no one tries to hunt you down.

Newt takes your hand and squeezes it. “We’re out,” he says.

“We’re out,” you repeat in somewhat of a daze. “Where are we going again? What’s that place where everyone’s waiting?”

Newt chuckles. “It’s a bit of a mess right now. It’s just us in the middle of nowhere, but that’s the way we like it. Thomas managed to acquire a property surrounded by parkland so no one could build nearby. It’s just us. Nice place, though. Lots of green space. We’re thinking about calling it the Glade.”

A soft smile crosses your lips. “The Glade. I like that.”

It sounds good. It sounds, at last, like a quiet end to your otherwise violent story. Sometimes, though, quiet isn’t always bad. It lets you know that you’re alive, that you made it. Quiet tells you that you’re going to be okay.

first part requested by @thornyrose463

maze runner tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[levi-ackerman-ds]

The Courier Pt: 1

(My own musing in writing fanfic. Short read, hope you enjoy. SFW. Please reblog if you like the story 🙂)

(Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/levi-ackerman-ds/744174236448538624/the-courier-pt-2?source=share)

As the moonlight cast eerie shadows across the city, Levi stalked silently through the dimly lit streets of Mitras. With his gray long-sleeved shirt, black pants, and a dark hooded cloak, he blended effortlessly into the somber backdrop of the district. His keen eyes were fixed on the figure ahead, their features hidden beneath their own hooded cloak as they moved through the streets. Dark pants clung to their legs, emphasizing their swift and calculated steps. A heavy satchel hung from their side, ominously hinting at the burdens it held. Money? Illicit substances? It could all be hidden within that satchel.

He couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation building within him. This was it, the moment he had been waiting for. Erwin's intel had pointed to this mysterious courier, and he was determined to uncover the truth. Adjusting the hood of his cloak, ensuring it concealed his face, he padded after the figure. As he wove through the shadows, keeping a careful distance between himself and the figure, his mind raced with thoughts and conjectures, meticulously analyzing every detail, every possible explanation for the courier's actions. Was this person affiliated with a wealthy council member? Was there a deep political conspiracy happening beneath their unsuspecting society?

Making their way towards the entrance of the Underground, he constantly assessed his surroundings. The covered stairway loomed before him, a passage into the depths that promised to reveal the hidden secrets. He descended into the Underground's realm, leaving behind the world above and its moonlight and stars. As Levi neared the bottom of the stairway that led to the gateway entrance of the Underground City, he could see the figures of the gatekeepers stationed at their posts. Their imposing presence radiated an unspoken authority, signaling that entry into the secretive realm of the Underground would not come without a cost.

His eyes remained fixed on the familiar silhouette of the hooded figure as they approached the gate. Maintaining a discreet distance, he silently observed the upcoming encounter. Without uttering a word, the figure presented a pass to the gatekeepers, their satchel clutched tightly at their side. The gatekeepers begrudgingly stepped aside at the sight of the pass, allowing the courier to pass through the gateway unimpeded. Levi's brows furrowed. This individual had established favor or made substantial payments to earn such privilege.

Levi quickened his pace, intending to slip through before the gatekeepers could fully register his presence. However, his attempt was soon thwarted as the gatekeepers turned their hostile gazes towards him. One, a burly man with a grizzled beard, stepped forward, blocking Levi's path. As an officer in the Scouts, he was well aware of the disdain that accompanied their presence in the forsaken depths of the Underground. The gatekeepers, their expressions laced with contempt, regarded him with an air of condescension.

"Another one of Erwin's lapdogs, I presume?" the apparent leader sneered. "You know we don't particularly welcome your kind down here."

Levi's eyes narrowed as he responded in a sarcastic tone. "What's the matter? Afraid a Scout might discover the rot lurking within the confines of your 'precious' Underground? And here I thought we were all just one big happy family. Guess I'll have to bring the welcome party myself then."

The exchange ignited a spark between them, the hostility emanating with each word. Levi was accustomed to these confrontations, his confrontational nature conflicting with the gatekeepers' inherent suspicion towards the Survey Corps. For many in the Underground, the Scouts symbolized fleeting hope, a beacon in the darkness. But for others, they were seen as intruders, pests that disturbed the fragile equilibrium.

The leader towered over him, a sneer of superiority etched into his face. "You may have the title of Captain, but we don't bow to your orders down here, Levi," he snapped, emphasizing Levi's name with disdain.

Levi's eyes gleamed with a dangerous glint as his patience waned. He relished the thought of shutting down these mob-like gatekeepers, thoroughly despising their exploitation of the innocent populous trapped below. "You're right, I should behave. I wouldn't want to remind you of the rightful ass-kicking I'm more than capable of delivering."

The exchange brimmed with tense electricity, fueled by Levi's desire to protect the defenseless citizens of the Underground. As much as the gatekeepers resented him they knew better than to truly challenge Levi. Reluctantly, the leader motioned for the others to step aside, granting him passage.  "Don't make any trouble. We wouldn't want the Scouts tarnishing their supposed reputation down here," he sneered.

Levi muttered a brief thanks before striding past, deliberately shouldering against one with a subtle nudging force. He suppressed the urge to outright lash out at their insolence. The delay had cost him precious time, and he had lost sight of the courier during their confrontation, an irritating setback that exasperated his frustration. As he pressed on into the depths of the Underground City, he refocused his attention, determined to track down the courier and unravel the threads of corruption that ensnared this forsaken city beneath the surface.

[sevikasangel]

❥๑𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 — caitlyn kiramman wishes you could see her besides being a creep, even though she is, factly, your stalker. so when she finds out you are still talking to your toxic ex-girlfriend, she must confront you, rather you like it or not.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛ ᴄᴏᴠᴇɴ ᴏꜰ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɪɴꜱ. ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ: ꜱᴛᴀʟᴋᴇʀ ᴀᴜ + ɢᴜɴ.

— contains: stalking, dark content, caitlyn being creepy, obsession, jealousy, argument, sfw, gaslighting.

— a/n: dedicated to and requested by my bestie @local-matryoshka, my favorite simp. love you, boo.

— word count: 1,5k

caitlyn lurked amongst the shadows of the cold night at zaun. normally, the enforcer wouldn’t wander down around this cruel mistress of a city. her heavy boots earnestly passed through the discarded trash on the ground and the moist cement provoked by the droplets of rain. she couldn’t quite grasp the fact that you would choose somewhere so decadent and depressing like this to live. with all opportunities you were offered…a job, a house, protection at piltover. and yet, here you were.

she slid through the halls and alleyways like a stray cat, the hood she was wearing doing a fairly decent job at hiding her identity from all those criminals who would definitely hold a grudge against her. pilties weren’t welcome in this place, let alone pilties who were cops. her gun was carefully secured into her holster, just in case she had to defend herself. or better, defend you from the dangers.

“you silly girl…” she grumbled to herself. “you should’ve come with me. i wanted to protect you. why do you have to choose the harder way?”

caitlyn’s tall, thin form finally made it to a local bar called last drop. according to all researches the enforcer made, this is somewhere locals come to get wasted, gamble, chase a good fucking, or commit crimes. she frowned. she knew something was up when you didn’t wait for her after your shift at the police station as a secretary was over. you would always allow her to accompany you to the hexgates on your way to zaun. of course she would follow you daily, not that she would ever become sloppy enough for you to notice it. caitlyn finally gathered enough courage, inhaling it with a deep breath like it was cigarette smoke and walked into the bar. the loud ballad music did nothing to grace her ears and all of that smell of alcohol and sweat were not at all pleasant. she couldn’t help but muse on the reason why you would deliberately choose to be somewhere like this. and yet, you would decline every advance she made, her invitations to restaurants, to the cinema, to her house…why? she assumed you must be playing hard to get.

which was not a problem, at all.

my sweetheart thinks we are playing her game, well…we are playing mine.

her brown eyes scanned the crowd until they laid upon you. from burning and stern, they became soft and gentle like the most calm water flow. you had this grip on her that caitlyn found rather difficult to explain. she had seen so much fucked up shit. she lost so much, the ones she loved and trusted deceived and betrayed her until her once soft hurt became stone cold. she’s been through hell and back. but you broke every wall she’d erected. at first, she felt scared, angry even. though how could she hate you, at all? specially with that beautiful smile that would instantly send every concerns away. the sweet scent of your perfume would suffocate each tiny bit of anxiety that was left in her.

your smell was so intoxicating and addicting that she needed to have it for herself. not only that, but all of you. from the roots of your head, to the very tip of your toes. nobody could ever love you as she could. the world was too cruel and dangerous for an angel like you. caitlyn deemed herself as far too corrupted by the past to be considered pure, but she could save you.

“(y/n), hello, i-” she stopped speaking, frowning at the sight of the blonde bartender who leaned on the counter, pouring you a drink flirtatiously. her large breasts were nearly leaking from her deep cleavage shirt. it left little to nothing to the imagination. she fisted her hands and her eyes darkened as she decided to spy on the conversation.

“(y/n), come on, you know you love me and you’ll have to forgive me eventually. you still love me, i still love you…” she cooed and reached on the counter to put her hand on top of yours, her soft digits brushing your soft skin affectionately. her hazel eyes stared into yours and you looked away with a clenched jaw. “please, babe.”

“vanessa, how dare you? i loved you so much, i gave up so much for you...and you thanked me by cheating on me with silco’s guard dog?” you breathed out and pulled your hand back. the bartender sighed and reached for your shoulder instead. “don’t touch me, vanessa!”

“please, (y/n), listen to me…i am suffering too. i hate that i cheated on you and you have all the right to be mad, honey. i just miss you so much. i was your first everything, doesn’t that count? you are just seeing me for my mistake-”

“don’t touch me!”

“(y/n), please, list-”

suddenly a large, slender hand was wrapped around vanessa’s wrist. the grip was tight to the point of pain. your ex-girlfriend shrieked and attempted to pull her arm back. this only served to make her attacker twist their hand. vanessa’s scream turned bloody as her wrist bone had just been snapped like a stick by a stranger.

“i heard her say not to touch her, cheater.”

you opened your mouth in shock and your breath became stuck in terror. the world around you was muffled and distorted. you could only see vanessa hold onto her arm and rush into the back of the bar to seek for help and then caitlyn pulling a chair to sit next to you. with scaredy deer eyes, you averted them to caitlyn.

“w-what was that, caitlyn? why are you here?” your voice was quiet and scaredy.

caitlyn scoffed and took a sip from the alcohol vanessa left behind, nearly slamming the glass onto the counter. the loud noise made you flinch. you never saw caitlyn so angry as how she was now.

“(y/n)...why were you meeting up with your ex? she literally cheated on you, leeched off your money, she was the most toxic bitch you could think of. don’t you have any self-respect?”

your heart hammered in your chest as the fear began crippling in.

“h–how do you know, caitlyn? i-i…i never told anyone.”

“how do you know, caitlyn?” she mockingly repeated as if there was nothing wrong with that. “i know it because i care about you, unlike these people you surround yourself with, (y/n).”

you lowered your head in shame. caitlyn was caring for you and you were being…ungrateful.

“caitlyn..why were you doing this?”

“as i said, because i care about you. you are an angel, (y/n). people will hurt you and take advantage of your innocence and i could never let that happen. it made me bite myself with jealousy whenever i saw that bitch lay her disgusting hands on what was supposed to be mine,” her breath was ragged, voice low and dangerous. it sent shivers down your spine. “i knew she was cheating, so i just made you find out…and after you did, you still denied me. is she better than me, (y/n)?”

you shook your head. factly, you were rather surprised caitlyn had done so much for you. usually, you were the one who had to care and provide for others, but with her…it felt like you didn’t need to have a single thought or worry in your brain. you could shut it down and let her do all of the thinking.

“no…no, she is not. i was just hurt. i needed to heal before anything.

“healing by chasing your ex? are you crazy?”

you lowered your head in shame.

“i am sorry...i just thought i didn’t deserve any better and i can’t be alone…i…i had nobody but vanessa.”

your heart skipped a beat at the feeling of caitlyn’s thumb beneath your chin, tilting up your face to stare at hers. her index finger wiped away your trailing tears and she leaned in to kiss your eyes.

“you have me, (y/n). i will take care of you like no one ever did. you deserve to be protected and treated like the angel you are.”

“i like you, cait…i-i just didn’t know how t-” she put her hand over your mouth and shushed you.

“shhh, i know, darling.” she cooed and kissed the top of her own hand that covered your plump lips. “from now on, you will be mine. i am not having it any differently. i will take care of you…nobody and nothing will stand between us. i am not having it. and about vanessa…i will ensure she never bothers us ever again.”

❥๑𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆: @local-matryoshka , @petitedeer , @enforcermoss , @sugarsweetcookie

[naisilla]

The Emperor's New Muse Part .5

Odyssey Kayn x Reader

content: coming up with a 'how to save the universe' plan, some "bonding" time with the members, and finally a more definite backstory to our character.

A/N: Apologies for the delayed post this should've come out earlier but I've been struggling with a bit of writer's block because I am making this whole story up as I go gliding by the seat of my ass or however that saying goes. Anyway, I hope it's worth the wait! Knowing that at least a few of you are invested really helped me keep going so thank you all!!

And that's how you came to become the newest recruit member of the Morningstar, and also how you found out about the universe's impending doom.

You gave Sona a judgemental side eye, like... really? You plan on saving the universe with these people!? The Templar, however, ignored your stare and continued to look out the window with her back turned to you. Looking as mysterious as ever.

Currently, the Morningstar was blindly traveling through deep space. Destination: unknown, as long as it was as far away from Kayn and his locus armada. So far there was no sign of them on your tail, you could relax for now.

"So what's the plan? on saving the universe?" you ask looking towards the front of the ship where Jinx was goofing off in the pilot's seat doing anything but actually steering the ship, Yasuo was close by at the control center holo screen.

"We're currently in the drafting stage of our master universe-saving plan" Jinx says while tinkering away at something you assumed was highly hazardous.

"Seriously? you guys don't have a plan yet? What have you been doing this whole time?" It was hard to believe that no progress had been made within the last three months. Aka the time Kayn got his hands on Rhaast, the universe's greatest threat without fully understanding it.

"It's been hard to think straight, that insane ordinal is constantly chasing us down. Every planet we stop at to stock on supplies or rest from travel is crawling with the empire's military and Kayn is never far behind." Yasuo says with a frown on his face.

It was true, you had just witnessed just how quickly the Demaxian Empire was at tracking down wanted criminals. Only, the morning star crew weren't nearly as high priority as they were targeted to be. They were just a bunch of rag-tag space pirates.

It was clear that Kayn was obsessed with getting Sona back for his personal gains. Once fiercely loyal to his emperor Kayn has become obsessed with his personal hunt, he will not hesitate to kill any who cross his path. The ordinal was slowly corrupting into something dark and consuming.

That scythe was the catalyst for all of this. According to Sona, no one knew what Rhaast truly was, but it was undeniable that he or it wasn't the "sentience of ora".

Rhaast clearly wanted to open the ora gates, but for what purpose? Immediately you figured opening the ora gate was the last thing the universe wanted. Sona confirmed from her upbringing within the templar order she had heard of a time long ago when an ancient civilization, extinct for eons, once opened an ora gate. "Annnnd they're all dead now, so it must've gone well for them."

Sona doesn't know what's actually behind the gates but she has seen visions. Visions of which none of the Morningstar or you were aware of. She saw silence. She saw the vast well of time. She saw a moment stretched into an eternity. She saw lingering stillness and glacial quiet. She saw dark stars and black suns frozen in a void of endless shadow. She saw monstrous, silent deities lurking in a corrupted cosmos.

Yet she never spoke of them, Sona was a quiet and mysterious templar after all. The only reason you believed in this religious fanatic was because you could see it in her eyes, the horror. Behind a calm and neutral expression was a gaze that carried worry and fear. Whenever you would steal a glance with the templar it was like looking into a void, one that stared back into your deepest reaches. Sona knew many things, and yet she remained quiet about them, almost as if she was uncertain about whether or not she wanted to save the universe.

You had decided for yourself that you would take charge of planning the next course of action, borrowing a tablet from Yasuo you had snuck off by yourself to figure out what exactly one was supposed to do next.

Sitting down in the saloon of the ship, you began to develop a plan. From what you now know Kayn had to be stopped, the ordinal is so obsessed with his quest for power that he's becoming unstable.

He was being puppeted by that alien scythe whose intentions were far more dire than Kayn could realize. Rhaast wanted the ora gates to be open and it was clear that whatever lay beyond that gate was something never meant to be unlocked.

You needed to stop Kayn from opening the gate, the only reason he hasn't just gone straight to the gate immediately is because he needed Sona to unlock it. Only Sona knew how to do this which means she was a highly valuable asset, good thing she was on your side for now.

Was it possible to destroy the ora gate? If you could manage that then there would be no threat of anyone opening it ever. But it was unclear as to how these ora gates worked, no one truly understood them at all that the risk of something just as disastrous happening. How would one even go about destroying something so incomprehensible?

Ok so destroying the ora gate isn't a likely option, you delete that plan from the tablet.

Looking for the whereabouts of the ora gate would be a start, that way you'd know where to go and where Kayn would be headed at some point.

According to Yasuo, Sona had told him that there were in fact, multiple ora gates in the universe. All are located throughout the furthest reaches of the universe, far beyond the darkest corners. Knowing which one Kayn would go to would be impossible to predict.

Rubbing your temples, you grunt and delete that plan route.

Let's take a step back from the end game. The ordinal Kayn, instead of trying to intercept him at the gates or destroying one perhaps we needed to go straight to the source of the problem.

It wouldn't be hard to find Kayn. He would always come to you. If you had learned anything, it was that this insane and obsessed man was smart, and calculating and when you had something he wanted, it wouldn't be long before he pounced.

You type down "KAYN" in capitols. He was now the focus of your plan. There were a few options of how you could go about this. You could be a mediator and persuade Kayn to give up his pursuit for power, Or perhaps separate him from that damn scythe. Destroying Rhaast was also a good idea, oh wait an even better idea! We kill Kayn!

Just as you were typing out that last thought you feel the weight of someone leaning onto your shoulders, their shadow looming over your head as they nondiscreetly look at your plans.

"Whatcha doing?" Jinx asks with her eyes glued to your plan's title. She snatches your tablet from your hands and brings it close to her face as she intensely stares at it.

Sighing you grab the tablet back trying to focus on forming more ideas- "He's so cool~". You snap your head, pull a face, and look at Jinx as if she lost her min- yeh she probably has already.

"Jinx, please. Anyone but him. Kayn is evil and you're...chaotic neutral." You groan realizing there's no point in reasoning with the loose cannon.

With pacifist, petty, and genocide plans crafted, you went to showcase each of them to the Morningstar crew.

Sona true to her character wanted to take the peaceful route, but even she knew negotiating with such a cruel and ruthless person held little chance in successfully de-escalating the Ordinal.

Yasuo liked the idea of taking Rhaast from Kayn, the thought of taking away his power source was enticing to the captain of the crew. Although you weren't sure if you could trust Yasuo with the sentient scythe. Not that you were assuming the captain was immoral or corrupt but, nobody should've ever come into contact with whatever Rhaast is.

Jinx and Malphite unsurprisingly wanted to go the chaos route, already suggesting which weapons would best tear down the Locus Armada and the Fractal Sheer.

"I carry enough weapons to seize a medium battle fortress!" Jinx proudly exclaims standing before you. You simply nod and half smile "uhuh that's great jinx" your voice passive agressively giving off an annoyed tone.

She grins and dumps her current arsenal onto your lap, you jump in your seat. Did she seriously just throw live weapons at you?! "These are my best friends!" She says picking up the rocket launcher from your lap. "This is fishbones! I modeled him after Sharkpedos, He's always worried about me." You blink stunned.....he?

As she's showing him off she uses one hand to move the jaw of the rocket launcher up and down like a puppet. "I'm worried Jinx maybe we should try a less dangerous option, I like (Y/N)'s other plan to take the scythe instead." Jinx rolls her eyes at the rocket launcher she's ventriloquizing before throwing him to the side, followed by the sound of it crashing onto the ground.

"Yeh he can be a bit of a buzzkill, anyways this is Pow-pow!" Jinx says now picking up the mini-gun making your lap feel a ton lighter. She spins it around and you duck as the barrel comes towards you before shooting a desperate look to the others- oh, Sona and Malphite are gone and Yasuo is reading some book clearly unbothered. Great you're stuck with Jinx then.

"I love your plan to destroy the locus armada! let's shoot them up and watch their bodies fall together!" Jinx says playing on a raspier and higher-pitched voice for the minigun. Jinx then pulls out a lightning projector "This is Zappy she's my stun gun, she's more unstable than I am! Watch this!" Jinx then suddenly tosses the gun onto an empty couch like how one would casually throw their phone on a bed, only, when the gun softly bounces onto the lounge chair it explodes. And Jinx had thrown that on your lap just earlier...

Yasuo gives Jinx a glare flicking his eyes up from the novel he was currently reading, his nose still buried between the pages.

Not giving a single shit about Yasuo Jinx continues to introduce you to her "friends" such as the Flame Chompers, which are curiously sculpted in the likeness of Malphite's head; and the Super Mega Death Comet, an interstellar portal lifted from one of Jinx's old mining jobs.

"You should see the ship! I heavily modified the Morningstar with so many offensive weapons!" Jinx says happily grabbing you by the arm and dragging you on yet another tour of the Morningstar. And after an hour of being overstimulated with interacting with Jinx..... you were still unsure as to what half of Jinx's modifications do.

Finally, Jinx had gone off to wherever leaving you to mentally recover by yourself. So far regarding your "Plan" no one could agree on which one to go with, personally, you were leaning to the separate Kayn from Rhaast. You could kill Kayn if it comes to it. But between the two it was Rhaast that was the true danger.

That would not be an easy feat, Kayn alone was an intelligent and strong fighter. His eyepatch and left arm are clearly ora augmentations making him a superhuman. He now wields a sentient alien scythe and he has a whole personal army at his disposal.

There was no way the five of you could possibly win against him in a fight, it would take some grand scheme to outsmart the Ordinal and gain the upper hand.

Something crawls along your shoulder, and immediately your mind races to some giant ugly alien spider, you see how messy the interior of this ship is, clearly no one is cleaning the ship so of course it would be crawling with pests. You go back and forth on whether to scream for help or smack the bugger into smoosh.

To your relief, a familiar face peeps up at you. Warm round eyes that contrasted with its cool blue and green complexion and a goofy wide smile beamed up at you. "Hey little guy" you coo at the lizard. "How did you get here?"

The lizard chirps and clicks seemingly happy as you scratch its head like how one would pet a cat. "Let's return you to Yauso"

After walking through the layout of the ship you finally found Yasuo, sitting by a large window on a red carpet with incense and candles laid around him, his nose buried in a novel.

His eyes flick up from his book to look at you. "Ah I see Space Lizard has found you".

"Space Lizard? don't tell me that's what you actually call them."

Yasuo shrugs his shoulders. "We really couldn't decide a name for it, we'll probably never will. We plan to sell it for a profit"

"You're selling them!?"

Yasuo shrugs again. "That is why we stole it from a maximum-security nature reserve." Your jaw drops.

"You actually managed to pull that off?" Yasuo nods with a smug smirk on his lips. It was impressive but a part of you just felt for the innocent animal, he seemed happy and healthy here it felt wrong to give him away for money. Your thoughts get interrupted by bubbles floating towards your face and popping upon contact with your nose.

Surprised you turn your gaze and see that Space Lizard is blowing bubbles. You're unsure as to whether to be amazed or grossed out but by Yasuo's smile, you can tell that at least he secretly likes it.

"So you guys are really space pirates huh?" you ask as Space Lizard climbs down your arm and onto your outstretched hand.

Yasuo nods with a proud smile. "Yep, real space pirates". He turns a page in his novel. "It's a lot different from my old life, I would've still been living a life of luxury if it weren't for the framing of my brother's death."

Right, you remember Yasuo briefly mentioning that earlier. "I'm sorry for your loss" Yasuo merely shakes his head dismissively. Lowering his book.

"Don't worry about it, I'll get justice for my brother" he said quietly, his gaze turning downward. You couldn't help but feel drawn to his pain and frustration. Despite the cocky and careless personality he usually exhibits, he was clearly hurting.

Yasuo pauses and shifts in his seat "I should've been there, if I would've been there then-"

You nod your head not letting him finish but acknowledging the obvious truth, he'd been beating himself up for this incident for a long time, and from the way he spoke you could tell it was a huge weight on his shoulders.

"The empire screwed me over, they blamed me for something I didn't do. My brother had grown distant with me in recent years, He was off being a hero while I was spending my nights in a drunken daze, aimlessly wandering between high-end nightclubs. To him I was a disgrace, someone to be ashamed of, I wish I could prove him wrong. But now I'll never get the chance."

Space Lizzard had jumped down from your cradling hand and moved over to where Yasuo was sitting to perch himself on his shoulder, nuzzling its head against Yasuo's face as if to comfort him. A small smile returns to Yasuo's face.

"I know I'm not the only one who's on the run from the empire, You mentioned how you managed to escape punishment for sabotaging a locus armada ship back. But that's all we know about you, what made you turn against the empire?"

A sour snort escapes you, a bitter taste returning to your mouth. "I've hated the empire since the beginning" Yasuo looks at you confused.

"Why is that? What happened?"

You swallow down the rising pressure as the memories of your past rush back. "I used to live on one of the few planets that weren't claimed by the Demaxian empire. Of course that wouldn't last long. They always have to keep expanding, taking planet systems by force."

You recall your old home planet "My homeland was beautiful, it was bountiful with nature and wildlife and we lived in harmony with the land, we were a lot more primitive with technology. We didn't have much need for it. I was just a little girl when they arrived...."

"The Demaxian Empire was brutal, they came in guns blazing, declaring our planet and its land as their own. They had no regard for the lives and cultures they were erasing. Our planet was the gateway to the Outer Rim, a new frontier that the Empire craved. To them, our way of life was primitive and unacceptable.

I still remember them bringing their warships into my planet's orbit, demanding we bend the knee to them. When we refused. They bombed our planet, destroying much of our infrastructure and reducing our population to just a fraction of the original number.”

The look in your eyes was one of a faraway expression, there was a slight tremble in your hands and your whole complexion had paled.

"When the smoke cleared there was nothing left. The land was leveled out, the villages were torn to the ground and all of the plant life, and the animals were gone. They came in and wiped out our entire people in the name of expansion and development. But left after draining everything of Ora. Apparently our planet wasn't good enough to colonize. All that slaughter and ruination for nothing!" you say clenching your teeth. 

"The nightmare didn't end there however. With our home now uninhabitable we had to leave, some submitted themselves to the empire and lived lives of servitude and slavery. Others like myself fled to distant planets like Piltron and Zaun. Desperate to find stability in living." By now you had seated yourself next to Yasuo who surprisingly was listening to your rambling, his novel was closed and by his side, and Space Lizard while perched on his shoulders looked at you intentively.

"I had nothing to my name, no ID, no money, no family. I was used to living off the grid with no influence by technology and government systems. Without any ID it was an unimaginable pain in the ass to intergrade into society. No vital records office could obtain any identity due to my home planet never being a part of the Demaxian system. I couldn't get a stable job or any proper schooling, I was left to figure shit on my own because Demaxia doesn't have time for my kind.

I had to struggle with low-end jobs that paid under the table, there was no dignity in my line of work not when the turnover rate of a nuclear powerplant worker was so high, and more people were dying of negligence faster than new hires were acquired. I was fortunate, if you could call it that to be a mere janitor in Zaun's power plant system. But that didn't come without prejudice from the locals.

I didn't understand why, I still don't, we were all in the same boat and yet I was treated differently. Over time I learnt the ways of the streets and how to survive them. I kept my head down, I minded my own business. Despite being surrounded by thugs and gangs I managed to stay out of it by blending in. Of course, there were a few times I messed up" You say, pulling up your shirt, showing a couple of scars along your torso. Scar tissue in round formations pulled taught towards the center, the classic sign of a healed bullet wound. There were others too, a couple of singular lines dragging across your torso also, the result of getting shivved.

"I was never going to escape the pits of the lower class, no matter how many hours I worked, how many side jobs I had, despite living as frugally as one could survive on. I could never escape being a blue-collar in the slums. The empire's system is so rigged that if you want to live comfortably you have to be born into it. It's so unfair! So many people suffer in poverty and filth because the stupid king is more focused on colonizing more and more planets with stupid rich assholes who don't even spare a thought for the people who keep their obnoxiously pampered lifestyle afloat!!!" Yasuo jumps back a little at your heated outburst towards the end, his usual calm and suave demeanor now tense with a startled wide eyed stare.

It was clear he felt awkward about being called out for his old lifestyle. You sigh and shake your head.

"I'm sorry I don't mean to take it all out on you specifically, I've never really talked about any of this and I suppose all those years were bottled up for too long." Yasuo's gaze softens, his hand goes towards his belt and he passes you a flask, you raise a brow questioningly but take his offering and take a swig instantly feeling the distilled alcohol kick you in the throat with a powerful punch. You cough and sputter looking at him shocked.

"What the hell is this?"

"Pure distilled Polmos Spirytus Rektyfikowany Vodka"

"...." You stare at Yasuo silently before dowing another swig, then another. Letting out a gasp and wiping your lips with the back of your hand as the satisfying burn of the alcohol soaked itself into your system.

"Better?"

"Better."

You noticed the velocity of the ship shifting and turning into the landing procedures, curiously you looked to Yasuo.

"Whats happening?"

Yasuo shrugs "Looks like Jinx is taking us to a pit stop."

Part six: Here

A/N: So I've had this idea as headcannon for ages but never had the chance to implement it into the story so free lore content below!:

Piltron and Zaun is a rather unique planet in my Odyssey story. Piltron similar to its Runeterra counterpart (Piltover) is the higher class planet to Zaun. Piltron is a hollow planet that exists as an outer shell that hovers around its inner planet Zaun. To access Zaun you need to travel between the tectonic plates of Piltron via colossal industrial elevators. Piltover isn't a perfect shell that entirely encases the inner planet Zaun but is cracked into multiple districts that are tethered to its center Zaun via cybernetic tendrils to avoid floating out of Zaun's atmosphere. If you've seen Transformers: The Last Knight you'll know that I've taken inspiration from the scene of Cybertron being spacebridged into Earth's orbit (see image below).

Zaun Center, like the earth's core, is made of a uranium deposit that is harvested through fission (nuclear power plants) that power both Zaun and Piltron through the cybernetic tendrils that also hold the two planets together. Zaun is made up of the working class while Piltron homes the more upperclass citizens. Piltron and Zaun are allied with the Demaxian Empire and stand as the main manufacturing planet of the weapons and technology of the empire.

Despite being a part of Demaxia, Piltron, and Zaun have the least amount of empire enforcers due to the trust between them and the core worlds. Plus because of the unstable levels of radioactive activity in Zaun, most enforcers don't hover around for long. Sure in this age we have radioactive protection suits but Zaun is seen as dirty to rich snobs.

[codfanficedits]

Final Goodbye - Part 2

Pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick & Reader

Summary: You are Death.

Wordcount: 2612| Rating: M (18+ only!)

Warnings: MW3 SPOILERS

A/N: Different colours to identify dialogue better, my shit has been flopping and my brain can't handle the lack of dopamine.

Part 2/4.

Out of all three of them, Kyle had struggled the most with John’s death, or Soap, as the living men preferred to refer to him. Their silly nicknames never made much sense to you, how could John become a Soap, a Kyle become a Gaz, and a Simon become a Ghost?

 Kyle had seen Soap – John – as some sort of mentor, someone to look up to, and the fact that that person was gone, was something Kyle couldn’t grasp, something he didn’t want to grasp.

It turned out that Soap also was the glue that held the four of them together, and with him being gone, the group of soldier started to fall apart, slowly, but surely.

And all you could do was wait patiently.

So you did, waiting in the shadow after Kyle took dangerous mission after dangerous mission. Today was no exception, much to the despair of his captain. Not that that would stop Kyle. No, Kyle felt as if he had to prove himself, he wanted to make Soap proud, he wanted to make Simon proud, he wanted to make his captain proud. So much that he forgot his own mortality in the process.

And there he was, laying in the high grass, hiding from the enemy that planted a bullet into his lower abdomen.

Time for you to come into action, you had been lurking into the shadow for a while now, and just when you were ready to step out again, you saw them. Life.

“Not yet, Death.” Life’s bright voice sounds. “This one isn’t done yet.”

You can only watch while Life takes his hand into theirs, making sure Kyle can hold on until help arrives.

Life is everything Death isn’t. Where you, Death, are surrounded by sadness, despair, and darkness, Life is surrounded by joy, happiness, and light. Yet your realms seem to interfere, blend in together, not every soul is happy to be alive, and other souls deserve to live longer than the universe can grand them.

Life and Death dance around the world, leaving a trail of love and grief wherever they go.

“Gaz!” A loud voice booms over the field, his lieutenant comes running over, as fast as his legs can carry him. “Seems like you will win this round, Life.” You muse, as you watch Simon apply pressure to the wound.

“I need a medic, NOW!” Simon yells. “I can’t lose you Gaz.” He adds with a softer voice. “Not you too.”

But Kyle can’t look Simon in his eyes, not yet, right now he isn’t able to cope with the disappointment he will see in his lieutenants eyes. “I’ll be fine.” Kyle mutters with a  meek smile, and you can see Life squeeze his hand.

“Of course.” Simon agrees, because Simon doesn’t dare to think about the fact that he might lose someone he cares about again.

“You’ll be okay Gaz, I’ll make sure.” And with those words, Simon spews out what he wanted to tell to Soap.

And Kyle will be okay, Life had made sure that he escaped from your grasp for the final time. Life continued to hold Kyle’s hand until he reached the infirmary, Life didn’t let go off his hand until the first stitch was placed in the wound, letting him live until his time was up.

And you just followed, following Life and Kyle into the infirmary, quietly waiting. Kyle’s time would come, quicker than he would expect it to happen.

Life finally let go off his hand, giving you a quick nod before they disappeared again.

You just watched, seeing fragments of yourself guide the souls of the less fortunate while you had yourself fixated on the young man before you.

You watched over his shoulder when he took out his phone. His hand shaking while he went to call his mother, a shaky breath leaving his lips when his mother picked up the phone and the video call starts.

“Mom.”

“Kyle? My boy, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“You never call without a reason. What’s on your mind?”

“Just.. I know.. You.. I..” The poor boy started to stutter, not able to express the emotions he wanted to express.

And a mothers love knows no boundaries. “Are you worried about John, Bearie?”

A sour expression crossed his face by the nickname from his childhood, but it is quickly swallowed. “Yeah.” He muttered softly.

You know the look his mother bears, it is the look of a woman who wishes her son wasn’t away from her, a mother who wishes she could crawl through the phone to comfort her son about his fallen teammate.

“What is on your mind, boy?”

“I just wonder ma.” Kyle starts. “I wonder if he was in pain, if he was scared, if he would ever be proud of me.”

No he wasn’t, more pissed off than scared, more than you’ll ever know.

His mother sighs softly. “Those are questions you’ll never find an answer to. But I get it, I had the same questions when your grandpa passed. And I like to think that both of them are proud of us. You have reason to be proud, Kyle. I am sure John is proud of you too.”

The expression on his face softens. “Thank you mom.”

“Anytime Bearie.”

He rolls his eyes, quick enough so that his mother doesn’t catch on.

“Do you want to speak to your sisters too?”

“No, I’m quite tired, just missed you.”

“I miss you too Kyle. Promise me you’ll come home soon yeah?”

“Promised ma, I’ll see you soon okay?”

“I love you, Bearie, stay safe.”

“Love you too mom.”

The moment his call gets disconnected, he presses his lips against his phone, wishing to press the same kiss against his mothers forehead. Kyle had never struggled to be away from his family, but with Soap’s passing, he found himself longing to be with his family more and more. Maybe he would take a little break after his next mission.

But Kyle never got to take that break. Soon after he was cleared from the infirmary he found himself taking dangerous missions again. The promise to his mother being long forgotten whenever he found himself enjoying the rush again, the feeling of being alive, of being worthy, he finally felt as if he mattered.

Not that any of that was important right now. Because right now Kyle was about to meet you. He had found himself caught in enemy crossfire once more, being in the delusion that he is in fact invincible. But he isn’t, no one is really no matter how often they think they are.

Kyle groans, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his short breaths, as his hands clutch the wound on his chest, he knew that time was running out, and even you knew that Life wouldn’t be able to keep him away from you.

“Hello.”

Kyle looks up at your words, his eyes wide with fear. “Are you? Did I? Am I dead?”

“Not yet.”

“Fuck.” His face scrunches in pain.

“I suppose I can’t sweet talk my way out of dying.”

“Afraid not.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I promised mom I would come home again.”

“You did.”

“How did you know?”

“That is something for later. Right now I would advice you to call your mother.”

A short flash of gratitude in his eyes before the pain takes over again. With a bloody hand he takes out his phone, dialling his mother’s number. But she doesn’t pick up, she is on the other side of the world, blissfully unaware that her son is about to breathe his last breath.

His lips press together to a thin line when he reaches her voicemail.

“Mommy?” His voice is quivering when he speaks. “It’s me, Bearie. I’m so sorry, but I won’t be coming home again. I.. I.. I.. I was too reckless, thought I had to make you and the whole world proud after Soap died, and now I never get to see you again.” The words spill out of him worried his life will be over before he can say the things he wants her to hear.

“I am so sorry for breaking my promise mom, I love you, I love the girls. Please don’t blame yourself.” His breathing is getting quicker and he starts to get cold, a sign for you that his time is coming to an end. You hold out your hand to him, a subtle notice that he has to hurry up.

“Mom. Mom I can’t say this enough, I should’ve said it more to you, but I love you. I really love you, thank you for being my mother.”

One raspy breath, another raspy breath.

“Oh and mom? It doesn’t hurt, I promise. It doesn’t hurt and I am not scared.”

Lair.

He ends the call, the pain is visible in his face, in his eyes. In everything. His hand is shaking when he reaches for your held out hand, and the moment you touch him, it is over. The pain disappears, his face relaxes.

Kyle stands besides you, looking at his dead body. “I had to lie to her, you know. She would never forgive herself for allowing me to join the army.”

“Do not worry, I am not here to judge you.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“To guide you.”

“To hell?”

“No, to the afterlife.”

“Oh.”

It stays quiet for a little bit.

“How did you know I had promised mom that I would come home?”

“You should’ve been dead the last time you got shot, but Life decided you were allowed some more time.”

“Can I thank Life?”

“No, Life is a shy creature, and prefers to not be seen by the mortals. I am in no position to deny Life their wishes.”

A quick nod, as Kyle seems to understand what you mean.

He looks at his body again, and a sad look appears on his face. “Will my mother at least have my body back home?”

You nod. “Yes, let me speed up time a little, because it does take a while.”

“You can speed up time?”

“Correct, right now you are no longer in the world of the living, but in my realm. My rules apply here.”

He relaxes as time begins to speed up.

“Watch closely.” You urge. “You might not have realised, but the sunset are always beautiful.”

He goes to sit down, next to his body, and he allows himself to enjoy the setting sun, a soft, smooth transition to the night.

“Gaz, this is Ghost, how copy?” That is your cue to slow down time again.

“Gaz, how copy?”

“Can I answer him?”

“No, everything you do here, has no influence on the world of the living.”

“Shit, they must be worried.”

“Kyle, how copy?”

“Fuck. Kyle, stay where you are, I am coming.”

Kyle leans back into the grass. “Did you guide Soap too?”

“I did.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I was there when he got shot. Guided him to the afterlife too.”

“Did he.. Did he mention me?”

“Mention you? He wanted to stay in my realm until he was sure all three of you could cope.”

Kyle smiles. “He always was a good friend. Did he say anything about me?”

“Only that he was proud of you, and that he should’ve told you more often.”

“He did?”

“I have no benefit in lying.”

Kyle runs a hand through his hair, and you can see the tears in his eyes. “Fuck. I really thought he would’ve been so disappointed in me.”

“He wasn’t. By all means he was telling me how proud he was, how much you had achieved already.”

Kyle’s phone rings, and the screen lights up with the name of his mother, the moment the ringing ends, it starts again immediately. And again. And again. Kyle has a sad look on his face. “I hate that I broke my promise to her.” He admits.

“I understand that.”

“God, she will be so heartbroken.”

“Yes. But you did give her some closure by that voicemail. She will cherish it till the end of her dying days. Even though it was a lie, hearing from you that it didn’t hurt, that you weren’t scared. It will help her heal more than you can imagine.”

Kyle wipes away the tears that had rolled down his cheeks. “I am glad. She really is the best you know? Always been supportive of my dreams, even when my father left, she was there for me, always putting me and my sisters first.”

“It sounds like you love her.”

“More than I’ve loved myself.”

You watch Simon approach, his face hidden behind his mask, but the emotion in his eyes is clear. “Fuck, no. Gaz.”

He drops down the body of his friend, searching for a pulse, but the body had gone cold already, and in a moment of emotion, of weakness even, Simon cradles the dead body of his friend. “Not you too man, come on.”

Kyle has to swallow a lump in his throat. “Shit.”

Simon reaches for his radio. “Gaz has been found and identified, Killed in action. I’ll return soon.”

“Will he be okay? I noticed him drinking more after Soap died, and I don’t want him to drink himself to death because of my death.”

“He won’t drink himself to death.”

“Really? Oh god that is a relief.”

He watches, as Simon picks up his body, and carries him away.

“How does the Captain cope?” Kyle asks.

“I can show you?”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

By the gods, that wasn’t a good sight to see, the captain looked at least fifteen years older, the constant smoking now had the company of a bottle of whiskey.

A fourth dog tag on the chain.

“Fuck.” Price muttered. “Fuck, it never gets any fucking easier.”

The fingertips of Price trace the outline of Kyle’s file. “I never should’ve let you go on this mission.”

“I hope he knows I would’ve gone on another dangerous mission if he would’ve declined me this one.” Kyle answers.

“He knows, deep down he knows, but it is easier for you humans to find a way to blame yourself.”

“Will the captain be okay?”

“He will be the last of you four to pass.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh, I guess the captain is tougher than he looks.”

“That he is.”

“And Ghost? Will he be okay?”

“He won’t drink himself to death.”

“Final question, will mom be okay?”

“Your mother? She will never be herself again. She will always miss you, mourn you, but your urn gets a little shrine, and she will never toss out your childhood stuffed animals.”

“How long will it take for her to have me home again?”

“Do you want me to show you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll be able to cope once I see her heartbroken face. Right now all my memories of her are nice ones, and I will break my own heart if I see her grieve.”

“That is fair.”

Kyle looks at his captain again, before he turns to look at you.

“Will I see Soap again?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Once you’ve moved on to the afterlife, your soul will connect with the souls you’ve loved.”

“Can I go now? Simon will be alright, Captain will be alright, and mom will eventually be alright too. I feel like I can leave them now and not be worried.”

Kyle takes a deep breath. “And I would like to catch up with Soap.”

“Very well.”

You hold out your hand to him. “Let me guide you then.”

[halsinsbiceps]

A Great and Sudden Change Update

Well hey there, folx!

It's been a long time. I've been lurking around, liking a bunch of stuff and enjoying what you're all posting. I see I've gotten some new followers and reblogs; thank you all for the love!

I wish I could say I'm making a comeback, and while that's kinda true...I'm kinda not. Life is, as you all know, ever-changing and likes to hand it out in spades when it does. For the most part things have been good, but have left me with less time to write and spend on my own hobbies.

The biggest thing is that we're MOVING! So excited about this, being closer to family, and being back where my heart belongs. But also so fucking sad, because our life was here for so long.

It'll be good, I promise. And hopefully, that will mean more writing!

Thanks for coming along for the ride.

And in the meantime, enjoy Chapter 9 of A Great and Sudden Change!

Fic below the cut, or read on AO3 here.

Throughout the arguments against Kagha, Enelya was reminded - not for the first time in recent months - why she chose to not follow the path to leadership. 

Halsin heard each member of the grove out with a patience Enelya admired. It was no wonder he was held in such high regard; each person's words were just as important as the last. Still, she did not envy him the charge of being Archdruid. She could tell by the way he held himself - back straight, shoulders tense, eyes focused on each speaker - that his duties weighed more heavily on him than she had believed. 

Kagha and the druids who had followed her orders stood against the far wall. Kagha kept her arms crossed as their peers voiced their concerns and condemnation of the group's actions. Her eyes frequently flicked over to Enelya, and every time a scowl would etch into her face anew. 

Enelya did her best to ignore the venomous glares from the woman, but as time passed her skin began to crawl, the tadpole churned in her head, and she wished the ordeal were done and over with. She gripped the staff Halsin had given her and tried her best to pay attention to those speaking, but many of them made the same points as the rest, and soon her mind began to drift. 

Would this have been her life, had she not been waylaid by grief in the weeks after meeting Halsin?, she wondered. Sitting at his side, listening to the issues of the grove come forth each tenday? It was not unlike nobles and patriars in the great cities holding court, she mused. Druids might largely deny a relationship with civilization, but there were truly more similarities than not.

When the arguments against the offending party were finished, Halsin allowed the perpetrators a chance to defend themselves. Nearly all groveled before him for forgiveness, claiming they only wanted what was best for the grove and did not intend to align themselves with the Shadow Druids. Halsin heard them all with a careful, stony expression. When it came to be her turn Kagha chose not to defend herself, instead responding to Halsin’s inquiry with stoic silence. 

Finally, sometime after nightfall, Halsin rose from his stone chair and spoke, gesturing between himself and Enelya.

"Leave us."

Rath approached Halsin and the pair spoke in low tones. The guards took Kagha’s arms and led the accused parties out of the sanctum. Rath stepped away and joined the other druids as they filed out until only Enelya and Halsin remained. When the stone door slid shut above them, Halsin released a loud sigh and sank back onto the stone seat. His head fell back against his shoulders, and he rubbed his face before letting his arms drop limply to his knees. 

Enelya found herself slowly moving towards him, as if drawn by some unseen force. He was not looking at her - his eyes were closed - but she could tell he was aware of her presence in the way his body tensed and his breathing changed. It was only when she stood directly in front of him, her knees knocking softly against his, that their eyes met. 

Enelya longed to slowly reach out and slide her fingers into his auburn hair; to gently press the pads of her thumbs into his temples and scrape her fingernails across his scalp. She wanted to trace the tattoo that twisted down his cheek with a feather-light drag of her fingertips. She knew he would melt into her touch; that his chest would reverberate with a groan as his head fell forward to rest against her stomach. The tension would seep from his body, and his hands would slide up her thighs, gripping her hips as he pulled her down onto his lap…

Gods, she wanted it.

Halsin looked up at her expectantly, hazel eyes darkening and reflecting her desire, yet full of unanswered questions. When he spoke, it was a hoarse whisper.

"What happened, Enelya?"

She shivered - whether from the damp chill of the room or from hearing her name on his lips, she wasn't sure - and stepped away from him, shaking her head.

"Halsin, I know you are eager for answers, but this is really not the time for this conversation. Your thoughts should be on Kagha’s punishment, and I should be looking for a cure for... this .” She brushed her fingers vaguely across her temple with a deep sigh.

“I have already made my decision, and will enact it tomorrow." The tone of finality in Halsin’s voice allowed for no further discussion. Faithwarden or no, she didn't dare question his authority again after their confrontation earlier in the day. Halsin continued, “As for the rest, there is no more to be done tonight.”

“There is plenty to be done,” Enelya argued. She gripped the staff in her hands again, knuckles whitening against her skin. “You could tell me more about this Moonrise, or what you do know about the tadpole, for starters. Instead you'd rather rehash our brief history?”

He frowned and rose from his seat. Silence hung between them as he gazed at her, the frown deepening. "You were not one to avoid an uncomfortable discussion,” he finally replied. “But it appears you are no longer the person you once were.”

She raised an eyebrow at his statement. “You barely knew me.”

"No,” he admitted softly. “But I knew your spirit. Your soul drew me in, the way you shone brighter than the moon itself.” He raised his hand above him in a sweeping gesture. “The way you stood proud and tall, and danced with abandon. It was no wonder you were a champion of Mielikki. Now…” He shook his head. His hand dropped back to his side. “You do not hold yourself in the same way. There's a darkness in you, as if your brightness has been eclipsed."

Enelya crossed her arms. "I owe you no explanation for my change. The seasons come and go and yet you do not ask the trees why their leaves fall in autumn."

"You don’t owe me that, but you do owe me the truth.” He stepped even closer, close enough to touch. “I waited for you, Enelya. And when you didn't come to me, I sent birds to find you. When that didn't work, I wrote to Francesca. All she said was you had gone deep into the forest, and she did not know when you would return." He paused. “Or if you would return.”

Enelya did not reply. Her gaze drifted to the floor near Halsin’s feet.

He reached out then, slipping his fingers under her chin to lift her head until their eyes met.

"The truth is all I ask,” Halsin repeated gently. “Or, if you won't tell me that, then tell me our coupling meant nothing to you. Tell me you didn't feel the same connection I did, and the matter can rest."

His eyes bore into hers, and she was suddenly aware of his proximity, his warmth, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. Her own chest tightened under his gaze, and she bit back the urge to nuzzle her face into his large palm and let him comfort her the way she craved.

She nodded, her throat dry.

"The truth, then.”

Halsin released her chin and stepped back. Enelya tried to ignore the crumbling sensation in her chest as he did so, instead gathering her thoughts and inhaling deeply to steady herself.

“Not two weeks after you left, as I was preparing to go to them…my mother and father died." Her voice was measured, matter-of-fact. Detached. "I honored them. I buried them. And then I retreated into the forest to grieve." She unfolded her arms and held them out from her body in a supplicating gesture. "There. Now you know."

Halsin's pained look reflected the sorrow he felt. "I am deeply sorry for your loss, Enelya."

She shrugged and let her arms fall back to her sides with a quiet thump. 

"...but why did you never write?"

" Gods , Halsin!” The words burst out of her and she glared at him. “What do you want me to say? I emerged from the forest after six months , and there was no word from you. Francesca said nothing to the contrary.” She paused briefly, biting her lower lip as she looked away. “I believed you had lost interest, or that you had found another, and I thought it best to leave you be. Our physical connection was brief, Halsin, and we can't make a garden grow where roots won't take." The words fell flat, even to her own ears.

Halsin shook his head, unconvinced by her entirely unconvincing argument.

“No. It's more than that," he said. "I knew from the moment I set eyes on you that this was more than mere desire. You know it as well as I, and I think you know it still. The roots of thiramin are dormant, they simply-”

“ Enough. ” Enelya’s sharp reprimand interrupted him and echoed in the large chamber. At the same time, she held a hand up to stop him speaking. Her eyes remained focused on the wall behind him. Her next words were quieter. "You deserve more than what I have to offer, Halsin."

His brows furrowed in confusion, and Enelya thought she saw a flash of hurt cross his face. "Why do you say that?"

"You see it better than I can explain. I’m no longer your thiramin , not really.” She shuffled her feet, lowered her head and whispered, “I’m broken.”

He reached out again, this time gripping her arms firmly, willing her to look at him. When she didn't - she'd surely fall into his arms if she did - he spoke urgently. "Enelya, none of us make it through this life unscarred. Do you think I would have asked you to be with me if I didn't want something imperfect? I want all of you. I want your pain and your anger and your sadness. All of it. But if you truly wish to break our bond…” He sighed and eased his grip, rubbing his thumbs once against the bare skin of her biceps as his voice dipped to a gravelly whisper. “...then I will not force you to stay."

Enelya believed him. She believed Halsin would take her just as she was and do all he could to make her see her worth every day for as long as they both would live…but she also knew he deserved better than that; deserved more than her tainted, angry self.

So she stayed silent and prayed that the lump in her throat would not give way to tears; her teeth ached from clenching her jaw. Water lapped softly at the rocky walls below them. 

Halsin finally huffed in frustration and pulled his hands from her arms. He spoke in a low, quiet voice, nearly a growl. "Go."

She raised her head then. "What?"

Halsin waved his hand in dismissal. "Go. Celebrate. Rest." A weary look settled onto his face as he sank down onto the stone bench once more. "I must tend to some things here. I'll be along later.”

Enelya nodded numbly, then turned and climbed the stairs out of the sanctum.

She felt Halsin's eyes on her every step of the way.

The grove was largely silent, only the chirping of crickets and the occasional shout or laugh breaking through the evening air. It had cooled to a comfortable temperature after sunset, and as Enelya made her way through the hills to the ruined chapel she found the slight chill on her skin to be a comfort. The knot that had formed in her chest during her discussion with Halsin slowly loosened as she walked.

“I want all of you.” Halsin’s words echoed in her mind. She could still feel the gentle brush of his calloused fingers on her arms.

Giddiness welled in her chest but was tempered by her sadness and her determination. Regardless of what she wanted, their thiramin must be broken, for Halsin’s sake. She could not drag him down this awful road with her. She clenched her jaw, pushed the thought of him from her mind, and kept walking.

As she reached the hollow outside the ruins where they had freed Lae’zel, a quiet whimper reached her ears, shortly followed by a soft thump and a groan.

“Silence, istik , or I will slice you belly to neck.” Enelya recognized the low rasp of the gith’s voice. Her heart sank, and she sprinted toward the sound.

“I told you what I know! They’re in the mountain pass, I don’t know how many!”

“Lae’zel!”

The githyanki’s head snapped up. Her eyes narrowed when she caught sight of Enelya striding toward her. “Leave us be.”

A young tiefling man knelt before Lae’zel, holding his stomach gingerly. Judging by the way he shook and how he kept his eyes fixed on Lae’zel’s boots, Enelya guessed he was terrified.

She shoved Lae’zel away from him. “What are you doing?” she snapped. Her pain and frustration boiled into anger here, away from prying eyes.

Lae’zel’s eyes flashed at the provocation and she stepped forward again, bringing her face close to Enelya’s as she snarled. “He knows where to find a creche . Since you have been less than accommodating in my endeavor, I have chosen to take matters into my own hands.”

The tiefling scrambled to his feet and ran back to the ruins, leaving the two women to glare at each other. 

“You don’t get to go around accosting innocent people for information,” Enelya said in a low voice. She could feel her veins pulsing, anger bubbling to the surface. She bit her tongue as Lae’zel pressed even closer to her, struggling to keep her frustration in check. The gith’s breath was hot on her face.

“And what would you have me do, istik ? Stumble around this forsaken place until we become ghaik ?” Lae’zel spat. “No. I will find this creche , and a ghustil will cure me of this tadpole. It is the only way.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“My people were slaves to these mindflayers long before you even drew breath, elf. We know how they are defeated. We know how to cure ourselves of their parasites. A zaith’isk will purify me, and I will return to my path of glory.” Lae’zel stepped away then, although her glare lost none of its venom. “And I will go alone.”

The anger dissipated from Enelya’s body suddenly and her eyes widened in shock. “Lae’zel, if you leave the protection of the artefact, you’ll die before you make it to the mountains.”

“I will fall on my sword before that happens.” Uncertainty briefly crossed the gith’s face, and Enelya seized the opportunity like a hawk on its prey.

“And if you can’t?” She kept her voice soft, placating. “We were lucky last night, but ceremorphosis could be instantaneous. I know you don’t want that.”

“Do not presume to know what I want!” Lae’zel snapped again. “You have all but ignored my wishes, my advice, instead prancing around playing she'lak to everyone we come across.”

Her accusation gave Enelya pause. She hadn’t realized she was ignoring Lae’zel; the gith had been quiet, keeping mostly to herself. But she was right. Enelya had been so wrapped up in helping others - saving the tieflings, saving Halsin, stopping Kagha - that she hadn’t given any thought to helping herself, nor helping those who were helping her. Beneath Lae’zel’s angry facade, Enelya sensed there was another message: the woman was feeling left out, and wanted to be heard. Enelya shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Lae’zel. I should have taken your advice more seriously.”

Lae’zel scoffed, but her eyes softened ever so slightly. “Your apologies are a weakness.”

“Maybe among githyanki , but I do my best to listen to all my companions.” Enelya held the other woman’s gaze sincerely. “I dismissed your insight, and I should not have. Truly, seeking out this creche may be the best lead we have, now that we know Halsin cannot heal us.”

Lae’zel’s chin lifted in pride. “It is our only lead.”

“Then we will discuss a plan of action with the others in the morning. I know you are eager to be purified, but we must stick together. I ask you to be patient just a bit longer while we prepare ourselves for what’s to come.”

Lae’zel considered her solemnly. “You are soft,” she said finally, her lip turning up into a small sneer. “But you are right. Our survival seems to be contingent on the artefact, and I will not leave its protection until we know more. But you must swear we will seek out the creche at our first chance.”

“I swear it.”

Enelya stuck her right hand out. Lae’zel eyed the offered hand warily, then slapped it with her own.

Enelya laughed suddenly, and she felt lighter than she had in days. “No, it’s a handshake.” She grabbed Lae’zel’s wrist and slid her hand into the gith’s, squeezing firmly. “It means we’re holding each other to our word.”

Lae’zel scoffed, but gripped Enelya’s hand in return. “Your customs are confounding,” she grumbled.

Enelya shrugged and released Lae’zel’s hand. “You’ll get used to them.”

Lae’zel returned to the ruins with Enelya in silence, stalking off to her chosen corner. Karlach intercepted Enelya and handed her a drink.

“Look!” Karlach reached out and pressed the tips of her fingers against Enelya’s forearm before the elf even realized what was happening.

“Karlach!” Enelya gasped and pulled her arm away, then paused when she felt no pain. “Wait.” She reached out and grabbed the tiefling’s arm. “You’re not hot!”

“Ouch, let a girl down easy,” Karlach said, feigning hurt as she pressed her other hand to her chest. But a moment later she grinned. “Dammon - that’s the blacksmith - he had some extra infernal iron laying around and fixed my engine, for now anyway. Great, innit?” She suddenly pulled Enelya into a crushing hug.

“Oh!” Enelya laughed breathlessly and patted Karlach’s back awkwardly. “I’m glad, Karlach. You seem happy.”

“I am! And now, I need to find someone to cuddle with. You should too.” With a wink, Karlach waltzed off to the fire, where a group  of tieflings and a handful of druids was already gathered and dancing, drinks in hand. Enelya shook her head with a smile and went off in search of her other companions.

Besides Karlach, no one seemed to be in a particularly festive mood. Lae’zel still kept her distance. Gale was quite melancholy, waxing poetic about his magical malady. Astarion complained about the wine. Wyll was on edge, barely able to converse as he continuously glanced over his shoulder. He finally excused himself and slipped away to gaze pensively over the river.

It was when Enelya sat down next to Shadowheart that the evening finally took a more interesting turn.

The women sat in comfortable silence and nursed their drinks for several minutes, during which Halsin appeared through a crumbling doorway. An excited chorus of cheers erupted from the group dancing around the fire. Zevlor approached him with a wide smile and gripped his arm in welcome. Enelya watched Halsin’s movements keenly, unaware that she was also being watched.

Shadowheart smirked and took a drink of wine. "You lied."

Enelya glanced at her with a frown. "About what?"

"About knowing Halsin." She gestured over to the hulking druid, who was now speaking animatedly with Zevlor and a number of others who had gathered. "The tension is practically roiling off you.”

Enelya hummed, hesitating before answering. "It's…complicated," she said, looking down into her own empty cup.

"Oh?" Shadowheart sounded intrigued. She grabbed the bottle of wine next to her and leaned to pour a generous amount into Enelya's goblet, giggling as she did so. "Do tell."

Enelya chuckled at the younger woman's eagerness, then sighed and rolled out her shoulders. She gazed upwards, watching the embers from the fire spark and pop into nothingness against the night sky. "You know about soulmates, right?"

"Yes, I know about soulmates. Not sure how much I actually believe in it, but…" Shadowheart eyed her. "You and Halsin are…?"

" Thiramin is what we call it in Elven. Not just anyone can be a soulmate for us, like humans believe. Only one true thiramin exists for each elf, and we might go our whole lives without meeting them. Halsin and I met two years ago, and it was an immediate and…” Enelya shifted, trying to find the right words. “ Intense connection."

Shadowheart sucked in a breath. Her eyes gleamed. "Did you…"

"Oh yes." The wine was making Enelya bold, her tongue more loose than it normally would be. It felt good, she realized, to talk to Shadowheart about these salacious bits of her life. She bit her lip as she raised her glass again. "Several times."

Shadowheart giggled. "You climbed Mount Halsin!" she teased. It seemed Enelya was not the only one feeling the effects of the vintage swirling in their cups.

Enelya laughed in earnest then, loud and throaty with her head thrown back. "Gods. We stayed in my room for two days. It was…" she trailed off, her cheeks warming from the wine and memories. 

Shadowheart nodded. "I'm sure it was."

They sat in silence for a moment, each of them quietly watching the man in question as he chatted with the others, unaware of their gazes. 

"I'm going to break thiramin ," Enelya said abruptly. 

Shadowheart looked at her in surprise. 

Enelya continued, "I can't bind him to me any longer, not after everything I've done - to him, to others. And with this tadpole, my days are numbered. Better to give him that than nothing." She smiled ruefully and sipped at her wine.

Shadowheart murmured her sympathies. Enelya thanked her, then paused.

"Actually…a cleric of Shar would be able to perform the rite I need." Enelya looked at her hopefully. "If you're open to it, that is. It would be helpful."

Shadowheart thought for a moment. "Normally I would…but I have no memory of such a rite. It would have to wait until we get to Baldur's Gate, if we don't find someone who can do it otherwise." Shadowheart ran a finger around the lip of her cup. "And, if I'm honest, even if I could do it, I probably shouldn’t."

Enelya frowned. "Why not?"

"My own feelings toward Halsin are…also complicated," Shadowheart said slowly. She swirled her wine in her goblet. "My Lady does have rules, you know. It would be quite the conflict of interest to pursue a man I have released from a soulmate."

Enelya's mouth dropped open into an o, and she glanced away. "I see." 

"But if you don't want me to…I mean, you'd have to be dead to not notice someone like that!"

"Agreed," Astarion drawled as he plopped down behind Shadowheart, goblet in hand. His eyes roved lasciviously over Halsin.

"You're undead ," Shadowheart reminded him, her eyebrow quirking in amusement. 

Astarion waved his hand dismissively. "A technicality, my dear."

Enelya chuckled and stared into her cup. "Shadowheart, if you would like to try your hand at climbing Mount Halsin yourself, be my guest."

"Truly?"

"He is not beholden to me, thiramin or no. Halsin has a very open mind about relationships, and we aren't…in love, or anything like that. We barely even know each other really. Even if we were together, he would be allowed to pursue his desires, and I mine."

"Wait, you two were…" Astarion looked over at her, confusion and excitement in his eyes. 

"Yes," Enelya replied. "We were."

He gave a harsh, barking laugh. "Well, that is interesting!" He flashed a smile, then took a gulp of wine and grimaced.

At Astarion's laugh, Halsin finally caught their eyes on him, and with an amused, curious quirk of his brow, he excused himself and made his way across the clearing.

"I can't help but feel I am the subject of your discussion," he said as he reached them. A smirk twisted at the corner of his mouth.

"Why yes, Master Halsin," Shadowheart said. Her words were teasing and slightly slurred. "Enelya was just telling us how the two of you met." 

"Is that so?" He looked down at Enelya, a glint in his eye. "Well, Enelya…please don't go spilling all of my secrets." He looked down at Shadowheart, and a heated look passed between them. "I would like to keep some things to myself."

A sharp pang of jealousy roiled through Enelya’s gut. She gripped the metal stem of her goblet and tried to ignore the feeling. Jealousy and envy were not becoming traits amongst elves and druids, where casual relations and polyamory were the norm. Halsin was not her possession, even if they were currently bound by thiramin . It was her choice to end it, and to avoid her longing until she could. She would not deny him or anyone else a chance at happiness.

She watched Shadowheart as her eyes followed the movement of Halsin's hips as he slowly sauntered away. Then she looked back, and to her surprise, Astarion’s crimson eyes were trained on her. 

He glanced away quickly, but not before Enelya caught the pity in his gaze.

[harryforvogue]

Part Two | Chapter Fourteen: Who Knows How Long I've Loved You

Newport, Rhode Island

July 1919

The cemetery is just as one would imagine it to be in the middle of the night, eerie and cold, with shadows lurking, making you question your sanity. The church stands to the left of it and the entire land is surrounded nearly all the way by a forest. The wind blows, strangely cold despite it being July. I should have brought a shawl, I think, as I walk past the gates, careful not to step on any headstones embedded into the ground. The earth crunches beneath my foot, my arms around my body.

The priest besides me nods his head towards the cemetery and then disappears as he walks in the dark to the church. "I'll have someone wait outside for you," he calls out from somewhere. He finally understood that I was trying to say cemetery.

I only see the figure when I squint. It's a shape I recognize all too well, sitting with its knees drawn to it's chest, resting its back on the concrete headstone.

I approach with caution even though all I want to do is march up to him and demand what his problem is. One look at his face though wipes any rage I have directed at him, the odd squeeze of my stomach returning as I settle down beside him, knees on the cold, grassless ground.

His eyes are closed, but when he senses me, they open, and a small smile spreads across his lips. "You found me."

"I did."

"Did I worry you?"

I touch his frigid hand and sit besides him, resting my back on the tombstone. "You have no idea, Styles."

"I'm sorry."

I don't want to make him feel guilty so I change the topic. Glancing back at the headstone, I ask, "Who's grave is this?"

Harry's head rolls until it lands on my shoulder and I freeze, alarmed by the physical intimacy. I haven't spoken to him all day, it seems like I haven't seen him in days.

"Nedjem Bahman III."

"Wow."

"I know. It's quite a name." Harry's voice rumbles softly, his breath against my neck, suddenly the only warm part of my body. "He'd say in his thick French accent, 'Hey, man, that's unfair, non? You've got a stupid name too! Edward? Stupid!'."

I turn to look at the grave again, reading. "He was only 19." I gently begin to trace over the inscription, too dark to be legible.

"His aunt is beside him."

I follow where he's pointing to find the grave of Noor Bahman, slightly older with more moss on the concrete. I don't see an inscription on her headstone.

Silence engulfs us again. I stop touching Nedjem's headstone, feeling as if I'm being too intrusive. Surely a living stranger doesn't want to be touched, and a dead one may feel the same. I imagine an apparition in front of me, faceless, a ghost in a uniform I saw my own husband in. He glares down at me for sitting against the stone. I pull away from it. Eternal peace does not include getting touched by random strangers.

Harry stares into the woods, unblinking. "A cemetery is very creepy at night," he finally says, voice rough from lack of use.

"True," I say nervously, tugging on my sleeves. "I feel like someone's watching me."

"I like to think every soul in this graveyard is looking at us."

This statement certainly doesn't help my nerves. "Oh."

"I think it's quite comforting. Technically, that means we're not alone."

"Yeah," I say, looking around, "just surrounded me by ghosts that may or may not be friendly."

Harry nods. "That's true, but we haven't done anything to these ghosts so I doubt they'd be upset with us. I don't know them, so I couldn't have done anything to them." He pauses, thinking. "And I don't believe I've done anything to Nedjem that may have made him upset with me. Anyways, I've been here for hours and he's yet to attack me."

"I hope you know that if we're attacked, we will be powerless against supernatural forces. And don't most ghosts just move on after they die?"

"Depends," Harry muses. "On religion, I think. And personal beliefs."

I turn to look at him. "So why do you think all the ghosts are just hanging out here? What do you believe in?"

He tilts his head down to look at me with his light eyes that somehow show even in the darkest night. "I don't know. It's just a feeling."

"And it doesn't, I don't know, freak you out?"

"It used to," he answers and stands up, holding a hand out for me to grab onto. He releases my hand immediately after I stand up, though I wish he hadn't done that. We walk side by side in silence once more.

"We're allowed to choose if we want."

"Sorry?"

"Where we want to be buried. Nedjem said he wouldn't mind being buried anywhere. It's not like it matters. I would tell him that that's not true."

I resist a shudder at the thought of Harry picking a place to be buried. I'm paralyzed by the idea of Harry being one of the ghosts that haunt me as I walk through the graveyard. I close my eyes and pretend he's a ghost, too see if I'd be okay having fully accepted his death. It only cripples me more.

Harry says, "You want to know where I said I'd like to be buried?"

I do want to know, and eventually I think I'll ask him, but not tonight. "No," I reply quietly. "If that's okay."

Harry stops walking, grabbing my upper arm to stop me as well. "It wasn't going to be far from you."

The nausea is returning. I can't look him in the eyes. "That's not what I was worried about. I'd just really not like to imagine you...dead."

"Well, I'm not dead. It won't make a difference now."

"I'd really not like to know, Harry," I repeat firmly, finally glancing at him. His eyes are concentrated on my face, trying to read me. I recognize the expression as it's been on my face too many times when I've tried to read him. "Let's just go back. It's been a long day."

I pull my arm away and begin walking. I can't imagine him as a ghost anymore because I hear his heavy footsteps and then feel his fingers wrap around my wrist. He doesn't stop me from walking, but he doesn't hold my arm tenderly either. It's a firm grip, a reminder that he's still behind me. We walk quietly to the road and then stop.

The car the priest has called for us is gone.

"I'll go back and ask the priest for a phone," I say.

"No," Harry cuts in before I can head to the church, "let's walk."

I glance up, startled. "It's at least two miles!"

"We can do it," he says in a voice that suggests that maybe we can. He begins walking and waits for me to join.

***

"Tell me about Nedjem."

I wish I wasn't curious, but I am. Terribly so. And Harry hasn't spoken for twenty minutes.

Harry thinks for a long time before beginning, probably trying to figure out where to start. "He enlisted when he turned 18. On his birthday, actually, because he said he wanted to see some action." Harry's mouth curves into a little smile. "Action is certainly what he got. I didn't train with him, but he was in my company and after they tested us on our skills, we were both selected to be sharpshooters, so we spent a lot of time together. He didn't talk at first, but when I'd talk, he'd find something he agreed with me on, and that's how we got close."

Harry stops talking after that. Unfortunately, I still want to know more. "How long were you two together?"

"Only 7 months. Then I never saw him again."

That is it. The story is over. And he says it so easily, but when I look up at his face, the smile is gone, now replaced by hard lines between his eyebrows and a clenched jaw. He doesn't say anything.

Instead, he changes the topic. "How did you find me?"

"It took a while," I admit, "but the priest helped me. I started asking for you at the hotel and he was there in the office. I just had a feeling you were here. I wanted to be wrong. I really would have liked it if you told me where you were."

"I was going to be back soon."

"How was I supposed to know that?"

"Sorry."

I don't like the sound of the apology, not because it sounds forced, but because it sounds genuine and pained. After the scene and discussion from last night -- not to mention the one that just occurred at the graveyard -- I want to keep the feelings of guilt and regret away from Harry as much as possible. Perhaps I'm a coward for not knowing how to deal with him when he gets caught up in these feelings, speaking of things that terrify me, or maybe I just wish to relieve him from the ill-feelings altogether by ignoring them. Out of mind, out of sight. It's a phrase that I'd be a villain to use here, but it makes me sick to think there are emotions Harry doesn't speak about. Things that I cannot cure, despite my existence in Harry's life being a balm to his wounds created by his father. Those stitches seem to open and a temporary fix is what I can provide him, but anything permanent is out of the question. Now, dealing with the war, I'm not sure I have answers to anything.

But this internal turmoil in my chest reminds me of his tone last night when explaining to me what he'd done during the war. Though it wasn't in great detail, it still supplied him with anguish, and while I want to pretend it doesn't affect us, it does. My way of dealing with it, being the healer that I am trying so desperately to be, is ineffective.

Last night, he'd shown he just wished to be accepted, including his sins. I can do that, but I fear it soon won't be enough.

"What are you thinking about?" Harry asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"You, of course."

His body trembles as he shivers. "Am I in trouble? You're right. I should have told you.."

"You should have. But that's not what I'm worried about."

"What is it?" he asks.

I stop walking, wrapping my arms around myself. "I don't know what I'd ever do if I lost you. I can't imagine living the way I do, waking up in the morning alone, falling asleep alone, for the rest of my life. I would never remarry. I would never look at a man without thinking of you. I swear, Harry... if you died, I would die too."

Harry, an otherwise collected person, surges forward and grabs my face, pulling it up. "You don't get to say that," he says, shockingly angry, stepping forward. "If I died, you would move on or I'd be so bloody pissed off with you."

I'm frozen in place for a moment, distracted by his hands on me. And then his words sink in. Anger runs through my own body and I push him away. "Don't you dare tell me what to do when you die, Harry!"

"Don't be so stupid then. You would move on, even if it's the last thing you did, and I know this because I know you."

"You think I'd move on from you and just find a man and live happily ever after? God, you're the worst!"

"I'm the worst?" he says incredulously. "For wanting your happiness?"

"You're the worst for not even knowing me!"

"You think I don't know my own wife?"

"You don't, or you never would have said that!"

"Clearly you don't know me either if you're suggesting I'm going to die by my own fucking hand!"

"I don't know if you're going to die by hurting yourself, Harry, but every time I look at you, I see anger and pain on your face and I know it's directed at nobody except yourself. How many times are we going to have this fight?"

"Until you give up on me, it seems," Harry says, grabbing my arm again.

"Fuck," I say, pushing him off. I begin walking again. "Seems like we'll be here all of eternity then."

He stops walking and pulls me back immediately with a rough yank. Startled, I lose balance and fall against him. His mouth is desperate on mine, hand on the back of my neck. Stunned by the intensity of the kiss, it takes me a moment to register what is happening, but the need to feel him and melt into him returns so fiercely, I stop breathing. I'm on my tiptoes suddenly, kissing him firmly, over and over, telling him through my kisses that I'm here.

Not giving up on you. You can try all you want, but you're not scaring me, I tell him.

He sharply inhales when he pulls away, unable to breathe. "Fuck's sake."

"One more. Please just one more," I whisper, grabbing his shoulders. He kisses me, softly and lovingly.

"Sorry," he murmurs against my skin. "I was too rough."

I wipe the corner of my mouth and force air into my lungs. "I liked it. Do it more."

He doesn't acknowledge that, running a finger over his bottom lip. "Annaliese?"

"Yes."

"You're not enjoying this vacation, are you?"

"I am," I answer honestly, trying to catch my breath. He manually steers me around and beckons me to continue walking. My pulse is racing. "I'm just worried about what it's doing to you. You're opening up a lot and I love that--"

"But it's scary, isn't it? What I tell you, I mean." The corner of his mouth twists down. "I could tell from your tone this morning."

I clutch his shirt and pull him closer. I kiss him instead of answering. He's not ready for the kiss because he stumbles back and blinks questioningly at me. "Let's go home, please."

He begins walking. "Anytime you want me to stop talking about it, you can tell me. It's not easy to hear, I know."

The sky is so dark, it looks black with the exception of the moon and the stars. The road ahead of us is completely empty and silent, the rush of the cars and people talking now gone from the world. It seems like we're the only ones on the planet right now, our steps and breathing audible.

"I imagine it was harder to live through it."

"You're right," Harry muses. "It was hard, but if you didn't have to face it, I don't have to put that burden on you. I know you're a lot more..." he trails off.

"What?" I ask curiously. "Say it."

"You're a lot more emotional than me."

"Good. It's healthy."

"It is." He smiles a little bit. "I'm just afraid you'll kill someone if I tell you the full extent of it. It's not hard at all to rile you up, you know? I'd know. You'd threaten to kill me about a hundred times a day."

My heart jumps to my throat, remembering the man Harry used to be, constantly on my nerves, the root of my frustrations, but still the man I wanted.

"You were infuriating."

He smiles wider. "I imagine I still am."

"Thank God that hasn't changed."

We walk in silence then. My mind is reeling with theories of how Harry has found himself here, how he found the grave and knew exactly where to go. I think about all the destinations we've been to already and it only hits me now, our second destination this summer, that Harry has had a motive for each place. In Bellefonte, he saw his aunt who had just recently lost his son, a friend of Harry's, and now he's with another fallen friend of his. He seems to be sinker lower and lower into his despair and I feel stupid for not realizing this sooner.

The only question I can seem to understand is why he'd bring me along on this journey of misery? I am the one who has to see him deteriotiare as he spends time with the people who have been left. He'd seen the tears in his aunt's eyes and the looks of sadness in Grace's with a tight jaw and rigid eyes. If his physical discomfort told me anything about how he was feeling, I couldn't imagine the burden on his heart.

Yet after that trial, he's in Newport with another dead soldier, one even closer to him. Although he shows little physical discomfort right now, I still don't know what could be happening in his head.

Is this the reason for the vacation he so desperately proposed? To make himself feel bitter and angry?

Harry suddenly says, "I know you're curious as to how Nedjem died."

I spare him a glance and then look back towards the road. "I am, but I know I shouldn't be."

"But you are," he says with a smile. "I can tell you. It's all right."

"I don't want to disrespect you or Nedjem."

Harry looks heavenward and purses his lips. "Nobody could ever disrespect Nedjem. He was always laughing and cracking jokes. He would love to be talked about. I know you're curious and any person would be, especially knowing I have the answers. I didn't actually learn about him until today."

My face burns with embarrassment, suddenly ashamed at my accusations but glad I never said them out loud. "You found out today? From who?"

"Well," Harry says, scratching the back of his neck. "I overheard some people talking about it right before you came down for breakfast. In a town this small, rumors aren't to be trusted, but I was curious. I decided to see if it was true myself, and I had a feeling it was about Nedjem though they didn't mention a name. Small world, isn't it?"

"What did they say that made you interested?"

"They said someone had... recently died and weren't given a religious burial."

A wave of coldness runs through my body. "Oh."

Harry nods, glancing my way to check my reaction. "Yes. They said he returned from duty recently. The Tenth Army."

"Yours."

"Yes. Mine. But the Tenth Army was big. But then they mentioned... a particular battle. And I knew it was my company also. There were only a few of us left after it all." He swallowed. "So I knew it could only be him."

"But you said he was always laughing and didn't mind the jokes made about him."

"And that's how I knew he was suffering the worst out of all of us. I don't feel bad about his death because he's at peace." Harry smiles slightly. "Bastard still made me cry though. Won't forgive him for that one."

I picture Harry finding the headstone and sinking to his knees in tears, a hand over his heart like it usually is when he's overwhelmed with emotions. The image makes my arms tingle with discomfort, an ache somewhere between my ribs. I hear my feet landing on the gravel, the rocks and leaves crunching under my shoes, but it's hard to comprehend the movement, muscle memory. The only way it registers in my head that I'm about to trip is when Harry's large hand grabs my upper arm and he yanks hard, pushing me back against his chest. "Be careful!"

"Sorry. Keep going about Nedjem." When he doesn't, staring at me worriedly, I pat his arm and then rub the area he grabbed. It throbs.

Harry begins with a wary tone, still monitoring me. He looks at my feet then, as if making sure I'm a child and taking my steps properly. "Well, his family is Muslim. He left the religion a long time ago, and you know that committing suicide is a sin in most religions, so his family didn't know what to do. There's a section for Islamic graves in each cemetery, but the sheikh wouldn't allow him to be buried there because of those two sins. So instead of having a religious burial with the rest of his family who have passed away, they laid him next to Noor, who was also an atheist."

I swallow. "Do you know if he was an atheist or if he'd converted to a different religion?"

"I don't. We didn't talk about that in France."

I wonder what he did talk about with Nedjem and the other people in his company. I wonder what there was to talk about, having the knowledge that the people who were with you may not be there tomorrow or the next day.

"Besides," Harry continues, finally looking up. "I think it's good that he has his aunt at least. I'm not sure how close they were, but family is family at the end of the day."

I think about Harry's father and if Harry considers their relationship as family despite everything that has happened between them.

"Family is family," I agree. My parents are still my parents, no matter how absent.

He nods once and then says, "There's the hotel."

***

As I lay in bed, I feel guilty about thinking Nedjem wouldn't like to have us near his grave. He must have felt terribly lonely and empty when he was in his final moments. The thought keeps me awake, anxiety settled into my stomach like rocks. At one point, I have to sit up to breathe properly, leaning over to see Harry's sleeping figure on the floor. He looks peaceful as if he's not having any bad dreams, so I relax back against the mattress and stare at the ceiling, forcing my breath to slow down.

Finally, it's too much. I quietly push the blankets off my body and step into my slippers. I step over Harry as I walk to the closet and take my coat out, sparing him one more glance before stepping out of the room.

I know where I'm going as soon as I step outside, the warm air welcoming me. Moths stuck to the light outside our room are frightened, but then reattach themselves to the light after a few seconds. There's nobody else out their room right now, not even any smokers who have a late night craving. I walk to the stairs and then suddenly stop as a thought grabs me and forces me to reconsider how far I'll be from the hotel.

Harry could have another nightmare. He could be unable to breathe like last night. Aunt Geraldine had told me how safe he felt in my presence. I turn back immediately at the thought of what happened last night. The moths against the light are rustled again. I open the door and shut it behind me.

My efforts to stay quiet don't go so well as Harry scrambles into an upright position and shouts, "Who is it?!"

I hold my hands out and step closer so he can see me. "It's just me, mon cœur. It's alright."

Harry takes deep breaths and places a hand on his chest. "Fuck. You scared me. You shut the door so hard."

"I'm sorry. You're right. I did."

He peers up at me. "What happened? Where did you go?"

"Nowhere. It's a bit stuffy here. Wanted some air."

He rests his head back and takes a last deep breath. "Can't imagine it's better out there. You can't sleep?"

I shake my head. He presses a palm to his eye. "Oh," he mumbles. He yawns. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I tell him again, my throat tight. His ruffled hair falls into his eye and he doesn't bother to push it back, looking at me through the wispy strands.

He quietly watches me for a second before hesitantly putting his hand out. I sharply look down at it and then his face. "What do you need?" I ask him.

"Your hand," he says. "Come here."

I hesitate now, unsure how to take this invitation.

"Annaliese," he repeats impatiently.

I put my hand in his and let him lower me next to his body. To my surprise, he doesn't keep a distance between us and sleepily tugs me into his side, folding me into him. He rests his chin on my head and sighs.

"You're such a stubborn woman," he murmurs tiredly, chest vibrating as he speaks. "Why are you so stubborn?"

"What have I done that makes you think I'm so stubborn?" I argue quietly, tentatively resting my head against his collarbone. He smells like his vanilla body wash mixed with his shaving cream. I press my nose slightly into the dip of his neck and softly inhale.

"Everything you do," he answers, tilting his neck away. "That tickles."

"Stop moving away."

"See? Stubborn. Always want to get your way."

"You did it to me. You let me get my way before."

"Before," Harry muses. "Is that how we'll refer to our previous relationship?"

"I mean before you left. Not--"

"Not before I changed?" he interjects, picking his head up and tilting it down to glance at me. "We don't have to beat around the bush, Annaliese."

"I know."

His shoulders fall and his fingers touch my chin gently, tilting my head up. "Why are you breathing so fast?"

"That's not something you point out to people," I mumble, nudging his jaw with my forehead. He pushes back equally as hard. "I've missed being so close to you."

"Do you think I'm getting better at it? Touching you, I mean."

I nod, slowly pressing my nose against the side of his neck. His hand grips my knee harder. "Two weeks ago, you wouldn't have come a foot near me."

"That's so not true," he says, no doubt rolling his eyes.

"It's true. Are you comfortable?"

"I'm alright."

"I want you to be comfortable. How can I make you feel at ease? Where should I stop touching you?"

"Nowhere, please," Harry says, nudging me again. "I can handle it."

"Harry, you shouldn't be forcing yourself."

"It's the only way I can get used to you again."

For a long time, nobody says anything. I wonder if he's fallen asleep.

"Harry?" I say a while later. "This is really stupid but I'm glad you would want to be buried close to me."

Harry presses his head against mine and squeezes me. "It's not stupid at all."

When he gets tired, he sends me back to my bed and waits until I fall asleep to lay back down on the floor and sleep too.

[monvenusblg]

Eight of Wands & Motorsport Racers

You don’t need a license to heed the siren call of the open road.

💋Motorsports or Biker fashion aesthetic and the individuals who wear them embody the energy of the 8 of wands best. Mandolin-collared racer jackets, belted boots, and chunky zippers all preferably in leather equipped these warriors for an urban apocalypse. The highly durable, high-speed clothing symbolizes protection against the dying city streets of a post-apocalyptic world. In comparison with ancient suit of armors, however, current styles are far more playful and sexier. The aesthetic’s created fantasy of crime and speed attracts people to them in recent years. Muses of the 8 of wands tempt us to strike while the iron is hot. To live a life of adrenaline. Their style represents what living in the fast lane and/or wide expanse looks like.

☄️The final stages of the fire suit in tarot (wands) had left the drive to conquer in Aries and the celebration and trials of leadership in Leo. When we arrived in Sagittarius, the heroine became legendary for her previous deeds. At the end lies a burden to sustain one’s legacy. Hence, in the 10 of Wands imagery, a man is weighed down by his many accomplishments. The 8 of wands is exactly where the action is. A mutable fire or a wildfire is on the move. Here in a Jupiter-ruled fire sign, ambition changes gears to higher realms. Ruthlessness and conflicts seemed to be left far behind in Aries and Leo. So why is there something immoral about Sagittarius first decan? Why the association with crime?

☄️Boldness, Malice, Liberty headline the decan’s Agrippa image. We encountered a warrior braving the open road. Perhaps for an adventure or…in most cases, to get away with something. Mercury who co-rules with Jupiter gives this decan its shadow qualities since he is the god Hermes who travels between the underworld and the surface world. Constantly lurking between worlds often pushes them to the fringes of society. It is one of the many hermetic explanations for Sagittarius' bohemian or free-spirit stereotypes. They are sometimes deemed dangerous for being part of the counter-culture. Often they are tasked to carry the collectives' shadow representing the antithesis of whatever was the norm at that time. Another significant Hermetic symbolism is the fixed stars of Lupus the wolf which can be seen in three degree groups of this decan. In ancient times wolves were powerful shamanic creatures representing higher learning (9th house) and the human drive to investigate the existence or nature of God. A very Sagittarian theme. Unfortunately, by medieval times wolves became negatively associated with heresy. Women especially are vulnerable to allegations of dark witchcraft practices. Believed to seduce “wretched” people and entrapping them.

💋Etymologically, Lupa in Latin (lit. she-wolf) translates to a prostitute who seduces through her rapaciousness. Interestingly, a key feature of the biker aesthetic during its peak fame (2022/2023) is a luscious deep red dubbed ‘cherry cola’. It was in every subsection of beauty (hair, nails, makeup). The star muse of this shade is a leather jacket-wearing and over-lined lipped Kylie Jenner, emphasizing yet again the sex appeal of biker/racer-inspired clothing. Although the clingy materials of biker aesthetics are mainly worn to shield them from the rough asphalt, they naturally complement the body’s natural curves. I think this resonates with the 8 of Wands persona. Natives of this card play the forbidden fruit, the dark bittersweet cherry who is likely to scare you as much as she entices. Mercury’s wit and Jupiter’s jovialness bestow a charming and humorous attitude to individuals of first Sagittarius. The humor is not without irony, however, a little black and morbid. Still, this gives them a uniquely intoxicating charm, capable of making illicit subjects and dangerous antics at best, cathartic and simultaneously fun.

☄️Sagittarius Decans are represented by the Centaur creature (half-man, half-beast). They reveal the unification of our animalistic nature with our human (strategic, meaning-making, rational) mind. our pursuit of higher learning and philosophy can’t be separated from the physical prowess of our lower, instinctual nature. Instead, in Sagittarius, we learned that it is on our basest nature to enquire about the physical world around us. Hence, there’s an understanding among racers and bikers to merge with their vehicle. Akin to ancient Amazonians and warriors who built genuine deep relationships with their horses. Together they become formidable warriors. Moreso in this decan than the ones after do we see the full result of this unification. Austin Koppock named Decan one of Sagittarius: “poisoned arrows”, which I think testify to the swift precision of its natives in obtaining their goals. Whether it is a race to the finish line, a beloved to seduce, or dreams to chase, it'll surely be attained fast and decisively.

💋To feel the 8 of Wands in its entirety I suggest watching the Fast and Furious movies. They feature styling and female characters who embody the card/decan's bold, fiery, and intense energy with a hint of malice. The garments and styling worn in the "Fast and Furious" saga testify to its global settings (Puerto Rico, Tokyo, London, Los Angeles, and more). Since Jupiter does not understand boundaries and only expansion, travel is expected. Elements such as muscle tees, jeans, leather, etc. are modified through color and cut depending on levels of practicality as well as settings and characters. The women share an element of vulgarity overall though, especially in the earlier installments. Each look is adorned with silver metal jewelry and chunky leather footwear. The clothes show equal parts skin and fierceness, fitting for the characters' rough lifestyle as professional drag racers. A personal favorite of mine are the looks worn by Suki (Devon Aoki) in 2 Fast 2 Furious (2015). She clearly wasn't denied any restrictions with colors. Dressed in multicolored ensemble of crop tanks and shirts paired with the internet famous hot pink low-rise jeans which display cheeky crossed threads at the crotch and thigh area. Then there's a tartan schoolgirl skirt paired with studded boots number, as well as a monochrome look of matching short-shorts and racing tee with knee-high white boots. Suki's overall wardrobe is an ode to the spunky enthusiasm of Sagittarius Decan one/8 of Wands personality.

☄️Alternatively, "Mad Max" films feature a grittier take on the “men being one with their machine” trope. Here there’s an added touch of ecological doom where the desert becomes a character of its own. Both franchises rely on “horsepower” aka the speed of their chosen machines. It's a testament to the double mercurial influence in the 8 of Wands; quick instinctual movement and action is emphasized as important skills to survive the harshness of each respective environment. The costumes carry the 8 of Wands message for proper mental and emotional preparation before you embark on a journey or face a war zone. In Mad Max, the threat is very much physical, depicting environmental devastation and civilization collapse. The outfits consist of tattered rags, harnesses, and armored chest pieces. ID-magazine describes 2015 Mad Max movie’s aesthetic as the "scavenged and wanderlust". The female characters of this world have no choice but to roam. Their clothing provides immediate protection from the post-apocalyptic desert. With Furiosa's (Charlize Theron) tactical attire, we see someone who possess mastery over her environment. Her femininity is hidden underneath the ashy face paint and accessories made from cars and motor parts. Including a symbolic asymmetrical shoulder armor. She dress similar to that of the opposing ‘war boys’. I think this signifies her alignment with the 8 of wands message I wrote above. In contrast, the nymph-like tattered white fabrics covering the rescued maidens, expresses human vulnerability against such conditions. They were previously held hostage and therefore are yet to subtilize the high velocity energies around them. Violence, warfare, and oppression are some thematic commonalities of this film with the 8 of wands. So, although the outfits of Mad Max aren't acclimatized into the mainstream biker/racer aesthetic, I believe they represent the energetic essence behind this aesthetic in its most pure and rawest form.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Check the gallery below for more contemporary fashion/visual inspirations:

🫶Let me know if you enjoy this post! I’m thinking to turn this into a series about all 78 tarot cards and each corresponding aesthetics. So far, I’ve seen really fascinating patterns emerge and I’m so excited to share them. I hope my posts will get better as i adapt to writing my downloads. x Jess