#kind of love is just chapter one of hunger and thirst

[wayhavenots]

rule: put your spotify on repeat playlist on shuffle and post the first 10 songs that come on.

Tagged by beloveds @grapecaseschoices and @sohmiya !

Sharing on this blog because most of these have IF associations in my mind (I rambled in the tags :) feel so free to ignore lol)

And tagging (zero pressure!!) @serenpedac @griffin-wood @lahellacute @amlovelies @toads-treasures (and anyone else who wants to!!! I get shy about tagging!!)

1. It's Called Freefall by Paris Paloma

2. Light by Sleeping at Last

3. Je te laisserai des mots by Patrick Watson

4. Kind of Love by Ellen Winter

5. Eat Your Young by Hozier

6. Cocaine Jesus by Rainbow Kitten Surprise

7. Jupiter by Sleeping at Last

8. Thin Mints by Evan Crommett

9. Not Gone by Ingrid Michaelson

10. Break Bones by Wild Child

[expirednukacola]

ORANGE COLORED SKY 🏜️ || The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

𐚁⊹₊ ⋆☆

AHHHH! The first chapter is getting so much love and attention! I can’t believe it- This is making me cry! I love you all so, so much! SUMMARY: After two hundred years of some much needed beauty sleep, reader wakes up and realizes she has been given a second chance at life.. only to look like a piece of scorched summer sausage.

TW: GORE + GHOUL CANNIBALISM? + A BRIEF MENTION OF A “BIG IRON” 🔫

og gif made by: @lousolversons

“Don’t they know it’s the end of the world..”

“..‘Cause you don’t love me anymore.”

As your limp body fell to the brown, dead grass beneath you, you look up at that disgusting orange sky with such hatred and contempt before — Darkness. Nothing but darkness shrouded your senses alongside Death’s eery, cold chill.. At least death provided some relief for your decrepit, burnt body.

You finally felt.. free. Free from life’s fleshy binding that attached you to the mortal plane. Free from life’s troubling trails and tribulations that would’ve dragged like heavy chains on your body until the weight of them became too much. Free from pain, free from suffering, free from fear — Free from the horrible world itself.

…Until some asshole decided to turn the damn lights back on.

You woke up with a loud gasp and almost immediately, the pain of hunger and thirst was overwhelmingly evident in your facial expression. “Fuck- W- Water..” Like a zombie who was ran over by an 18 wheeler, you stood up on your little “Bambi” legs and looked around the wasteland that surrounded you. Nothing but patches of dead grass, cracked and crumbled dirt, and the occasional tumbleweed was all that you could see — Besides the dilapidated remains of Mr. Shit-Stain’s house.

“..How the hell is this thing still standin’?” You rasped out as you fumbled towards the tumbledown remnants of the house, the P.O.S. glass shard still sticking out of your leg like an annoying family member that never wanted to leave when it’s Christmas- or any holiday for that matter. Carefully stepping over the pieces of glass, you cautiously entered the house through the large broken windows and looked around what used to be a living room. Some things were still standing, like the couch, the television (minus the ginormous crack its screen had), and one of the most rinky dink coffee tables you have ever fuckin’ seen. “..Pretty sure ‘Bobby’ picked that shit out-”

You cut yourself off by letting out a much needed laugh and after a few minutes of laughing and snickering like a hippie high on mary jane, you staggered on over to the kitchen.. and that’s when you saw your saving grace- THE FRIDGE! Somehow, that piece of metal was the only thing unscathed from that damn blast! You thanked the heavens for this one of a kind gift that you most definitely deserved and you opened it to find-!

…A shit ton of mold and one dead and pretty large roach. “…After all I’ve fuckin’ gone through, I am gifted THIS?! THIS IS WHAT I GET?!” After kicking the fridge door shut, you went to pinch the bridge of your nose only to find out that you no longer had one. That’s when you finally looked down at your hand and your arm. With your heart now starting to collide with your ribcage, you quickly inspected both of your arms and then both of your legs, noticing how one of your arms was more skeletal than the rest of your limbs. “No, no, no, no..!”

You quickly ran around the decayed bits and pieces of the house until you finally found what used to be a bathroom. Immediately gazing into the shattered mirror, you saw how your once beautiful and youthful face had now become twisted, corrupt — grotesque, if you will. On one side of your face, it resembled shattered porcelain and your eye was milky white.. the other side was just a burning memory of what you used to be.

After a few minutes of pulling yourself together, and pulling that damn piece of glass out of your leg, you finally ventured out of the house and back to the “wild, wild west” of Lost Angeles (see what I did there?), and began your little adventure to find something to eat and at least a pond to drink out of. As you hobbled around the wastelands of an already wasteland-like city, you finally stumbled upon the rotting “corpse” of someone who looked just like you. He had the same red, fleshy blotches all over his face and his entire body, and his nose was missing as well. You guessed it was some type of peculiarity people like you shared.. well goddamn-

But something else about him struck a tender little chord in your hungered state.. His chest cavity was busted wide open, like the doors of a Golden Corral on a Sunday afternoon. Your mouth started to salivate, your stomach started to rumble, an animalistic growl spewed from your vocal cords.. and you ran as fast as your legs could, despite your leg that was still in its healing process. Once you were right next to the decaying and rotting body, you quickly dropped down to your knees and began to feast.

Dark, thick blood covered your hands, your chin, and those sweet lips of yours as you stuffed your mouth with that man’s flesh and what remained of his organs that once nestled underneath his ribcage. The only thing that was left whole was his heart.. his delicious, succulent heart. Slowly, you lifted his blackened heart out from his body and began to suck the little bit of blood that dripped out from the aorta, lapping it up as if it were the best water you have ever drank.

“Oh, sweet heavens above!” -were the first words you have uttered in a hot minute when you finally had your hunger satisfied — your thirst quenched by your newfound animalistic appetite for flesh and blood. “..Fuck- Thanks for your help, sir.” As you stood up and wiped your bloodied hands on your top, you heard the familiar sound of a gun getting cocked.. Well shit-

“Hold it right there, missy.” That voice.. That southern twang.. That teeny tiny lisp that’s barely noticeable unless you really listen.. You quickly whipped your head around, but instead of seeing your beloved cowpoke with those sweet dimples you love oh-so much, you saw someone who merely looked like him. You let out an audible gulp and reached your skeletal hand out towards the creature’s face, but he stepped back in response.

“..Cooper?”

“..Y/N?”

Your vision slowly began to fade in and out and the one to catch your collapsing body was that sweet, tender man you knew and fell so deeply in love with before The End. “I got you, missy.. I got you.” Were the last words you heard before you finally gave into the darkness once more. The Ghoul cradle you close and tight to his chest — Oh, how he craved feeling your comforting warmth against his own once more. How he yearned to hear your sweet, gentle voice again. How he ached to gaze into those kind eyes of yours; those pools of life that he had to be careful with because he didn’t want to drown in them.

Now, he’s finally got you safe in his arms..

..Or does he?

———————

I apologize for this chapter being shorter than the first one so consider this chapter 1.5! I was a little busy today with some personal stuff but you all asked so kindly and I hope you all liked this one as much as the first one!

TAG LIST: @lexiway121 @onyxclown @hellolettuce444 @leo4242564 @minaxcarter @a-case-of-attachment @hiddenworld666 @looneylooomis @sunnexaltation @coolrobloxkid28 @enaelyork @foggyturtleknightangel @ghcstvibess @haleymaccosplay @classaysstuff

[lilydoeswrite]

THE MERCILESS SIREN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN

wattpad link previous chapter series masterlist next chapter

summary: It is the 66th Hunger Games when Oceana Fontaine is reaped as tribute, and at just thirteen years old, the odds are certainly not in her favour. As much as it is seen as an honour for Oceana to represent her district in the games, it is also practically a death sentence. But Oceana knows she needs to go home and is determined to, no matter how low her chances are and with the help of her mentors, she might just do that. But if she is to win, she will have to learn where her biggest strengths start to turn into her biggest flaws and weigh her options carefully as she starts making choices that pushes her morality and the lengths she will go to for love.

tags: slow burn (finnick x oc), violence, death, canon typical violence the usual stuff when it comes to the hunger games, weapons, not sure what else

“She’s alright!” Briar squeals loudly, smiling widely at me as Gill helps me sit up properly, passing me my flask of water as he encourages me to drink it. “You had us so worried, Oceana! Don’t you dare pass out again!”

“Sorry,” I apologise, slightly embarrassed as I open the flask, sipping some water. “Where’d you find the water?”

“Found a pond nearby,” Giselle smiles at me as I quench my thirst, “there’s a whole lot to the island worth exploring but don’t rush yourself, it’s important that you’re okay.”

It’s weird how caring they are towards me but I appreciate their kindness regardless. I take some food out of my bag to eat as I’m bombarded with a dozen questions on what had happened and if I was okay. I do my best to reassure them that I’m feeling better now although they don’t completely take my word for it, which is how I find myself stuck in the middle of the pack walking next to Gill who occasionally turns to look at me in order to ensure that I’m okay as we head to the pond.

It’s as if we’ve stumbled upon a sanctuary. Tall trees and bushes with flowers surround the pond as sunlight reflects off the pool which glimmered and shined under the sunlight. I wonder how Giselle had managed to find the pond with it so carefully concealed. We take a seat next to the water as we admire the swans which come and go. I'm holding onto my knife tightly until I’m assured that they aren’t Muttations of any sort– you can’t ever be too careful in the games. 

Filling up my flask, I sit cross legged on the floor in the comfortable silence which fills the air. For one reason or another, the atmosphere is calming. “Are we going to hunt more or lay low?” I ask, looking at Briar who shrugs her shoulders.

“It depends, I guess,” She says as she sets up a snare, “perhaps we’ll just lay low for now and maybe tonight or tomorrow we’ll continue hunting. Al, Chase and I already searched the surrounding perimetre– no one here so far but they’re probably further into the island.” 

I nod, looking at Gill who seems rather relaxed, throwing small rocks at the pond as it skips a couple times before plunging into the depths of the pond. 

The calmness everyone seems to be experiencing right now seems too good to be true, there’s no way the Gamemakers don’t have another twist coming our way so I don’t manage to loosen up, even as the sun begins to set into yet another pretty sunset. I want to be able to admire the sky in peace right now as it looks just like a painting but I can’t seem to; I feel restless and jittery, and overall, just uneasy. 

Everyone is talking excitedly about what they have in mind to try to form a plan for either tonight or tomorrow but I can’t help but think about how my short spell of passing out could harm my sponsorship chances. What if people thought of me as weak and incapable now? Surely, I can’t let them have such an impression of me. I need to redeem myself. “How about we go hunting tonight?” I say and everyone turns to look at me.

“Are you sure, Oceana?” Gill asks, “I mean, I’m sure it’s no problem but we just want to make sure that you’re alright.”

“I am, don’t worry,” I smile as he passes me a piece of squirrel meat for me to chew on. “Come on, I’m dying to get back into action, I’m sure everyone is.”

Silence fills the air as everyone now thinks of what to answer me until Briar breaks it, putting her arm around my shoulder, “that’s the spirit!” She says joyfully, “come on, guys! You heard the girl, let’s go!”

“I’m up for it,” Chase says, “but I’m not sure if that’ll be the smartest idea, we have no idea what this island will bring.”

“God, you’re starting to sound like Alvise,” Briar sighs, shaking her head.

Everyone goes back and forth for a while, debating– well more like arguing– if we should go hunting throughout the night or simply lay low. After a while, we finally come to a compromise– to simply repeat what we had done the previous night. Thirty minutes of arguing only to do the same thing as last night seems a little stupid but considering how much half of us wanted to hunt and how adament half of us were on laying low, I’m surprised we could even reach an agreement. 

I feel tired and weak for no reason as I rub my eyes tiredly before splashing my face with some of the water from the pond. I stare at the pond which now reflects the moon which hangs gracefully in the sky as night creatures start to come out, the sweet singing of the birds now replaced with the occasional hoot as the swans continue to wade in the water. No tent is set up today and we simply rely on our sleeping bags as I unroll mine.

Then, the seal of the Capitol can be seen, the anthem catching our attention and all of us turn to look. The headshot of the girl appears, she’s from district twelve and then the Capitol seal reappears. This means that the boy Giselle had slashed is still somewhere alive and she groans in frustration. 

“Oh come on!” Giselle exclaims, clearly frustrated that the boy somehow didn’t manage to succumb to death, “only one death?”

“Should’ve just finished him off, Giselle,” Chase remarks and Giselle remains quiet but grumbles something under her breath. 

“I’ll take first watch,” Briar says, beckoning Alvise to come to sit next to her, “Giselle and Chase, you guys can go after me.”

“I assume Gill and I will take the last one,” I say and Briar nods.

“You need as much rest as you can get,” she pats my head like I’m a child, which I suppose I am compared to her as she’s eighteen– close to Aurora’s age. “Go get some sleep.”

I nod and tuck myself into my sleeping bag as I try my best to let my muscles relax. It takes me a second to realise the chances of me getting decent sleep is zero to none. But, unlike in the Capitol where I could run off to the balcony, I have to try to force myself to sleep. Any fatigue would be seen as weakness– not to mention that the image the Capitol audience has of me is surely tainted now. I’m more than frustrated with myself, how could I be so stupid to let myself pass out? Surely I could’ve sucked it up. Or maybe I could’ve done something to avoid it. Did I just make Finnick and Coral’s job of getting me sponsors harder? What if I’m unable to get sponsors now? I take a deep breath in to calm myself down before I force myself to shut my eyes and try to come up with something to think about but don’t manage to.

I’m staring up at the starry night sky now as I listen to the occasional rustle of the trees and hoot of an owl, trying to make shapes out of the outline of the sky. I’m trying to recall the constellations Finnick had taught me about but don’t manage to, so I'm stuck trying to make sense of their odd shapes and figures. It’s about time when my eyelids start to feel heavy and my muscles start loosening up, my body feeling less tense as I shut them, hoping to finally drift off to sleep.

“Oceana,” Gill whispers as he shakes my body gently.

“What?” I ask, rubbing my eyes as I sit up, “is it time for our watch?”

I manage to make out the rough shape of him nodding and nod back, dragging myself out of the comfort of my sleeping bag and sit next to him, leaning against a tree. I’m still in a slight daze so I wash my face with the cold water from the pond and I’m awakened almost instantly. I let out a sigh and look at Gill who seems to be thinking about something. “What’s on your mind?” I ask.

“A lot,” he remarks, chuckling, “I hope my family is okay, mostly.”

“Yeah,” I simply say, “anything else?”

“Well, you scared the hell out of me when you passed out,” he laughs as he recounts the scene to me, “but at least you’re alright now.”

“I probably made myself look weak,” I scoff at myself, “I’ve got to find a way to redeem myself somehow. I hate to think how hard it is for Finnick and Coral to get me sponsors now.”

“Easy,” Gill shrugs, “we’re going hunting later, anyways.”

“Yeah,” I nod in agreement and silence falls once again. “I just hope I can go home.”

“You can, Oceana,” Gill says, “you’re probably the one that has the best shot out of all of us.”

I’m surprised by his comment, I had the best shot? Even compared to him who got an eleven on his training score? “Really?” I ask. 

I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. 

I can hear him let out a sigh, “Yes.” He says, pausing to think before continuing to speak, “you’re the best with weapons out of all of us and you can be smart with your strategies. I heard of your original plan after we agreed to team up, the fact that I know you could’ve pulled it off even then says a lot, Oceana.”

“Who told you?” I ask, looking at him curiously.

“Coral told Dover after and Dover told me. I wasn’t supposed to know, and I wasn’t supposed to tell you that I knew but, here we are, I guess,” he laughs. “Just like how Finnick wasn’t supposed to get close to you.”

“What?” I ask, my voice soft and laced with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but I’m probably going to die, so what’s the point in keeping secrets,” he says with a slightly cheerful undertone although I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. I hope he is. I hope he realises how good his chances are. “When Finnick wanted to check up on you after your private assessment with the Gamemakers, Coral got mad at Finnick when she realised how close you two got and told him to distance himself a little– to be fair, it’s true. The worst thing would be getting close and attached to the tribute you mentor only for them to die. Finnick got really angry, to say the least.”

I try my best to process Gill’s words. Did that explain the look Coral shot Finnick after? I wonder what they will be saying to each other now after the whole incident today. I hope I haven’t let either of them down. That’s the last thing I want. “Oh,” I muster out.

“But that’s besides my point,” he shakes his head, “my point is that, Oceana, you’re better than you think you are. You’re both skillful and smart. The only thing anyone can really fault you on is having too much compassion. If there’s anyone that’s going to come out of these games as a victor, it’s you. Believe in yourself, Oceana.”

“Thanks, Gill,” I try to hide my smile but I can’t. It’s nice that someone as skilled as him thinks that I’m indeed good enough to be a victor. Though, it’s the same as all the other compliments– it’s no use if I don’t actually have faith in myself because at the end of the day, though they are nice words, the nice words won’t do anything for me except for boosting my ego, I’m the only one that can do something about my fate in these games. 

We continue to talk to each other for a while, our voices filling the air as we talk about home; continuing to learn about one another before it’s time to wake the others up. I roll my sleeping bag up and stuff it in my bag before taking a drink of water and refill my flask as Gill goes around waking the others up. I check my holster which is hidden by my jacket, all my knives and daggers still placed neatly. I take one out and admire it, looking at the moon through the reflection of the blade until I hear my name being called. I grip onto my knife tightly, I have to be prepared to take my chance while I can. 

“Alright, let’s go,” Alvise says as he slings his bag onto both of his shoulders.

For the amount of sleep they’ve gotten, Giselle and Briar are far too excited to go hunting but a part of me tries to understand their excitement. It’s a new island which means new discoveries and encounters, which can either be for the better or the worse. We’re mostly familiar with the terrain as it’s similar to the previous forest except for the fact it’s less steep and that it’s by far prettier– even at night as we watch fireflies fly past us in awe.  

“It’s really pretty here,” I smile at Briar who hums in agreement as we walk through the forest. 

The further we go, the more magical it is and the excitement which was starting to die down comes back up when we hear a rustle in the bushes. All of a sudden, we’re all gripping onto our weapons and staying still, trying to find who or what was making the noise. I scan the distance and come across a sleeping horse, it’s eyes looking at me as it remains silently. Then, I’ve taken out my knife. That is no horse, that’s not how their eyes look like. That’s another tribute. 

I see panic flash in their eyes once we’ve realised each other and I set off running in their direction, sprinting as fast as I can as whoever this is, they’re quick. 

“Oceana!” I can hear Gill shouting my name as they run after me, but I’m far too concentrated on catching the tribute who’s running in a winding path before she trips on a rock and falls down onto the ground. Before she can scurry away, I’ve pinned her down with my knife in hand.

“Not that easy” she says as she kicks me, taking me off by surprise as I nearly fall to the ground before she attempts to grab the knife out of my hand. To give her credit, she’s daring. We’re in a full blown fight by the time I hear the footsteps of the rest of the pack, throwing punches at each other as she continues to wrestle the knife out of my hand. She’s given me bruises to last for days by now but so have I. 

“Finish her off!” Briar shouts, throwing her spear our way which causes the tribute to flinch in fear as she lets go of my hand to avoid it. I know what Briar is doing and so I take advantage of it, using the split second to throw a knife at her. I’m not sure where I should aim so I aim for her chest and the next thing I know, my knife is plunged into her flesh.

“Well done!” I hear Gill shouts and I smile at myself,  a sense of pride washing over me.

I’ve done it, I’ve redeemed myself.

She looks at me, eyes wide and glossy as she stumbles to the ground, her eyes gazing down at the knife and then at me, blood flowing out relentlessly as tears start to fall. I stare at her, swallowing my saliva thickly as I calm my breathing. 

I’ve done it, I’ve killed another one.

I want to tell her that I’m sorry and a million other words that I know won’t fix what had just happened but the next thing I know she’s on the forest floor, all the colour drained out of her face as she lies as blood drenches her clothes.

What have I done?

author's note: HEY GUYS!! IM BACK (for real this time i swear)!!! sorry for not being so active in my updates, i've just been really overwhelmed with school and everything, especially now that i'm applying to go to boarding school, so things have just been really busy and hectic. i've also had massive brain fog and i've had problem focusing which doesnt help that much, but finally, i've managed to finish writing chapter eighteen which means i can put chapter fifteen out!! i promise i'll try to update as often as i can, it's just that my writing pace has really decreased so im trying to get it back and my momentum as well <33 i hope you guys can understand! as always, constructive criticism is always welcomed and if you like this, please consider to reblog or comment, it'll mean the world to me! thank you for reading <3

[thefairylights]

Loustat fic rec list 03/02/23

Hello! I have read quite a bit of very wonderful fics for our idiots in coffins lately and I am finally sharing some that have stood out to me. Some are one shot and some are multi chapter and works in progress. All are so very, very amazing and hit me personally right where I want them to.

Is this too much? By @skywalkery/@thatgothicgay Multi chapter and part one of series complete. What if Louis nodded his head no to Lestat in the church? What then? This fic warms my very soul. It has everything. Healing. Connection. Falling in love. Lots of smut. Very good smut. Two idiots head over heels. And the series is ongoing!

which leads me into At home in rue Royale by @skywalkery/@thatgothicgay is in the same universe as is this too much? There are one shots and au’s and they’re just as amazing. They also flesh our characters like grace and brick top! This is updated frequently.

The right regrets by @dreamofme9 I have read this six times through. Six. Times. Through. It is five chapters long and goes into intense character study of Louis weeks before the finale at Mardi Gras. There is. So. Much. Emotion. And feeling. And the smut is so sexy I stopped a few times because it overwhelmed me hehehe. Beautifully written. So powerful and moving. It made me cry.

A promise kept by @dreamofme9 modern Loustat. Lestat surprises Louis with a romantic adventure trip to somewhere they have never been. So sweet. Darling. Established relationship. A one shot. Epic sugar for my teeth to rot.

Three heartbeats by @virginiaisforvampires mpreg. It’s really romantic and Loustat are completely devoted to each other. The love is deep. And so is their precious moments together. It’s a very very long fic and I did very much enjoy it. I Normally don’t read mpreg but for them? I did. I don’t regret it at all. I loved it.

The plans we made by wilsonsbabe currently ongoing and four chapters have been published. An alternate take on episode 7 and the plan changing due to a few surprises. So very well written. Emotional. Intense.

and what I thought was gone by @nalyra-dreaming rockstar Lestat and Louis reunite and it’s sexy. And lovely. And sexy. Sexy? Sexy. One shot.

Can’t help falling in love by torturedtadtoples Lestat listens to Elvis and gets emotional and adorable. Modern Loustat reunited established relationship.

moscato by nlbv Louis is blood drunk and wants to get fucked. One shot. 🔥

The splendour of us by lesfleursrouges Claudia dies the night of Mardi Gras in Lestat’s stead. Inevitably, it ends in misery for everyone involved. currently being updated with five chapters published. It’s good. IT IS GOOOOOD.

good vibrations by covenofthearticulate lestat is Lestat. Sex toy. Hilarity ensues but also sexy times for our foolish vampires. Book verse Loustat.

til forever falls apart by lesfleursrouges more smut. Set after the pilot episode. One shot.

inciting hungers of every kind by sadie63 Louis neglects his thirst. His mind is tugged in one persistent direction when he rises to find Lestat at the piano, longing to restore what has cracked and splintered through the years. one shot. Smut.

acts of service by zisurru Lestat just loves being called a slut. He doesn't know why. He just does. smut. Book verse.

and that is all for now! I have plenty more to rec another time. I have lost count of how many are here now. Happy reading!

[devastator1775]

Hope, Love and V - Chapter 1: What the hell happened while I was offline?

Summary: Weeks after the events of Cabin Fever Labs, V finally wakes up from her coma. Things have changed, in more ways than one and V finds it hard not to think she deserves this. Luckily, she can count on the love and support of her friends to get her through these hard times. (Nix Doorman AU)

Darkness. All she could see, was Darkness. Alone in the dark, while surrounded by creatures out to destroy her.

Her eyes closed; she could hear everything. Bullets roaring. Sentinels screeching and flashing of their boot-loop-inducing lights. Her blades swishing through the air. Her own frightened gasps. The lingering echoes of a loud impact at the bottom of the elevator shaft. The faint sound of someone calling out her name. Faint explosions.

Pain. She felt pain. No …agony. Another chunk bitten out of her arm. Out of her leg. Her gun ripped out of its socket. Claws tearing at her metal skin. Metal teeth sinking into her wings as she tries to get some distance between them. Tearing one out. More damage than her nanite healing can keep up with and eventually …even that stops.

She feels her body give out. Her thirst is unbearable. Her body craves oil and is unable to get it.

Then, more sounds. First, the Sentinels closing in on her, the scraping of their claws on metal floor, encircling her. Then, shouting, chaos, Sentinels screeching in pain.

Silence.

She’s low on power. Everything is shutting down. She can’t even open her eyes. She can only faintly hear someone speaking to her.

She’s being dragged. She feels her back falling against something, maybe a wall.

More words. Sad words? She can almost understand some. ‘Forgive’… Something shuts close. She’s alone.

Silence again. For the longest time, just silence. She falls in and out of consciousness. Her healing nanites still haven’t kicked in.

The world rumbles. Something deep down is roaring. A desperate, frustrated roar.

Then, a jolt, deep inside her. Her core aches. Then…

Pain? An excruciating pain? Her insides are twisting and burning? She’s so low on power, she can hardly perceive anything around her.

Then it stops. A blissful feeling.

Silence, once again. Minutes? Hours? Days? She doesn’t know. Until finally….

Voices. Searching?

“I found her!”

“Seems the same thing happened to her as with the other one.”

“She’s in bad shape.”

“She needs med-technical attention immediately.”

“You grab her there. I’ll hold her here. On three. One, two, …three!”

PAIN!

V’s eyes jolted open with a loud gasp. She bolted upright, but something pulled at her, making her fall backwards again. Something around her wrists. Restraints of some kind. Around her chest as well. She frantically looked around. She was in a room, in a bed. Looks like …an infirmary or a hospital-like room, or something? How long had she been here? While she was pondering on that, it was then that she noticed something …missing.

The thirst. The hunger. That unsatiable craving for oil …gone? That wasn’t possible. While she had made sure she’d ‘topped up’ before entering the labs, that battle had taken so much out of her. She should be starving. She should have gone in Auto-Hunt mode. The only feelings she now felt were …sleepy. And confusion.

She heard a door open, quickly followed by someone gasping and something falling to the floor. Her eyes fell on a Worker Drone in a hospital outfit, a nurse by the look of it. Judging by the clipboard on the ground, V’s sudden awakening hadn’t been something she expected. She looked frightened. Wait, no …surprised?

“Oh my gosh…” The nurse – V could read the name Ratched on her nametag – quickly ran to the door, sticking her head out. “I need a doctor here, STAT! She’s awake!”

A doctor? For what? Experiments? Torture? Taking advantage of an injured enemy? V pulled on her restrains, her anger growing. Why was she here? What had happened? What of N and Uzi? Tessa? The Absolute Solver?

Why wasn’t she dead?

A Drone in a doctor’s outfit ran in. “Miss V, I need you to calm down.”  “Please, don’t try to exert yourself. The state of your injuries are- “

“Release me!” V yelled, pulling on her restraints as hard as she could. Suddenly, without any sort of warning, she felt pain surge throughout her entire body as she completely cramped up. It felt like every single joint in her body tried to pull itself inwards. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even open her mouth to scream in pain. On her visor flashed the [ENERGY SURGE] warning.

The doctor and the nurse rushed to V’s side as the former pulled a drive out of his pockets. “Quickly, undo her bindings.”

The nurse hesitated for a second, but after a stern look from the doctor she undid the bindings around V’s chest. They both lifted her up a bit as the doctor plugged the drive into a data port on V’s nape. She felt the pain gradually subside and her body relaxed again. She let herself fall on her pillow again, panting heavily. That had taken much more out of her than she realized.

“Wh-what happened to me?” V asked after a few moments of collecting herself. She slowly sat up. “What did you do? How did I get here?”

The doctor gestured the nurse to bring him the fallen clipboard, giving it a look as he walked over to the foot of V’s bed and dismissed the nurse with a wave of his hand. “I am doctor Steen. You may call me Francis. You’ve been under my care since you were brought in.”

“Didn’t ask that and I’m not doing that.”

“Fair enough.” The doctor adjusted his glasses. Heh, she used to have a pair just like those. “This might come to a shock to you, but you have been here for several weeks. Almost over 6 weeks, to be less than precise.”

“6 weeks?” V repeated softly. Had she been offline so long? She should’ve overheated and died by now, but …she didn’t feel any thirst at all. Questions for later.

“What you just experienced, Miss V, was a seizure brought on by a disruptive energy surge, triggered by excessive motion.” The doctor explained. “Simply put: if you don’t stay calm – in any every way possible – you unquestionably will trigger another attack. Do you understand what I’m saying, Miss?”

V bit back a sarcastic insult, the thought of going through that pain again the only thing being from doing so. She nodded slowly.

“As for what I gave you…” Steen held out the drive. “This patch tricks your system to ‘divert excess energy toward auxiliary components’, temporarily pacifying the damaged circuitry causing the surges. It’s – at the moment - the only thing we found that can bring you some relief.”

“Damaged circuitry?”

“Putting it …mildly.” Steen frowned, flipping over a page. “You were brought in with …well, you were on the brink of deactivation. Chewed up, as those in the rescue unit that brought you told me.”

Chewed up. The sentinels. V flinched as a vision of those beasts flashed before her eyes – and on her visor. She had tried to buy the others as much time as she could, held out as long as she could – as long as her healing allowed her. At one point …she just couldn’t anymore. She got boot-looped, unable to move …but still able to feel as those things started to feast on her.

“Miss V, still with us?”

Startled back to the here-and-now, V shook her head and turned back to the Doctor, who – to her dismay – looked upon her with concern. She scowled at him and judging by the shrug, got the message.

“Anyway …” Steen continued, unperturbed by the scowling murder drone under his care. He had dealt with more vicious patients in the past – most often Miss Doorman. “We tried to repair what we could, but ….there wasn’t much we were able too. Whatever you did that caused your damage, you exerted your systems beyond their advised parameters. I’ll spare you the tech-medical jargon, but in short: 45% your circuits are fused together, your wiring has melted and corrupted software is wreaking havoc on other systems and those are just a few on that list.”

“So why aren’t I repaired yet?” V asked.

“We are, but these repairs need be done in intervals. The extent your injuries require – “

“Not what I meant!” V almost yelled. She took a deep breath. She felt her patience was running low, but figured she wouldn’t get answers by yelling and being a nuisance. That was more Uzi’s style. “You know I’m a Disassembly Drone?”

“I’m aware.”

“You know I can heal myself? Head blown off, arms ripped off, things like that are nothing to me.”

“I know. I was chaperoning my son during prom.”

“So …why aren’t I regenerating?” V asked.

“If I had to take a guess, because of the same thing what happened to Miss doorman and her …companions.”

“They’re alive? Uzi? N? Tessa, I guess?” V asked, more surprised than relieved – even if that sensation was there as well.

“Heavily damaged, in shock and both in very critical condition, but …yes, alive.” Doctor Steen took a chair and sat down next to V. “Maybe I should start from the beginning. I guess, it all started when it felt that the planet was going to die.”

V listened as Doc Steen told what had transpired in the weeks before she had woken up. How the planet seemed to be turning against itself. Gravity got weird, there were tremors and storms. Real ‘End Times’ stuff.  Everyone in the bunker was naturally terrified, thinking they would – along with the planet – would die. This went on for several hours, until …it stopped. No storms, no tremors, no danger.

It wasn’t long after that that Khan returned to the bunker, bringing the injured Uzi, N – and to anyone’s surprise – J and a human named Tessa with him. So, they had managed to make it out as well. Uzi and N were heavily damaged, and in dire need of repairs. Tessa also was wounded, but it seemed J refused to let anyone but herself get close to her. Maybe for the best, since no Worker Drone doctor has any knowledge about how to treat human wounds anyway.

But V started to notice something weird about his story after that. It was something about what he said about the explanation that Khan had given the colony. He had told a story about ‘a rogue AI’, who – to her surprise – was also responsible for the destruction of Earth. This ‘rogue AI’ was also responsible for the creation of the Disassembly Drones, which was true.

But there were things in things in that story that just didn’t make sense. So, after Uzi and N had helped Tessa destroy the AI, the nanites in their bodies were deactivated and thus that ‘freed them from its control’? V had done many questionable things – both necessary and unnecessary – during her time on Copper-9, but she had always been in control of her own action – whether or not she liked doing them.

V wasn’t dumb. She figured that Uzi and N had withheld the whole story, but for whatever reason she’d need to ask them. V was so lost in her thoughts; she didn’t notice that the doc had finished his story until he snapped his fingers in front of her visor. She hissed at him in return.

“Back with us, Miss V?”

“Bite me.”

“Yes, you are indeed friends with Miss Doorman.” Doc said dryly, standing up. “But she’ll be pleased to hear that you have woken up. Your friends have been visiting you pretty much daily.”

“Oh, you allow your prisoners to have visiting hours?” V asked coldly. It was an unnecessary remark, but she was absolutely fed up with this man. Normally, she’d pop off his head and have his oil for supper, but without the constant thirst plaguing her and threatening her with overheating, the vey thought made her feel …queasy.

Steen chuckled. “Miss V, you are not a prisoner. You are my patient.”

“IF I’m not a prisoner …why these?” V gestured to the undone restraints. “Why bind me to my bed when I was out cold most of the time?”

“Those were for your own safety.” The doctor explained. “You were having extreme night terrors the first few days, and you were triggering your seizures by thrashing around. It was the only way make sure your system wouldn’t overload while we weren’t here to supervise. “

“Well, I’m awake now. Take the rest off.”

“The rest?” Steen seemed confused.

V was seriously on her last bit of patience. “My legs are still bound! I’m done sitting in this bed. I want to stretch my legs! If you’re scared I’m gonna bolt, I promise I-!”

The look in Steen’s eyes made her halt. Something was wrong.

“I …I’m sorry. I should have mentioned this could happen, but with this whole situation it completely slipped my mind.” Steen said softly.

An icy feeling formed in V’s chest. “Wh-what are you talking about?”

“You must understand, the damage you sustained was severe and despite our initial repairs there was always a change that-“

V’s eyes hollowed as she realized what Steen was talking about. She tore her sheet from her body …and her entire body went numb at the sight. It was clear that her legs had undergone numerous repairs. There were welding seams, pieces of plating, nuts and bolts holding things in place.

But what scared her the most…

Was that she couldn’t feel her legs. She had been so distracted by her situation that she never realized she hadn’t moved them at all. She grunted, trying to her knees to her chest.

Nothing. Not a twitch.

“My …my legs.” V looked at her legs, stunned, confused, angry, sad, …a plethora of emotions was running through her processor. She wanted to yell, to curse, to make promises of violence untold and cause unbridled harm.

She could only stare.

“Miss V?”

V looked up slowly at her doctor.

“I know this is quite the shock, especially after all you’ve been through already.” He smiled softly at her. “But I promise you we’ll do anything in our power to help. There are several courses of action we can undertake and improve your mobility. We can-“

His voice faded away as V stared at her legs again, slowly reaching out the give them a soft squeeze, as if they would spring back to life. All she could hear was her own core beating in her chest, a ringing in her ears. Tears were starting to form in her visor as the hard truth was dawning on her.

“I can't move my legs ...I’m paralyzed….”

[dandylovesturtles]

Okay, not sure if this but is under 500 words or not, but it’s probably my favorite snippet in the whole fic and maybe even all the rottmnt fics I’ve read. It’s just so good!

Awww, thanks so much! I'm still really happy with how this scene (and this entire sequence) turned out.

I end up spoiling the fic a bit in this so don't venture into the read more if you're a new reader and don't want spoilers.

Leo stayed on the ground, waiting for a hand to be offered to him. He didn't want to admit it, but his legs felt like liquid. The help would be appreciated.

Since Leo is out of his body, everything he feels is psychosomatic. But of course your brain controls everything about how you experience the world, so does not having a body really matter? It was important to me that while Leo experiences some physical benefits from not having a body (not getting tired, not feeling thirst or hunger, etc), he also experiences the physical effects of stress and dissociation and all the other mental illness he's currently experiencing. Poor guy.

No one extended a hand to him. Rejection twisted hot in his gut, burning him inside out.

This whole sequence, really from the moment he gets separated from Mikey, kicks off the "Raph arc" of the story (intermingled with closing out the "Mikey arc", as it were), and I turned the idea of Leo wanting someone to extend a hand to help him as a running theme for this arc (which is... maybe not the most cohesive since Raph doesn't get touch, but Raph is also his big brother and no matter who is in the leader spot, Raph will always be the person Leo most looks to for help when he's in trouble). I bring this line back in chapter 8 when the two of them talk out their feelings and Raph extends the metaphorical "hand" to Leo, and Raph keeps doing that for the rest of the fic, pulling Leo out of his dark thoughts whenever he sinks a little too deep and being ready to help him however he can.

"There you go, Leo," said Mikey softly. "Take a second."

Mikey ends up doing a lot of the caretaking of Leo in this fic, especially in the first part, because he can actually see Leo and can see how badly all of this is affecting him, even as Leo tries to act strong for them. Leo is Mikey's big brother, and he doesn't exactly love being this vulnerable in front of Mikey, but he doesn't have much of a choice. And Mikey is doing such a good job. Isn't it fine to swap roles now and then?

He looked at Mikey, then opened his arms for a hug. He'd write it off as being for Mikey later, because he looked upset. But he needed to grab something. He needed to know this was real.

Mikey's eyes brimmed with tears. "Leo," he said, and his voice trembled on his name. "Oh, Leo..."

He didn't hug him, and Leo felt the sting of it under his skin. His arms fell.

Ah, the part everyone yelled at me about.

This is actually the moment I got the idea for that inspired basically this entire section, from Mikey getting yanked off the tank all the way through this dissociative episode. In my interpretation of Leo, he doesn't ask for things very often, especially things like affection or comfort. Sure, he'll encourage them to chant for him or call him their champion or whatever, but this is different - it's a lot more vulnerable. To be fair, though, Leo doesn't usually have to ask; we see in the show that he's pretty touchy with his brothers and clearly feels like there isn't much of a boundary there when it comes to touch, and Raph and Mikey especially give hugs easily, so he doesn't really have to do much when he's feeling low to get affection. And the thing about asking is that you can be told no, and rejection when he really needs something is devastating. So if he's going to ask for something like a hug or some other kind of affection/comfort, it means he really really needs it and can't just wait around for it to be offered to him.

And Mikey would definitely know that. Poor Mikey isn't rejecting him on purpose, of course, he couldn't hug Leo if he wanted to (and he very much wants to!). He knows that rejecting Leo when Leo is being this upfront about his needs is something that will really hurt him, but he can't do anything to help.

No one is happy here, that's for sure!

(Well, except maybe me, the person who wrote it. See, the benefit of being the author is that I can write this scene while I also have the ending in my head so I don't have to be sad about it. ^^ )

"What happened?" asked Donnie.

"Nothing. Leo just..." Mikey sniffed. "We need to get him back in his body."

Mikey was trying not to embarrass Leo here, because Leo probably would get a little embarrassed by Mikey telling them he's asking for hugs, and besides, if he said that was what Leo was doing then Leo would have to be rejected two more times. So he's trying to help!

But maybe if he'd answered this question, Donnie would have gotten his act together a little faster later haha.

Everybody's doing their best but sometimes your best doesn't fix it. :c

Thanks for the ask!

[elegantsplendour]

Dance of the Empire

Chapter 2. The Exquisitely Odd Lannister

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Katherine Lannister x Aegon II Targaryen

Sometimes, love can be just as destructive as hate.

Especially the politics of the realm rip away an all-consuming love: especially when demons of the second-son are unleashed by thirst of vengeance.

Our choices have consequences.

Warnings: None

As Katherine Lannister stood atop the steep cliffs of Casterly Rock, she hurled rock after rock into the tumultuous sea below. Each boulder seemed heavier than the last, straining her slender frame and causing a tear in the fine fabric of her bright red dress. Despite the thunderous impact of the rocks against the waves, the sea appeared indifferent, effortlessly swallowing the missiles.

With heaving breaths and a growl of frustration, Katherine seized another boulder, its weight causing her delicate features to contort with effort. With a fierce roar, she flung the rock with all her might, watching as it vanished into the frothing abyss. As the salty wind whipped her hair and the light rain kissed her skin, Katherine's mind drifted to Borros Baratheon, a crude and illiterate brute whose lecherous gaze had often made her skin crawl. She could still feel his eyes upon her, roving over her body with a lascivious hunger that made her blood boil.

With a fierce punch, Katherine struck the rocky ground, her hand stinging with pain. It was a small but satisfying hurt, one that matched the fierce turmoil of her thoughts. For a moment, she surrendered to her anger, to the primal bestiality that lurked beneath her carefully cultivated veneer of elegance and poise. She needed this moment of pure anger, irrationality and bestiality. On her way back to the castle, she rearranged her dress and assessed her figure from a small pond formed by accumulated rainfall. Her lips formed into a slycurve, her beauty was nothing short of incomparable and she knows it. Katherine Lannister enchanted everyone but the Lannisters.

She remembered when the Princess Heiress’ letter congratulating her thirteenth nameday, subtly reminding her that her exceptional appearance might become an inconvenience. From then on, she noticed the lingering gazes of admiration, longing, sympathy, and lust. And she used those glances to her advantage, relishing the power she wielded with her effortless moves. She despised her father for treating her like a prized breeding mare, and the lustful men to whom he paraded her, but she had scoffed at the idea. How could something so beautiful ever be an inconvenience? The inconvenience was them. Some day, she would make sure there will be none.

As she entered the hall of the castle with her usual graceful and confident demeanour, her younger half-siblings gathered around the Cyvasse table glared at her presence.

"Oh well well, isn’t this our broodmare half-sister ," sneered her sister, her tone dripping with malice. "Father will sell you off to the highest bidder, and you'll be nothing but a breeding machine for some lordling's pleasure."

Her brother snickered, his lips twisting into a cruel smile. "Or maybe he'll just marry you off to some old, ugly lord. That way, you'll be stuck birthing his heirs until you're old and grey."

Katherine's doe eyes narrowed, a subtle yet unmistakable expression of disdain crossing her delicate features.

"How kind of you to entertain me with your charming wit and eloquence.” With effortless grace, she sank onto the couch, her silky brown hair falling in a cascade around her delicate features.

“It’s funny how you naively believe you can prove to father your worth with your studies and your pretense of grace, but do not forget your place,” Lanna Lannister gritted her teeth, “you are the same breed as a bastard. You do not share our family features, with your earthly colour of eye and hair. Who knows if you are the fruit of some indiscretion your whore of a mother had,” her voice dripped with cruelty.

Katherine forced back her chuckle as she recalled the distant days where Alerie Tyrell snuck out of Tyland Lannister’s chamber when Ariane Stark was still alive.

"Bastard?" Katherine scoffed, her laughter ringing out like silver bells. With an almost teasing tone, Katherine raised her eyebrows provocatively and let her doe eyes return to their innocent expression, "My dearest, I do wish you success in achieving the things you crave in life. For myself, I am quite content with all that I have," she said, her voice carrying an air of superiority that could only be matched by her enviable reputation, the Exquisitely Odd Lannister, across the realm.

But beneath the facade of her impeccable appearance and charismatic persona, Katherine knew that there was one thing that she desired above all else, something that she had yet to attain. It was a desire that burned within her, driving her soul forward with an unrelenting force. And though she would do whatever it takes to achieve it.

Just as Lanna and Tybolt Lannister were ready to retort with fury, Tyland Lannister’s voice interrupted the rivalry, “Children. Behave yourselves. I have important matters to discuss with your sister.”

Lanna Lannister whispered cruelly before making her exit, “Looks like you’re finally going to meet your destiny.”

Katherine was consumed by an inferno of desire to greet Lanna with the most violent and bloody treatment known to men, to witness her squirm in agony, plead for forgiveness, and succumb to fear. For as long as she could remember, Katherine had imagined herself as a dragon, like Rhaenyra, soaring high and spewing flames of vengeance. In her vivid imagination, she would reduce Casterly Rock to ashes, relishing the sight of her enemies writhing in agony and pleading for mercy, but for the moment, she kept her wrath in check, her dark eyes revealing nothing but an enigmatic mask of composure and innocence, belying the tempestuous storm that raged within her.

Tyland sat across Katherine with his usual calculating smile, “my dear, I have a great honour to offer you.”

Katherine’s heart sank as she heard the words.

In spite of her hatred towards Tyland, she preferred him over her spoiled half-siblings. At least, he had some sense of how much of an asset his elder daughter was. Could it really be there was a match for her that convinced him to betroth her to some lord? The thought of it bathed her in a draining sea of powerlessness.

“Yes father, I am eager to hear it,” Katherine smiled with a pretense of obedience.

“Queen Alicent Hightower has invited you to reside in King’s Landing to accompany her second son, Aemond Targaryen,” Tyland paused.

As Tyland's words entered Katherine's ears, her eyes widened. A Targaryen. Her mind raced to Rhaenyra, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne who developed some sort of care for her. Katherine recalled the subtle message she had sent to Rhaenyra about the possibility of marrying Jaecerys Velaryon, hoping for a glimmer of hope and escape from her miserable life. But Rhaenyra's reply was vague with comforting words. Katherine understands her choice - the inheritance of Driftmark was being questioned, and Rhaenyra needed to strengthen her political alliances with the Velaryons, including marrying her sons to Baela and Rhaena Targaryen, the granddaughters of Corlys Velaryon.

For a fleeting moment, Katherine believed that this was all part of Rhaenyra's plan to rescue her from her wretched family. But she quickly dismissed the idea as she remembered the growing tension between the Targaryen Court, with the Greens led by Queen Alicent and the Blacks by Princess Rhaenyra, especially after the infamous incident on Driftmark six years ago had only deepened the divide.

"My dear," Tyland continued, "I know it may seem unjust to be assigned to a crippled second son, but this is not a betrothal. You are only to accompany him," he smirked, "While residing in the Red Keep, you will have the opportunity to meet countless noble, handsome suitors who will be immediately smitten by your charms."

Katherine's mind was far from Tyland's words as he spoke. Aemond Targaryen, Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of meeting the One-Eyed Prince. She couldn't deny the admiration of the second son of House Targaryen, he was the spare, the only one without a dragon in his family. But that didn't stop him from claiming the largest dragon in the world at the tender age of ten, unapologetically. The sheer audacity of his feat was awe-inspiring to the young Lannister. He had seized the opportunity, even when others thought it was not the right time (Laena Velaryon had just died, after all). But he didn't care. He had boldly taken his chance, and now he was riding high on the back of his dragon, unfazed by the doubts of others.

"I will go," Katherine declared, this time, her tone devoid of formality or gentleness.

Tyland's grin widened, pleased with her response. He placed his arms on her shoulders. "Excellent, my daughter. I always knew you were more astute than your mother."

At the mention of her mother, Katherine’s anger flared. Why did everyone have to compare her to Ariana Stark? She was nothing but a stubborn woman whose arranged marriage had ended disastrously, dying of depression and leaving behind a beautiful child who lacked Lannister features but inherited the Stark ones. Katherine couldn‘t remember how many times people had asked her if she considered herself more Lannister or Stark. In truth, she didn’t care. She was Katherine, an odd name bestowed by gods-knows-who, but one she had learned to embrace. That was all that mattered.

Rushing through the halls, Katherine's mind raced as she paced back and forth in her chamber, her half-siblings' whispers fading into the background noise. Closing the door, she took deep breaths, feeling her heart racing with excitement.

Queen Alicent Hightower from her distant memory of her five-year-old self, now summoning her to King's Landing to be her son's Lady Companion seemed absurd at first, but as she calmed down, she realized that the queen's choice was no surprise at all. With her father's propaganda of her rare beauty, intelligence, and so-called virtue, her reputation should have been the talk of King's Landing.

But Katherine knew that this was more than just about her reputation. The question of succession loomed over the realm, and with King Viserys' health deteriorating, a political alliance with the wealthiest house of Westeros was crucial for the Greens to secure their power. And what better way to do that than through a marriage with the eldest daughter of House Lannister?

As Katherine stood on her balcony, she felt a glimmer of hope and freedom washing over her soul for the first time in her life. The salty scent of the sea and the chirping of the birds seemed to rejoice with her.

But amidst her excitement, Katherine swore to herself that she would not be manipulated no more, not by her father, not by the Lannisters, not by Queen ALicent and the Greens, not even Rhaenyra, whom she had only met once yet strangely considered as somewhat a big sister, or even a mother figure. Once again, she swears to fulfill her duty to herself, to her desires, to her freedom, and only to herself. The idea of stepping foot into the centre of power and knowledge, yet also of adventures and unknown burnt like an eternal flame, and she will embrace the fire within with passion even with the risks of being burnt.

Katherine Lannister

[mightymizora]

Breath and Rosewater: Chapter 2

So apparently this has become multi chapter. In this, some attempts to get Gale’s voice… still only spoilers for act 1. Read the first one here:

It is the feeling of the first sip of water after a day’s thirst. It is a shimmering of ice on a scorching burn. It is relief, in every sense; the physical, the emotional, the knowledge that, for now at least, the hunger is sated. It is the moment when you wake from a nightmare, and all is still.

He told her only what he needed to. That there was a condition, and it needed magic, more magic than he could muster alone. She had questions, understandably, and he answered what he thought prudent; no, it is no real demon, as much as it feels like one. Yes, it is dangerous, truly dangerous. Yes, more answers would come in time. No, there is no other way. If there was, he would have found it. She was not satisfied with his answers, he could tell, but it was not the time yet to tell her more if, indeed, such a time would ever present itself. He said he trusted her. He meant it.

“I know these items were hard-won,” he offered. “And it will be no easier when more is needed to assuage my hunger, but… well. I hope I can count on you.”

A moment of fear, then doubt, and then acceptance and, finally, concern.

“Anything you need,” she had said, “And we will make it right.”

He then held off for as long as he could, trying to keep the sweat off his brow and hide the ever-worsening tremor in his hands. Well, it seemed only polite not to press the matter. Although they had found a fair riches of items that could be suitable, she had a habit of passing on some of the best of them to their travelling companions, and he could not deny that their use of them was tantamount to their success in not being eaten alive in this blasted wilderness. Then, inevitably, the sensation had become too strong. He had stumbled, and been unable to bring himself to his feet again. The sickness had reached through the black tendrils of the orb to his eye, burning up his sight and forcing him to his knees.

She had acted quickly; he barely had to say a word. She had looked around to see if the others were in reach and then, with a look of resignation on her face, pulled from her collar a beautiful bronzed necklace, set with a gem the size of her thumbnail. He saw her kiss the gem lightly, so quickly it was almost imperceptible, before sweeping it over her head and pressing it into his hands.

It is the feeling of a morning’s sun after a night of storms. A sip of warm tea in a blistering winter. It is a relief, yes, but the moments after the release has passed, he is left only with more questions.

“The necklace you gave me,” he asks later as they move out into the wilds once more. “It seemed important to you.”

“No, not really. It was fine to spare. We needed the other things. We didn’t need-”

She drops into silence and he can feel the pull into her mind. Before he can stop it, before perhaps he wants to stop it, he sees a flash of grey fingers, a large ruby catching a ray of light that looks so like the one he took from her. He sees the merest moment of a smiling face looking down on him, feels the warmth that he knows comes from a deep, familiar love. The image rips away from them and he is left looking at her with a question on his tongue.

“It wasn’t…” she starts, but her eyes flit to the ground. “I don’t think it was the same one. I can’t see how it could have been. But that cut, the way the light refracted through it, that’s a cut from Neverwinter. From the workshop we delivered to. There’s nowhere else on the coast that makes gems look like that.”

“Is it crass to ask you who-”

“My mother.”

“I see.”

“It’s fine, honestly. I just miss her sometimes. Wonder how she is, that kind of thing. She’s probably fine. I just wish I knew, you know?”

His face must have betrayed his feeling of shame, of embarrassment, as she forces a smile. “The necklace just reminded me of her, that’s all. There’s more important things. Are you feeling better?”

He thinks of his own mother. Eyrini Dekarios was likely tearing through all of his associates in Waterdeep trying to find more information than the sending spell he had managed. It seemed like enough words for now: Safe for now. Don’t forget to feed Tara. There are wards on the bedroom, don’t try it.

“Have you got word to her?” he replies, realising too late that he hasn’t answered her question. “A sending spell, perhaps?”

“To my brothers. But they don’t need my words. They need… well. They could have fenced that necklace.”

He smiles weakly. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“Don’t be. Anything you need, remember?”

He hopes he will not have to hold her to that.

***

“Go on then. This is the moment you extort me.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Isn’t that what all you adventurers do?”

“Aren’t you an adventurer too?”

It stands to reason that the first face she meets like hers would treat her like any other hoon. The other Svirfneblin is wearing leathers that seem far too new, too polished, and the dagger sits closely in its sheath. If she were to hazard a guess, she’d say he was kitted out less than a month ago, and was yet to spill any blood at all.

“Be that as it may, I know how these things work. You may have whatever you can find in my pack, if you can find it. It was weighing me down. That’s how they caught me. I’ll travel lightly from now on.”

She does not want to confess that she has already picked it over. “I’d rather know more about why you’re here.”

“You’re here, are you not? We’re not soul-bound to the Underdark.”

“I know. But you don’t seem like you belong here, in these wilds. So what are you looking for?”

He narrows his eyes, and looks past her to her companions. His meaning is clear enough. No outsiders.

She nods and walks with him, ignoring Wyll’s protests, and finds a spot by a crumbling statue that is out of earshot before she continues in their tongue.

“Well? Do you feel you can talk now?”

“One of my clan is missing.” he mumbles, his eyes fixed on where they left everybody else, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “A friend. I fear he is in trouble.”

He flashes a pendant, a design she knows well, splattered with blood in and ugly long streak. He spots her recognition, and almost manages a smile.

“I gave him this many years ago. Found it around the neck of some thug in the lower city a few weeks back. The trail took me here, and I believe it will take me further into the Underdark.”

“You will go on without provisions?”

“I can track more carefully that way.”

“Why don’t you join us? We have a camp nearby, and my travelling companions are talented fighters. We can help you look for your friend. It’s safer in numbers.”

His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head. “It’s never, ever safer with outsiders, sister. You should know that, at your age.”

***

The Devil comes to them at a fork in the road. He is handsome in a way that betrays him instantly, charming and seductive but without even the smallest hint of sex. She has read enough tales to know exactly who he is, but even still, the sight of him is enthralling and terrible and completely and utterly overwhelming. 

He seems delighted by her, prowling around her, offering her the kind of things that she thinks must be the first level of temptation, for those whose lives are devoid of the most simple pleasures; food, wine, warmth. Raphael seems amused that she refuses him, and it makes her angry that he must have considered her such a simple creature, and even more vexed that she enjoys proving him wrong. She has sung enough songs of deals with the devil, of lovesick maidens looking for the eye of their beloved and grieving mothers wishing to see their child again, great epics of those marked by vengeance and those lost to the flames. She has never thought about who she would be in those stories. Not until now.

She takes her time to speak to all of them after he deposits them back into the material plane. She is so unsure of herself. Before, survival meant quick instincts, the avoidance of the fall of an arrow, but with these tadpoles, survival feels more like slowly freeing yourself from tar.

“There’s no winning when you play with a devil,” Wyll says, “No matter how full the feast he lays out for you. No matter how tempting the offer. The cost is always too great.”

“I’ve always thought so too,” she says, but she can feel the blood in her cheeks rising. “There can’t be any reason to consider dining with a devil. Every story has the same end. But now… look at us, Wyll. Surely there are some times where it truly is that dire?”

Something flickers in him, she can see it, but he shakes his head. “Trust me, Glim. This is not something you want to consider. Leave him where he is, and be done with it.”

Gale however seems delighted in the prospect of it. “Are you as flattered as I am?” he says dryly, and she wishes she could flatly say no, but there is that creeping feeling at the back of her mind, beyond the wriggling of her parasite.

“Flattered, maybe. Intrigued, certainly. What does he want from us?”

“Our souls, no doubt. That’s the bargain, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. But then why not push harder? He barely even tried to tempt us. ”

“You heard the man. Sometimes, the true delight is in the chase. The anticipation. He wants us desperate, he wants us needy. I say we see where the road takes us, and make sure our claws are just as sharp as his.”

The Devil comes to them, and he seems almost pleased. 

***

“I don’t know why you keep your hair like that anyway,” Astarion chides. “It’s hardly flattering.”

“It’s practical,” she says, pulling a dagger from her pack and checking it is sharp enough. She’s started to feel a curl against the edges of her ears, the sign that the time has come to shear off an inch or so. “Long hair means a predator can grab it. Underdark rule one. No long hair.”

“And what of the Drow with their beautiful braids? Are they constantly getting them snagged on minotaur tusks?”

“They are the predators.”

She can do this without the aid of a mirror if she wants to. She’s been doing her own hair for almost forty years, and it’s easy enough when you’re just running the blade as close to the hair as you dare, but when there is a mirror, why not use the mirror? Astarion’s spot in camp is always so perfectly put together; a small vanity station and fine bottles of wine, the candles placed just perfectly to shed the right amount of light, soft cushions, old books, and rich tastes. 

“Just… don’t move anything, will you? I do so hate people touching what’s mine.”

“You’ll not even know I’ve been here,” she replies, carefully approaching the glass. “It will be as if I am invisible.”

She shoots a smile to where his reflection should be. There is nothing.

Oh, she thinks. Oh.

***

She resents how intimate it feels.

The way Astarion’s hand cups her face as he bites just above her collarbone.

The way his body is pressed against her, over her.

The way his fingers move up her jawline to find purchase in her short hair and pull her head to one side, as if she is just another small animal. It crosses her mind that he is making a point of it, of making sure he can make her feel vulnerable, pathetic.

The way his other hand moves from her shoulder down her arm to pin her by the wrist, and the way she cannot push back against him even as she tries. He is already so much stronger than her, or maybe she is already too weak? There is a numbness setting in, but she cannot tell whether it is a way to survive or a warning that she might die.

“Stop,” she murmurs, but instead she feels the barest brush of his tongue across the leftmost puncture in her neck. She hears a moan. She can’t tell if it came from him, or from herself.

Her back arches, pushes against him, but he presses down harder, and that feeling spreads from her neck further into her chest and she wonders if this is how she dies, laid out on a bed of her own making. It seemed such a little thing, in the moment. Let him feed just a little. He would be stronger, and they needed strength, unity, they needed… she needed…

“Astarion, stop,” she manages, surprised at the hoarse note in her voice. He relents, finally, gasping for air as he moves back from her. She wants to stand and face him, but she is left winded, struggling for breath on the floor.

“That was… that was amazing,” he splutters, trying to regain that mask again, that air of the confident man, not the skulking monster. “I feel… I feel.”

She gulps for air again, managing to bring a shaking arm to her chest and enchant just a little more life into it. She locks eyes with him as things come back in to focus, and he has the decency to look just a little sorry.

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

***

More nights than just this one, he has conjured the visage of his Goddess. More nights than just this he has pulled the weave to him, just to feel the shadow of her power on him once more. Would that there were words to properly describe the feeling of it. Would that he could commit it to song, to text, to poem or prose or paint or clay, but it was only possible to express through the manipulation of the Weave itself. The closest he could think of in words was the feeling of walking into a room just after a person with the scent of them on the air filling your lungs, or sitting in a warmed chair, or tracing your fingertips over the residue of a kiss. Nothing else compares, except for the majesty of her presence, the soft encompassing of all the senses, the pulse of the purest form of magic.

When he brings her face to being, she is giving him just a fraction of herself, he truly believes that. As if she was letting him kiss the hem of her dress, the outermost thread of her being. Just enough to allow him to bring her to life in a stillness, just enough to thread together the edges. It is a gift, and a gift he indulges in often. Too much, most likely, but has been a comfort to him for so many years now. Even in childhood, before there was an inkling of anything more between them, he would stitch together the fine thread of her face, bring her soft, fine features into being and gaze upon it with admiration. Desire came later. Now, what did he feel? Was there anything left underneath the regret?

“Ah, Mystra. The matron of magic herself.”

The image stutters, disappears, and he is left looking across to Glimmergris, who is standing with her arms crossed over her tiny body, a pale grey against the dimming light.

“You startled me. Sorry, I was… I was miles away.”

“Don’t let me interrupt. The light was bright, I was curious. It’s quite an ambitious desire, to have the Goddess of Magic balanced in your hand.”

He lets out a laugh, but it sounds hollow. “Just practising an incantation.”

She shakes her head. “There’s more to it than that. I know that look. She means something to you.”

There is nothing that he can hide from her. And, he has told her that he trusts her. He knows that he does. “I can’t quite describe it,” he finds himself confessing, “But there is… a need to see her, sometimes.”

“You sound like a smitten schoolboy.”

“Ha! Perhaps. It is a kind of love, in a way.”

“I’m sorry. That was… uncalled for. It’s been a long day. Your devotion is a thing of beauty, really.”

He wants to tell her everything, all of it. He wants to start from the very start of it, as the young boy finding the thrill of creation, to the youth in his books and the first time he felt her with him, that comforting feeling of being held in place just so. He wants to tell her of the first time that magic felt placed in his body, not something that was around him, but something that was essential inside him, and the first time Mystra revealed herself to him. He wants to find the way to tell her that story. He wants to tell her everything, but he finds himself reaching for something else instead. Something easier.

“Magic is my life,” he says, “I have been in touch with the weave for as long as I remember. And Mystra… she is that magic. She is all things, all magic. She is all creation.”

“All creation. Very poetic.”

“No poem or painting, no sculpture could do her justice. Only the fabric of the weave itself. And that connection to the weave. It is all music, all poetry, all physical beauty, rolled into one and expressed through the senses.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

“Is that not how it is for you?”

She thinks for a moment, pulling her jacket closer around her and shaking her head. “It’s different, I think. Magic is music, poetry, art, beauty. They create the magic. I just channel it.”

“Fair enough - though in the end we’re still playing the same composition.”

She shakes her head and laughs, and he can feel himself smiling back. There it is again, that moment of silence shared between them. It is comforting, comfortable, and he doesn’t want her to leave.

“I wonder if…”

“If what?”

“Indulge me, will you?”

She is intrigued, it is written across her face. The veil of exhaustion seems to lift from her in an instant, and her eyes spark with a new vigor. He raises his hands before them, sweeping through a familiar gesture that feels as if it has been melded to his bones. She watches carefully, then stands close to his side and tries to mimic his stance, looking for him for reassurance that she is right. He gently pulls her hands to the right position and gestures for her to try. She does so with ease, of course. She does all of it with ease, repeating his incantation with an exaggerated diphthong in Ao pulling out an extra syllable from the word as effortlessly as she manages to pull a swirl of the weave to her being.

She inhales deeply, her eyes closed for just a second, whispering under her breath. “Estelrohe.”

It takes him a moment to recognise the word. Gnomish. Rose water. The senses are pooling together; sound, taste, touch, smell. It is warm, welcoming, inviting. To be cradled in the very hand of Mystra herself.

“Very good. Now picture in your mind the concept of harmony. That shouldn’t be too hard, I expect.”

She smiles wide, and he knows this part is where she will shine. The weave floods to them, a wave crashing on the tide of the moment as she is lit by soft purple light. She looks at him, the weave reflected in the deep blue of her eyes, the light dancing in the grey and blue tones of her skin, her scars, making her seem almost new.

“This is beautiful, Gale. Truly. What a gift.”

“How does it feel?”

“It feels…”

Her voice trails out, and her smile fades slightly as her eyes drop from his. He reaches through the connection of the weave and finds her again just as her eyes come back to meet his, her pupils wide enough to dive in as they start to blend at the edges in the power of the connection, of the weave passing between them. He swims through and into the edges of her consciousness, seeing himself through her eyes as he leans in to kiss her, a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth first as his hand cradles her face, a kiss planted on his hand before their lips touch and it is consumed in a hunger. Then, as quickly as he feels it, a new wave of emotion comes crashing down. Embarrassment. Shame. Dismissal. 

The connection falters, and he freezes, chilled, terrified. They are here in the grace of Mystra, and she can see it all, she knows it all. For just a moment, he expects some kind of retribution, some kind of acknowledgement, at least, of this transgression of her power… but there is only stillness. 

“I… I didn’t think-"

“Gale, I-"

“I just wasn’t expecting-”

“It’s okay-"

“But it is a pleasant image, to be sure.”

The Weave starts to fade away from them. In mere moments, it will be gone for good, and this connection they share will go with it. For now he can feel that she is ashamed, that she is embarrassed. He can see with his own mortal eyes that the confidence she usually inhabits had faded faster than the Weave was depleting, and that she looked cold, tired, and alone. He could not bear it. He had not known it until this moment, until the idea of disappointing her had become such a tangible reality, that he never wanted to bring her anything but joy ever again.

“It was most pleasant, Glim. Most welcome.”

The weave fades away from them, and they are left, two mortal souls, in nothing but the cold of an open camp.

[turquoisebolotie]

What the Darkness Does

Notes: Oh-ho-ho, bubba! Look here, this is a slow burn SeverenxReader experience. How slow is that burn?? I'm talkin' Strangers, to Acquaintances, to Friends?, to Oh God, what are they doing now??, to Jesus Christ, will y'all just admit you're lovers?! Everybody else already knows! I'm talkin' an exploration of touch, trust, and intimacy. Imma need you to hop in the car, go to the store, and grab me some potatoes, some bell peppers, some sausage, and some eggs. 'Cause we're about to hash this out! There's also gonna be whole heapin' helpin' of bonding with the Hooker Clan, and exploration of said bonds, because I yearn for Found Family. I hunger for Found Family, particularly this found family! And oh boy that's just gonna make the burn all the slower, won't it?? Fasten your fuckin' seatbelts, loves.

Part 1: Soaked to the Bone

(Severen x GN Reader, 2nd Person POV, they/them pronouns, 3026 Words)

Warnings for this chapter: Violence, murder

Songs listened to while writing this chapter: When the Night is Over by Lord Huron... over and over and over again. And also the Title Theme from Near Dark because it's a banger.

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

The pounding rain tried to rush in with them as they walked through the door, a group of four that strode wordlessly to the booth in the corner. You could just see them in your peripheral vision from your spot behind the bar, but you didn’t have to look at their faces to know they weren’t locals. Everyone willing to leave the comfort of their recliners and trudge through the downpour for a beer was already there.

You called out a friendly “Hey! How y’all doin’ tonight?” But without waiting for an answer, you took off like a flash, abandoning the rag you had used to polish the counter and making a beeline for the stockroom behind you. You nudged the old, grimy door open with your shoulder and, only having to lean in a little past the threshold, grabbed the towels stashed away specifically for nights like this one. You took five, one for each of your new customers and a larger one for the mess you knew waited at the entrance. They were threadbare and a little on the scratchy side, but you hoped they would be some small comfort.

In a few hurried steps you swiveled back into the hazy barroom and crossed the floor to that corner booth, which was now alive with the hum of quiet chatter. 

“Mighty kind of you.” A smooth, deep voice rolled out of the man sitting on one of the ends of the horseshoe bench, and as if commanded, the other three paused their conversation and turned their heads up to you. 

“Happy I can help.” Your reply was warm but no less practiced, mind more focused on the puddle in the corner of your eye. After the group picked your pile of towels down to the last, extra large one, you wheeled around. Your eyes caught briefly on the neon sign hanging in the window by the door. Searing red and icy blue twinkled off of the countless tiny droplets on the glass, and you noticed that the pounding outside had subsided. Almost as if it, too, had been commanded.

You laid the towel out like a red carpet, only to then stamp down on it with your mud-caked boots and drag it around. “Rough weather out there,” you sighed, still doing your awkward little shimmy. “I appreciate y’all comin’ out.”

Lightning bathed the night in white, and thunder followed with a rumble so fierce it shook the walls around you. You flinched.

“A man can still thirst even when he’s soaked to the bone,” the man said. His words, his stoic cadence, made your fingers twitch, so you rubbed your hands up and down the side seams of your jeans before resting them on your hips. Unsure of how to respond, you pushed out a polite, nervous chuckle.

And then you finally, really looked at him. Skin like sandstone stretched over sunken cheeks. A jagged scar curved around one eye socket and then bolted down to his jaw. His head cocked just slightly to one side, as if gauging your reaction to him, assessing you. He had your undivided attention.

“I suppose he can, yes sir.”

“The manners on this one,” He mused, eyebrows raised in the faintest hint of mirth, but he wasn’t speaking to you. You plastered on your tried-and-true service smile and turned to greet his companion at the other end of the seat, only to be walloped into orbit.

Bottomless eyes watched you from within a freckled face, with lips curved up in a small, closed-mouth smile. Bleach blond hair had been ruffled by one of the towels and was slowly drying into short, fluffy curls. She leaned into the backrest with an arm slung over top, the picture of comfort and relaxation. And yet the angle at which she upturned her chin, and the set of her shoulders, spoke of a power lying in wait.

Breath hitching, skin tingling on the back of your neck, you were struck by the urge to reach out to her and hold on tight, follow her wherever she went, tell her everything and anything. You slid your shaky hands behind your back and shoved them in your pockets.

“What’s your name, honey?” Her voice was all-encompassing, like the deafening roar of cicadas at dusk. 

You bowed your head, breaking the spell of her gaze while also begging for forgiveness of your social blunder. You offered them your name and then left the air open for them to return in kind.

They looked at each other one more time, and the woman shrugged as if to ask “What’s the harm in it?” And it made you wonder what the harm would be.

The man relented with a nod. “Jesse.”

“Alright, Mister Jesse,” you echoed. He barked a laugh at the added prefix.

You then turned to the woman, and your heart hammered in your chest as you met eyes again. “The name’s Diamondback.”

“Di–” you started, thrown off by such an unusual name, but then you blinked and your mind caught up with your mouth. And you couldn’t help but think that that name was just perfect for her. “Miss Diamondback. It’s nice to meet y’all.”

“ Oh, darlin’, please. Just Diamondback.”

“Well, I uh, I can certainly try. No promises,” you joked, and the grin that took over your face was the genuine article. Diamondback’s eyes crinkled as her reserved smile morphed into something more like yours.

Then it hit you that you had, so far, completely glossed over the other two people in the booth. Your face grew hot with embarrassment, but you pushed on, focusing your gaze on their spot in the dip of the u-curve. You cleared your throat and apologized before asking their names.

They were a noticeably younger couple, and seemed to be completely unbothered by having faded into the background. Looking for all the world like the small town high school sweethearts who just never felt the need to get out and sew any oats, who got engaged right after their graduation ceremony, who went home to a tiny trailer after a small wedding in somebody’s backyard, they sat contentedly pressed together. The young man had his arm wrapped around his partner’s shoulders, and the young woman’s hand reached up to twine her fingers with his. Compared to the whirlwind you had just braved, speaking to them was more like a gentle morning breeze. The young man lifted his free hand and pointed first to his other half, and then himself. “Mae and Caleb.”

“Mae and Caleb.” You nodded. You flexed your fingers as the trembling finally calmed down, giving you the courage to bring your hands out from their hiding spot. Slowly coming back to your senses, you bent down and snatched the long forgotten, sullied towel from the floor. “Now, what can I get y’all to drink?”

They kept it blessedly simple, not that they could get anything particularly fancy in a hole in the wall in the middle of nowhere. Shots of well whiskey for Diamondback, Mae, and Caleb. Jesse just wanted a beer and a glass.

You walked back to the bar and set about putting together the order when you heard your name called from another, more well-worn booth one spot over from your new friends. You flicked your eyes up and away from your task, flashing an amused little smirk at the old man you’d had to drive home after closing on a handful of occasions. 

“ Kiddo, you gon’ work yourself to death.” The slur in his words turned the ‘th’ in ‘death’ into more of an ‘f’ sound. “You gon’ drop dead right here in this bar. One a’ these days.”

With the drinks assembled and gathered on a tray, you dispatched them, leaving you then free to turn to your regular. “Gotta pay the bills, somehow, Mister George,” you quipped, “‘Less you know some rich, old fool who’d be willing to sweep me off my feet and take me away from all this.”

His laugh was more of a wheeze. “Well, there’s our problem. I know plenty of fools, but I ain’t never known nobody rich.”

You threw up your hands, careful to make sure you had put enough space between you and the table so that the empty tray in your grasp wouldn’t fly into Diamondback’s face. “Well then, here we are,” you chuckled.

“Here we are,” George said back, raising his glass to you in a toast to your good fortune. 

“Where’s Jay?” another old man, another regular and George’s more even-keeled friend, piped up. “For a man who’s got his name above the door I sure don’t see him around here often.”

“Said he was going night fishin’, Mister Bobby.”

“Night fishin’?!” George balked, “Goin’ for a swim, more like!”

“That’s what he told me.” You shrugged in resignation, well aware of just how stupid your boss’s excuses always sounded.

Bobby shot you an exasperated look. “James Colegrove has never fished a day in his godforsaken life, be it sun-up or sundown. What he does do, is blow all his money at poker games and run around on his wife.” He punctuated his declaration with a pointed sip of his beer. You huffed and shook your head. Whether strange new faces rolled in or not, George and Bobby never allowed a dull moment to pass in that bar. 

“Well, you got me, there–”

The sound of thick glass slamming against wood made your heart lurch, and you jumped to turn your attention to one of the small tables out in the middle of the floor. Some rough-looking drifter with his face seemingly stuck in a permanent scowl, he had given you a bad feeling from the minute he barreled in with only a grunt of his drink order, just a little bit before Diamondback and the gang arrived. But you chalked it up to your being a worry-wart, and after serving his beverage, you had forgotten him. What, with all the hubbub. 

“ My glass is empty,” he growled, “You gonna keep fuckin’ around or are you gonna get me another? I’m tired a’ waitin’ on you.”

The bad feeling came back in a hurry. You took cautious steps toward him and picked up his glass from the tabletop, all the while trying to keep your voice even and placate him as best you could. “I’m sorry about that, sir. I didn’t know you finished your drink. How bout I make this next one on me, for your patience?”

He said nothing but the look in his eyes told you he wouldn’t have paid for the refill, anyway. You faltered, a cold sweat breaking out on your back. “Think we mighta polished off the vodka,” you lied, picturing the half full bottle sitting just out of sight behind the bar. “ I just gotta grab another from the back and I’ll be right with you.”

You’d given the most believable reason you could think of to get you back in that stockroom, but at the cost of whatever order you had regained. “What the hell is it you do around here, huh?! Go on!” he yelled and swatted at you, his meaty arm knocking a metal napkin dispenser into your mid section, where it bounced off and clattered at your feet. 

“Now you wait just a damn minute.” Old wood creaked as George stumbled up from his seat, a drunken David ready to take on Goliath, but you held up a hand to him. You couldn’t risk him escalating things any further. The bar was out on the side of the highway, a good distance away from town, and an even greater distance from the bigger town that lent its emergency services. The cops and paramedics would never get out there in time.

Bobby grabbed onto his friend’s arm and whispered, “Sit back down, Georgie.” George looked ready to say something else, but after a tug on his arm from Bobby, he gave up with a frustrated grunt and lowered himself into the booth again. 

You glanced over to the corner by the door, trying to make sure that Diamondback and the others were okay. They hadn’t made a peep since you gave them their drinks.

You were met with those dark, watchful eyes. Her smile was gone, but Diamondback still had her arm hanging over the booth seat, and she had craned her upper half your way so she could face you head on. She didn’t look away when you caught her staring. Shame ate at you as you thought of her and her group having to bear witness to that whole grand display.

“Are y’all okay, Miss Di–” You swallowed. “Diamondback?” 

“Yeah, honey. Keep doin’ whatcha doin’. You’re alright.” And for a minute, you believed her. Her words felt like a warm hand patting at your shoulder blades. 

Heaving a breath of relief, you slowly turned around and made your way behind the bar. You once again nudged that old, grimy door open with your shoulder, but you had to walk further in this time. The door swung closed behind you. You first grabbed for an unopened bottle of vodka, worried about just how closely the man would be watching you when you came back out. After that, you walked to the far corner, eyeing what you had really set out for, a scratched up aluminum bat. It hardly struck fear, but it was all you had to protect you and your patrons, if it ever came down to it. Jay had a shotgun, but of course it was with Jay. And Jay was a useless bastard who was never there when you really needed him.

You wound your fingers around the taped handle, but you hesitated. You’d never had to bring out the bat before. Bobby and George were the rowdiest it ever got around there. If you kept it tucked behind your back, and held your head high, and walked tight, smooth steps back out, would you be able to sneak it out with you? Would you be able to use it? Would he make you use it, or would he (please, god) just take the free drink and shut up?

Your questions were answered for you when you heard a loud crash from outside. 

The bottle of vodka fell to the floor and shattered as you made to wrap both hands around the bat. You readied your weapon for the swing of a lifetime, and you took off, out of that stockroom like a bat out of hell. 

A seething rage you hadn’t felt in ages rose up inside you as you took in the sight of George, splayed out helpless on top of his booth’s table, with that man’s disgusting hands wrapped around his throat. 

“Hey! Enough! Get the hell off him!” you screamed, voice rasping and crackling, not at all used to the strain you were putting on it. You charged forward and swung the bat as hard as you could at that piece of shit’s hunched shoulders and the back of his head. He didn’t even flinch, and that just made you angrier. 

You threw the bat away, and with another scream, you wrapped your arms around the man’s neck. You reached up and dug your nails into his cheeks, scratching and pulling his skin down as he tried to buck you off and as you scrabbled towards his eyes. You plunged your thumbs into the sockets, and he howled. He let go of George and instead gripped each of your wrists in an iron vice. With his considerable strength, he ripped your hands away from his face and swung you around like a rag doll. Your lower back collided with the edge of the table, hard. 

Left stunned, the air was knocked out of your lungs, and a twisting in your gut told you he must’ve punched you in the stomach. But as you crumbled to the floor and blood began to seep into your white shirt and against your skin, you realized he had done you one better. He had stabbed you.

And as if just waiting for you to notice it, the wound stopped twisting and began to radiate with an ungodly pain. You couldn’t hold yourself in a slumping position anymore, and you flopped to the ground, the back of your head smacking against the linoleum. 

You lay there, gasping for breath and staring wide-eyed at the spinning ceiling fan overhead. The man was gone. Where, how, you didn’t know, but George was at your side, pressing a rag to the hole in your belly, and turning your face to look at him. “Hey, kiddo. It’s okay. We’re gonna get you outta here and get you some help. Bobby! Help me stand ‘em up!”

“I can’t let you do that.” Caleb? He sounded so remorseful, so different. 

“The hell you mean, boy?! Get outta my way!” There was a struggle, a very brief one, and then George croaked. The ground shook a little as he came crashing down beside you. 

Why wasn’t anybody helping? Where was Bobby? Where was–

Diamondback stepped into your line of sight, gazing down at you without a smidge of expression on her face, but there was something in her eyes. Pity? Regret? She knelt down and stroked your cheek, shushing you like a mother soothing a child after a nightmare. “It’s alright, doll. It’s all gonna be over real soon.”

She brought her face closer to yours. You tried to inch away from her, tried to ask her why, but all that came out were breathless little whimpers.

Her hand moved to cup the back of your head and hold you still. And the two of you stared at each other. You waited, resigned to the fact that that endless stare would be the last thing you saw, oddly comforted by the thought. But then she looked away, down, almost desperate to retreat from your eyes.

Her grip at the base of your skull tightened. She was trembling. You could barely feel it, but she was trembling.

“Jesse.”

A pause.

“Diamondback, no.”

[prettyprincessluna]

INFECTIONS GALORE.

Chapter 1- Introduction

Characters- Applejack; Twilight Sparkle

WARNING. This series might contain-

Gore

Swearing

Bad writing

Descriptions of unsettling topics

Non friendship things.

Probably non canon attitudes.

You have been warned.

Twilight Sparkle - Stats

Healthy.

Sanity- 96%

Mood- Calm , slightly worried.

Hunger- 20%

Thirst- 3%

Injuries? - sprained leg .

Description/Background-

Twilight Sparkle was in her castle ; with Applejack . They were discussing something , something that was a bit strange .

“Apple jack… has any pony told you about the crazy myth going around among ponies?”

“No. . .? Has it been recent?”

“Not just recent, it’s been all over the place. . . ! I just might know what they’re talking about, too.”

Twilight walked over to the books that sat among the walls, hooves clinking against the tile floors. Her horn glowed as she looked up, a certain book coming down towards her. Applejack walked beside her, examining the book. It was a bit dusty, it hasn’t been open for ages. . . The actual book cover was grey and bumpy, like a boulders’ touch. Twilight’s magic flipped to a certain page ; page 63. The words were descriptive, an image at the bottom of the page.

“Legend says there was an infection. . . The said infection spread by just one slight bite. It started with a pony called ‘snowdrop’ , the filly in love with the sky and the snowflakes that came once a year. It was a snowy night where she flew among Ponyville, reason unknown. It was then when she noticed a green goo in Sweet Spot, the original Sugar Cube Corner. She went inside, curious of the tall jar that held it. She opened it, although she spilt it on the wood floors below her. She held the jar tight, stopping the spill. She was still curious although, not bothering to clean up. She put her hoof into the jar, scooping some out and putting it on the tip of her tongue. It tasted sweet, like green apple. She searched for more, eventually finding another jar of it, full to the brim. It took a while for her to get the lid off, but when she did she ate at it. All of it. Morning came, some of the ponies going about their day, although it was only about 5 am. A pegasus pony that owned the bakery was named Sharptane. She opened the bakery doors, immediately greeted with a sticky substance on her hooves. . .”

“Aw plum berries. . .”

Sharptane lifted up her hoof, observing the liquid.

“I don’t recognize this…?”

Sharptane was puzzled. She closed the bakery doors behind her, flying above the green goo, opening the door to her supply closet, flipping the light switch, jolting when she looked around. Weird. Snowdrop was sat in the corner of the room, mumbling nonsense. Goo puddled around her, the same kind Sharptane saw at the entrance.

“Ah. . . Its just you, Snowdrop! You worried me. . . By the way, I loved your speech! You did a wonderful job, you little filly. Say, would you mind helping me clean up? If it’s not a bother. . . Of course.”

. . .

“Snow…drop?”

Sharptane tilted her head when Snowdrop said nothing. She slowly walked to her, hearing better of Snowdrops words.

“Are you feeling alright..?”

Sharptane was startled when Snowdrop turned around, a crazed look on the filly. Goo surrounded her unhinged mouth, her head twitching from time to time. All Sharptane could do was scream, before she was bitten right at the chest.

.

Ponies walked around Ponyville, the sky now sunny with unicorns, pegasi, and earth ponies chatting up and about. That was, until two ponies exited Sweet Spot. Every pony stopped. No one knows exactly what happened, it all being a blur after that. All they know of is that Princess Celestia found a cure.

. . .

“Wow, Twilight. . . That was. . . Something.”

“Yes. And we need to find out what’s going on.”

——————————————————————————————————

Here Twilight and Applejack are, fighting for their lives friends.

——————————————————————————————————

Tags - @n1ud1u

[backwards-readings]

The Door that was Never Supposed to be Opened.

Chapter 4: A Bird in a Cage

{Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3}

{A/N: This was originally posted on AO3, if you would like to read it there you can find it HERE. I'm going to be straight up with you and tell you that this is pretty much a self-indulgent self-insert fic. I'm not gonna lie. If you don't like that, that's cool, have a good day. But if you're DTF with it, let's get right into the story.}

{Art Credit: this lovely artist

++TW: There are depictions of Suicide. Please, if it is a sensitive topic for you, skip this chapter. I'll add notes on the next chapter a quick summary of what happened without going into detail. I want you to be safe more than I want you to read my writing. If you're struggling with thoughts of harming yourself, please reach out to someone you trust. If you're in the US, you can call 988 to talk with someone, or text HOME to 741741. There's help. There's hope. Be safe, please.++

The next few days I am consumed by anger. I scribble more sketches in my book, but the strokes are dark, and in places the lead of my pencil rips the paper. I tear the pieces of the ruined paper out of the book in strips, balling each strip up and throwing it into the unlit fireplace. I sit on the floor for a bit, staring at the torn pieces of paper sitting in the soot. Tears begin to form in my eyes and I pull my knees up to my chest, hugging them. All this just because I wanted to help someone. I pick the journal back up and begin drawing again, this time taking time to carefully sketch out the face of the man in the basement.

My tears stain the page around the drawing as his face takes shape. I stop when I get to the hair and set down the journal, leaving the drawing unfinished. His face already haunts me, the hopeless look follows me when I close my eyes. The hopeless look that I’ll soon have as well. I stay sitting on the floor, numbness creeping across my body. A numbness that starts in my hands starts spreading across my body, taking hold of me. A tightness creeps into my chest and something tells me it’s here to stay for a while.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The next few days I don’t even bother getting out of bed unless it’s to use the bathroom. What’s the point of putting in an effort to eat and drink water if you’re just going to be stuck in the same room for possibly the rest of your life? Ms Downard comes in a few times and clicks her tongue at the untouched food, taking it away and replacing it with fresh food, but she never says anything to me.

The first two days my stomach grumbles, and on the third day my stomach feels like it’s tying itself in knots, but I don’t care. Better to starve to death than to live out my years in this god-forsaken place. After five days of staying in bed and not eating, Ms Downard finally addresses me.

“Honestly, you think a hunger strike is going to do anything for you? Eat, don’t eat, Master Burgess doesn’t care. It would just be one less thing for him to worry about. One less thing for me to worry about, too. Lord knows I don’t have to bring you fresh food every day. I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart, not asking for anything in return.” She lectures me but I don’t respond. If this is her idea of kindness then I don’t want it.

“Nothing?” She huffs “Fine. I don’t care. Have fun sulking in bed until you wither away into nothing. I don’t care.” She leaves a tray of food on the table and leaves, the click of the lock a bitter reminder. That night I take a few bites of the bread that she left, but I throw it up as soon as I get it down. I crawl back into bed and cover myself with the blankets, a chill clinging to my bones that I just can't shake.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

I’m so tired but can’t sleep. I try again and again to eat, but only a few bites make me sick to my stomach, no matter what it is. I drink the water left for me but it doesn’t seem to stay my thirst. I run a bath and sink into the water, the sting of the cold water doing nothing to wake me up. I wash up slowly, letting my hands and feet get wrinkly in the water. After my bath I sit wrapped in a towel on the bed, not waiting to put on the dirty clothes I’ve been in since getting imprisoned. I’m clean, but I don’t feel like it. My chest is still tight and my skin crawls with invisible dirt and bugs. I try to eat a bit of bread again and this time it stays down, feeling like lead in my stomach.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The next morning, there are clean clothes laid out for me on the table next to my tray of food. It’s a servant's uniform just like my old clothes were. They’re ill-fitting, probably left over from one of the girls who left. The sleeves cover my hands, and I trip over the skirt. There’s no apron to put over the plain dress, but I don’t think I would put it on if there was. I have no need for one as a prisoner. I sit down at the table and eat a few bites of cured meat that sits on the tray, the salty flavour causing me to nearly gag. I eat a little of the bread, hoping that it will calm my stomach, and sit on the bed with my journal and draw.

Once again, my drawings turn from inanimate objects to him. No matter what I do, I can’t get him out of my head. I hate him for it. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t even be locked up. But instead of minding my own, I had to try and become his saviour. I scribble him over and over again, his features flooding my mind. As I create him over and over again, anger begins to bubble. He haunted me when I was free, and now that I am captive he is all I can think about.

He may not have actually been a devil, but he tricked me just the same. If he is such a powerful being, why didn’t he warn me this would happen? Why didn’t he tell me? He let me try to help him when he probably knew the outcome. That bastard might have even wanted this, envious of my freedom. I get up and throw my book across the room, sick of drawing. Sick of everything turning back into him. It hits the wall and falls with a loud thunk, but does nothing but make me more angry. I begin to see red and next throw the tray of food that has been given to me, and then push the vanity in the room to its side and let out a yell filled with anger.

I stand there, seething for a moment before my seething hot anger is replaced with ice-cold sorrow. Tears fall from my eyes faster than I can wipe them away and I sink to the floor, unable to stop the convulsions of cries. I curl up on myself, my sabs raking through my body like waves crashing into rocks. I don’t know how long I lay there for, but eventually my ragged breaths even out and I lay on the floor in silence. My eyes wander around the room, taking in the destruction of my fit, and they fall on the broken mirror of the vanity, shards of the silver-backed glass strewn across the floor.

I drag myself towards the broken glass, grabbing a shard that fits perfectly into my hand- as if it was meant to be. My head throbs with every heartbeat as I palm the glass, feeling the sharp edges. They may have taken away my freedom, but I am not helpless. I don’t want to live caged like an animal. I can’t. I won’t. I hold the shard in my hand, shaking as I sit up and press the jagged edge into my wrist, a hiss of pain coming from my lips as it bites into my skin. Tears well in my eyes again as I watch a stream of blood trickle down my arm, landing in my lap. I dig deeper, pain clouding my vision before I remove the shard and move it to my other arm, my hands shaking more and more. I repeat the process, digging into my flesh until I have to bite back a scream. I remove the makeshift blade and drop it in my lap, holding my bloody arms out in front of me. My eyes begin to feel heavy, and I lay down, not caring about the shards of glass on the carpet that dig into my skin.

Despite the pain, a small smile graces my lips as I lay there. My eyes land on the book I had been drawing in it, the pained stare of my drawing subject meeting my eyes. I don’t remember drawing him looking like he was pitying me, but then again, I had drawn him so many times, that I probably just forgot. I close my eyes, ready to let the darkness take me, to embrace death like an old friend, but instead, I hear a voice. Soft and comforting, like a warm breeze on a summer evening.

“Oh, you poor little thing.” The voice says, and I use what little strength I have left to open my eyes. A woman kneels in front of me and gently brushes a bit of my hair from my face. The woman has dark skin, and her beautiful curly hair hangs around her face. Her eyes are soft and kind, like she knows every hardship you’ve ever been through, but wouldn’t dare judge you for them. She smiles at me kindly, and I blink slowly, trying to figure out if my loss of blood is causing me to hallucinate.

“I’m so sorry for what they’ve done to you.” She says, cupping my cheek with one hand as she brings her other hand down to my arm, gripping my wrist. But I don’t feel any pain. Instead, it feels like warm water is being poured over my wrist, and I feel a bit stronger, but nauseous.

“I did this…” I say, my voice cracking as hot tears roll down my face.

“No, dear. You are not at fault for your death. You saw the only possible way out and you took it.” She says, moving her hand to my other wrist. I feel the same feeling of water running down my arm and I gag, rolling a bit more onto my side as I dry heave.

“I know, I know. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” The woman says, gently stroking my back. “You fought a battle that was stacked against you from the start, and you should be proud of how long you held up against it.” She says softly, gently pulling me upright.

“But I’m not ready to take you yet, Patricia Everly.”

[chuuyanaurkahara]

MURDERKITTY STUFF NO ONE ASKED FOR BUT I DON’T CARE💯💯🔥🔥

uhm yeah lol this is all nsfw or suggestive stuff, sorry😔 it can go a bit extreme or graphic, so beware. don't read stuff you're uncomfortable with, stay safe, mwuah😘

not proofread cus it's almost midnight and my fingers are just mashing random buttons at this point while i'm hoping to sound at least half coherent

------

Azrael likes to call Dani an icy heaven during sex.

Another pet name for them is kitty or kitten or pet.

Dani cries easily, especially during sex. It's not because they're uncomfortable, their body is just very sensitive and easily overstimulated.

Up to a certain amount of pain it still can be quite comfortable for them though.

Azrael tries his best to be as gentle as possible, despite his urges to wreck Dani's whole body.

When Dani's in a very good mood (or it's Azrael's birthday) they allow their boyfriend to destroy them. They tell him that no matter how much they might cry and beg for him to stop, he should keep going if he so pleases. they have a safeword for if they really really can't take it.

Azrael loves to turn Dani into a crying and blushing mess, bruises, scratches and bitemarks all over their body, messed up hair, cloudy and unfocused eyes, cheeks wet from tears, drool dripping onto the mattress, panting, their cum mixed with Azrael's on their chest and belly, maybe even some on their face, maybe mixed with drool dripping onto the matress, trembling legs, and cum seeping out of their asshole. Maybe they're tied up.

Azrael cannot stop fantasising about Dani just because of their height. He loves how tiny they are compared to him and tells them so many times, especially, as you probably guessed, during sex. He loves how tight they feel around him. He loves how much power he has over them just because of their height difference.

No matter what kind of freaky stuff Dani wants to try, Azrael is definitely loving every second of it.

also, i am not above putting in a snippet of the canon things Azrael thinks. 1st draft because i don't even have one chapter finished.

Do they realise what they're doing to me every time they touch me? How every little movement makes me hunger more? Thirst more? Lust more?

Do they know how much they drive me to insanity? How much I want to ruin their tiny body, making them tremble and cry beneath me? How much I want to abuse their cute little mouth until it hurts to speak, their throat hoarse and aching?

Do they know how much I have to refrain from ripping off their clothes and fucking them dry right now? How much I want them to scream my name and my name only, how much I want them to mindlessly moan for me alone.

Do they know how much I want them to sob and beg under me? How much I want them to beg and cum because of me?

Do they know how much I want to consume all of them? Their spit, their flesh, their blood, their cum, their piss--- simply everything. How much I want to feel their delicate flesh between my teeth, their wonderful blood on my tongue.

and this was literally after Dani only hugged him.

[not-me-haha]

If only.... -yjw

TENTH CHAPTER : The story of Esmeralda

"Ay don't, Jungwon stop!" You yelled at him as he splashed water from the river at you. You had spent the entire day with him now and you had enjoyed every single minute of it. Eating streetfood near the river, him telling you stories of his past, it was like a dream. You've never had so much fun ever since your father died. Suddenly you both sensed a bond between you too.

Jungwon on the other side had never trusted anyone as much as he trusted you. You were so easy to talk to and he felt like he could go on and on venting out his stories which he had to keep hidden from all his friends.

Now you both were soaked, with water dripping off of your school uniforms waiting for the sunlight to dry you off. You closed your eyes and raised your head towards the sun, sitting on the emerald grass. Jungwon's gaze could help but fall on you, the light sunrays fell on your face making you look even prettier. He could all of your freckles, scars and moles and he admired it so much.

There's no way, he thought. Am I in love with Y/N?

It wasnt just usual attraction that he felt. It was much more deeper. It wasnt anything like what vampires feel for humans before they inject their fangs into their skin. It was something pure.

Upon remembering something you opened your eyelids and looked at Jungwon, who looked away surprised by your sudden gaze.

"Hey, you were saying something about your great grandfather, that he fell in love with a mortal, what happened to them?"

"Oh right, it's kind of a long story so only if you're interested"

"Ofcourse, I want to hear it!"

"Well then you're going to enjoy this"

Jungwon was especially good at telling stories. Each story he told you so far has been stuck in your head. He narrated it so well and Jungwon just loved the hyped reactions you have him after hearing his stories.

And so he began with one of the most told stories in vampire history.

"My great grandfather had taken our family name to great heights. Not just in the vampire world but also in the human world. Not as if he was a good person though. He was the one who started our company where my parents work now. In each meeting, whenever a client, or a person from any other company disagreed with him or didnt team up with him he invited them over for dinner and made sure they could never leave. He was well known to be a hunter type vampire but instead of hunting for hunger he did it for anger.

One night he got home a woman named Esmeralda for dinner, well to kill her because she unleashed his wrath in some way. Esmeralda was a beautiful woman, she looked as though she was descended from some royal family. Gorgeous like a princess. But my great grandfather overlooked that fact due to his fury. While dinner went on, they got into a conversation, a chat that made my great grandfather fall for Esmeralda but not just for her beauty for her wisdom. The way she conversed, her expressions, he had fallen for her. A deep love. And so had Esmeralda she was particularly interested in what my great grandfather said and also the fact that he was considered pretty good looking. So instead of the night ending with Esmeralda's life getting sucked out of her, she ended up in great grandfather's bed.

Ever since then the two were in love, she was even familiar with the fact that great grandfather was a vampire and hence he introduced her to his vampire mates and family. But that wasnt a good idea at all. As I said Esmeralda was pretty inside out, her blood also had a scent which was the biggest weakness for vampires to keep their fangs hidden. My great grandfather being a Level 3 Grade Master was able to control his thirst but he'd often bite other mortals to quench his overpowering thirst, but for other vampires it was impossible. Mates turned into enemies. They now all wanted Esmeralda's blood. Great grandfather gave his everything trying to save his love from his beloved friends and family. Esmeralda was unaware of the fact that she was a target of bloodthirsty vampires and my great grandfather wanted to keep it that way. But one day she got to know as he killed his friend in front of her who was literally centimetres away from injecting his fangs into her soft skin. And once she found out she forgot all about her love. As if it never existed. She tried to kill my great grandfather and run away, she blamed him for ruining her life and that she didnt even love him enough for all this. He was heartbroken. The love for whom he killed multiple friends now back stabbed him, making him think that his love was one sided. For the last time he looked at Esmeralda and his wrath unleashed as he stopped, stopped sacrificing for his fake love, he stepped back as the vampires devoured her leaving only her necklace that my great grandfather had gifted her.

Oh and later he married my great grandmother who was a pure vampire, that means she was born a vampire and not bitten while she was a human, like me."

With that Jungwon ended his story and looked at you who had your mouth in an 'o' shape as though it was too much to take in.

"That was the only time a mortal and a vampire were together. Ever since then this story was kind of an reminder that if we fell in love with a mortal nothing will end well. But I guess mistakes are made" Jungwon continued and looked at you while saying the last part with eyes that communicated more than what he said.

"Woah" was all you could say as you tried to comprehend the whole story and the mainly that last bit that he said. Had Jungwon fallen in love with a mortal? You thought. Little did you know that it was you who he had fallen for.

"Jungwon!"

Jungwon looked back near the road to see Yoonjae panting.

"They're here! The Rakahs!"

Upon hearing that Jungwon got up with a shock. His expression changed so suddenly it surprised you. You got up as well trying to stay by Jungwon's side.

"Y/N, I have to go" he said taking your hand in his like he meant to say 'I dont really want to but I have to'. You nodded trying to reassure him. "Yoonjae drop her home safely, I'll go home".

Yoonjae nodded and waited as you walked over to him leaving Jungwon.

Jungwon took a deep breath and gave you a weak smile which you returned and with that he disappeared, just like that leaving you confused.

Masterlist hehe

[bookoformon]

Helaman Chapter 6, Part 3. "Ken."

10 Now the land south was called Lehi, and the land north was called Mulek, which was after the son of Zedekiah; for the Lord did bring Mulek into the land north, and Lehi into the land south.

11 And behold, there was all manner of gold in both these lands, and of silver, and of precious ore of every kind; and there were also curious workmen, who did work all kinds of ore and did refine it; and thus they did become rich.

12 They did raise grain in abundance, both in the north and in the south; and they did flourish exceedingly, both in the north and in the south. And they did multiply and wax exceedingly strong in the land. And they did raise many flocks and herds, yea, many fatlings.

13 Behold their women did toil and spin, and did make all manner of cloth, of fine-twined linen and cloth of every kind, to clothe their nakedness. And thus the sixty and fourth year did pass away in peace.

14 And in the sixty and fifth year they did also have great joy and peace, yea, much preaching and many prophecies concerning that which was to come. And thus passed away the sixty and fifth year.

Once again, the Four Directions correspond to the stages of human enlightenment.

First is North, what is unknown, East is the Age of Reason, South is Understanding, West is Enlightenment, the end of all uncivilized thoughts, desires, and actions.

To carve a placid, lovely and gorgeous civilization out of what is uncertain in the North is what humans have demonstrated great skill at. We wreck it all quite readily, but we also rebuild.

The thirst, hunger, and passion in all the world's faiths is for a unidirectional human race that seeks the refuge and pleasures of civilized life and never once looks back upon its savage past with any kind of longing.

The verses above summarize how this works as the Lamanites head North, then South and things just get better and better:

v. 10: Lehi is the "jawbone" which controls what the mouth consumes and speaks. In with blessings out with hymns and benedictions is the rule of thumb for managing the Jaw.

Mulek "full of priests" son of Zedekiah, "brotherhood of the memory of God" or Tzaddiks. Priests go North, the product Zedeks, go South.

the Value in Gematria is 9904, טט אֶפֶסד‎, tet epsad, "to see goodness advance from the womb,"

v. 11: The mining of gold and silver we discussed in the previous section of Chapter 6, but the refining of ore takes place during meditation upon Ha Shem, the All Seeing and All Knowing. One cannot partake of God while one thinks one is smarterthan He.

The Value in Gematria is 112-14, יאב‎אד‎ "the object of desire is yabad," "part of God."

v. 12: Grain consists of positive values, those that do not contribute to avarice, corruption, violence, debauchery, or cause harm.

The Value in Gematria is 9551, טההא‎, taha, "efforts at beatification, offered without expectation of accolades or reward."

v. 13: To spin cloth that covers nakedness, and not in an emergency like Adam and Eve did after the Great Fall, cloth and clothing signify the obvious and also less obvious choices of the inner self:

"Like the body, the soul too has “garments.” The Kabbalah1 teaches that the soul has an inner “personality,” its emotional and intellectual composition, as well as “garments,” its ability to act, to speak and to think a given thought. Thought, speech and action are called garments because they are not the soul itself and, like the body’s garments, they can betray the inner makeup of the soul. A person can act, speak or think in ways that are inconsistent with and betray his inner self."

The Value in Gematria is 10089, י'ףט, ya f't, or yafta, "the Agents of God."

v. 14: the Value in Gematria is 12589, יבהחט‎, "will beat". Several words in Hebrew surface, the most pertinent is "beit" which means, "I will support the House of Many Names."

The Values in Gematria for the Years of the Reign of the Judges are:

Year 64: 1987, א‎טחז‎, "I'm sorry"= repentance.

Year 65: 1672, או‎ זב‎ ‎ ‎or zev, "to give light to the wolf."

The unused verb זאב (za'ab) probably meant to despise, frighten and drive away (it does so in other languages). Noun זאב (ze'eb) means wolf, and contrary to its romantic status in our modern world, in antiquity the wolf was archetypal for all that's cowardly, sneaky, deceptive and thieving. Wolves were to ancients what rats are to moderns.

Year 66: 2050, ךן, "yes." The Hebrew word for yes is ken:

"The verb כון (kun), means to be established, prepared, fixed, certain, etc. This very common verb has the basic meaning of "to bring something into being with the consequence that its existence is a certainty," in the eloquent words of HAW Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament. It is used in relation to the building of a house (Judges 16:26), but also of budding breasts (Ezekiel 16:7), or more mundane, of fixing a meal (Joshua 1:11).

Mostly it occurs figuratively, in the establishment of a throne (2 Samuel 7:16), meaning a monarchy (1 Samuel 20:31), or to indicate the solidity of a person's character (Job 21:8), of plans (Proverbs 16:3), and even of the well establishment of the day (Proverbs 4:18; BDB's suggestion that this indicates a seeming motionlessness of the sun at noon is quite positively nonsense).

Our verb also contains a moral clause, indicating a steadfastness (Psalm 57:7) or a being prepared (Amos 4:12). This also shows in the derived adjective כן (ken), meaning right, true or honest (Exodus 10:29, Proverbs 11:19)."

[dailyaudiobiblechronological]

10/10/2023 DAB Chronological transcription Part 1

Matthew 5 - 7

Welcome to Daily Audio Bible Chronological, I'm Jill. Today is the 10th day of October. We're here. We made it. You made it. Let's meet this incredible Man, who is both God and man at the same time, and I man, I hope You fall in love with him and just A real, tangible way as we walk through these gospels together. Today we are reading Matthew chapters 5-6 and seven. This is absolutely one of my favorite messages. I'm going to say that about all of the Gospels, the Sermon On the mound, Matthew Chapter 5.

Commentary

The problem we're going to have with the Gospels, I'm telling you right now, is how to decide what To actually point out and highlight and talk about and maybe I should just Be done. Let them speak for themselves because they're so much that we could expound on the words of Jesus right here in front of us. So let's see if maybe 3 minutes here. Do I point out that we are the salt and light of the world? Do we talk about Oh, keeping your word, let your yes be your yes and your no be your no. Don't be duplicit, don't be wishy washy. Yes means yes, no means no. How about, Love your enemies and then pray for those who persecute you. Let's talk about how to give. Don't let your left hand know what your right hand is doing. Or how about how to pray God your name is to be holy. Give us just what we need for today. We don't need a huge surplus and worry about what we're going to eat and what we're going to wear. And and I got to be honest, it hits hard when you are a clothes loving kind of gal. You came out of the womb That way I hear these words, I'm like, I'm not supposed to worry about looking cute. And by the way, that passage has to do with anxiety. Not worrying about tomorrow, Anxieties Usually looking ahead and looking forward and speeding up and needing to slow down and live in the moment. And then we have, you know, don't judge or you'll be judged with the same measure. Take out of the beam of your own eye before you worry about the spec in your brothers eye. I mean, are we are we getting this yet? But what I really want to talk about is the very beginning of this passage. A sermon on the mound. We can so easily hear this and just scathe right over it. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for the Kingdom of heaven is theirs. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comfort. I think what we need to understand is the word that Jesus is using, blessed in the Greek Is usually contextually used for gods who have hit a state of perfection. And Jesus uses this word for the poor in spirit. For those who mourn. For the humble. For those who hunger and thirst for righteousness those who want to be set apart for righteous living. Blessed are the merciful, the pure in heart. Blessed are the peacemakers, the peace makers, not the peace keepers, not the ones who keep peace. Once peace is established, it's the people that will make peace in the midst of chaos. Blessed are those who are persecuted. Persecuted because of righteousness. That the Kingdom of heaven is theirs. In all honesty, I hear this and I think, These are the people it is so easy to look past, In our culture.In our lives, in our churches. We will do almost everything, Everything to wish away our mourning, our grief, our loss,  Because other people are so uncomfortable in the midst. We have a tendency to have zero empathy for someone who is poor in spirit because we Do not understand or relate to what they're going through. I mean, I could, I could keep reading the list until we finally get this, but I think the point that I'm trying to make is today,

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#DailyDevotion We Need Not Fear Death Or Its Shadow Because Immanuel

#DailyDevotion We Need Not Fear Death Or Its Shadow Because Immanuel Psalm 23 4Even though I walk in a very dark valley, I fear no harm because You are with me; Your rod and Your staff give me comfort. 5You set a table before me right in front of my enemies. You have anointed my head with oil; my cup is running over. 6Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all my life, and I will live in the LORD's house forever. Sometimes in translating we have to make choices. I don't think dark valley is the best choice here. It is often translated valley of the “shadow of death.” Literally it would be rendered |”valley of death shadow.” I kind of like the very literal translation. Such is this valley of tears we call “life.” Yet, because of our sin in the Garden, we brought death into this world. We live in this body of death.(Rom. 7:24) We are surrounded by death on every side. Yet because of Immanuel, God with us, we need not fear any harm. Yes it is God's and even more intimate, Jesus'` presence with us that takes away our fears of the shadows which are just that, shadows of death. We should, when alarmed remember Jesus' promise in Matthew 28, “remember, I am with you always until the end of the age." We need to remember Hebrews 13, “5“I will never leave you or desert you.” Jesus has made our hearts His home and throne. We are His temples. Why do we worry so much? Jesus reminds us in Matt. 6, “31Don't worry, then, and say, 'What are we going to eat?' or, 'What are we going to drink? or, 'What are we going to wear?' 32The people of the world run after all these things. Your Father in heaven knows you need them all. 33Seek first God's kingdom and righteousness, and all these things will be given to you, too.” No doubt the author of Hebrews has this in mind when he wrote down those words in chapter 13. Jesus' rod and staff comfort us. Jesus will protect us from all our foes that actually matter. Paul in Eph. 6:12 reminds us who they are, “against the rulers, authorities, and lords of this dark world, against the evil spirits that are above.” Jesus gives us His armor to battle with them but also reminds He fights for us, even as He did the ancient Israelites. We do not need to fear them because of Jesus' rod and staff. Jesus reminds us in John 10, “27My sheep listen to My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me, 28and I give them everlasting life. They will never be lost, and no one will tear them out of My hand. 29My Father, Who gave them to Me, is greater than all others, and no one can tear them out of My Father's hand. 30I and the Father are one.” Jesus sets a table before us, that is, His altar where upon He gives us His body and blood to eat and to drink. He does this right in the face of the enemies previously mentioned. It's a particularly nice smack in the face to them. For while they sinned against Him he did not redeem them. Yet we too have sinned and rebelled against Him yet out of His great love for us. Having made us in His image and likeness, He became man, suffered and died to redeem and ransom us. He gives us this meal of immortality joining His body and blood to our body and blood. In this eating and drinking by faith we are sealed with eternal life, His life. Death has no hold on us. He has baptized us with His Holy Spirit which is the anointing with oil. He has made all kings and priests with Him. As such good and mercy, steadfast love, kindness, agape love, chases after us into the New Heavens and New Earth, the Promised Land. There we will live in the LORD's house forever. For there we shall see the LORD God as He is and be like Him. There there is no more sin, hunger, thirst, darkness or want. He is with us and we are with Him. Heavenly Father, continually fulfill for us Jesus' promise of His presence through Word and Sacrament, that we may have the confidence of His presence and we need not fear anything but You, Father, Son and Holy Spirit now and into eternity. In Jesus' name we pray. Amen. Read the full article