#like who has the sadder life here?

[bixiaoshi]

[aphel1on]

the longer i look at this panel the more deranged i feel about it. this is environmental storytelling at its finest.

the eodio stand-in doll in particular makes me crazy. where did it come from? did thistle just pop into the village like "hey ungrateful wretches, one of you needs to make me a life-sized mannequin, For Reasons". did he make it himself? seems quite unlikely, yet the possibility haunts me. i mean, i guess there could've been one just lying around the dungeon somewhere. it's the act of replacement itself that really gets to me. (edit: it's been pointed out to me that the eodio doll also could have been left behind as part of delgal's escape plan. slightly different kind of madness but tbh, just as funny-sad to me if that happened and thistle went Ok, Guess That's Eodio Now.)

both the wives are there too. we know very little about them, which makes me tend to assume thistle wasn't all that close to them, but they're still included. when did they end up here? did he kick their souls out of their bodies at some point, or were they among those who left their bodies voluntarily to try and escape? when did yaad become an effective orphan, delgal an effective widower? women in the margins of the narrative, tell me your stories!

and the fact that they're surrounded with the living paintings, which thistle habitually wanders through to relive the past. this truly is his inner sanctum, his place of utmost comfort... and it may as well be a tomb.

that panel is so creepy when you first see it. just a sense of "ohh jeez, there's a lot to unpack there".

and actually, yeah, it remains creepy from pretty much any angle, but the more you think about it the more it's also tragic.

this is where many of thistle's happiest moments took place. everything he had in that picture is now gone. first he lost their warm regard, then one-by-one their bodies became hollow shells. before the end, none of the people here needed or enjoyed food anymore. the dinner table, as a center of both family life and nutrition, became obsolete.

a line from someone else's excellent post about thistle has stuck in my head ever since i read it: "to eat is to live, but to eat together is to be loved". to me, this is the sentiment and symbolism at the core of everything that happens in dungeon meshi.

it makes this bit all the sadder and more disturbing.

there's several things to note here:

thistle has gone from seated and eating with them as part of the family, to a lonely and ominous figure hovering over delgal's shoulder

eodio is conspicuously absent from view, and his body would have been a husk by now, but yaad says parents, which forces me to assume that they are sitting at the table with eodio's soulless body, hidden under yaad's speech bubble

they're not actually eating anything.

those plates are empty. you could assume that they've already finished eating, maybe, but yaad refers to it as sitting around the dinner table. in fact, he compares it to what he's currently doing; sitting at the dinner table watching the touden party eat, not eating anything himself.

it paints a pretty grim picture. for some time even after the fantasy had fallen apart, even after there was no need or desire to eat, they kept gathering around the dinner table. at that point, i'd guess only so as not to provoke thistle's wrath.

but even that last happened a long, long time ago.

this is a callback to what senshi said in the golden kingdom: the reason the people keep maintaining their fields and silverware and so forth is that they need to do so in order to stay sane.

paradoxically, the dinner table is the most striking evidence of thistle's insanity, and at the same time, it's the only anchor to sanity he has left.

he kept enforcing the ritual of dinner together long after it lost significance. when even that was impossible- because almost everyone's souls were gone- he kept their bodies at the table anyway. it's fine. it's fine! he's protected them, physically, just like he set out to. they're all still breathing. at a glance it looks like they could wake up and resume dinner at any moment. like this, it's easy to pretend.

isn't that what being a dungeon lord is, at the core of it? rejecting reality, staying in the prison of one's impossible desires. it's just one long game of pretend.

thistle did all this to protect his loved ones. no matter how obsessive and twisted he became in pursuit of that over the years, his core motivation never changed. this is all he has left of that dream: his loved ones' bodies gathered around the locus of their happiest memories together. like this, he can tell himself he's succeeded.

when eodio's body vanished with delgal's soul in it- when he couldn't even have that anymore... well.

i want to reach through the screen and shake him. no, they're not, thistle. THISTLE, NO, THEY'RE NOT! the doll of eodio is the closest thing to him in this panel, underlining the point. when that final illusion was shattered, he became completely unable to cope with reality.

therefore casually forgetting the creepy eodio doll isn't real.

thistle isn't stupid. eodio's body vanished at the same time as delgal's soul. shortly after, more adventurers came pouring in than ever before. deep down, he knows what happened. if he didn't, being confronted with the truth by mithrun wouldn't have made him panic so hard he summoned chimera falin to the first floor.

yet still...

he absolutely can't admit that to himself. he is clinging to the last scraps of the illusion with everything he has.

this is a dungeon lord at the end of desire. this is a lotus-eater machine left running long after its conclusion. this is mithrun lying listlessly in his bed, his replica lover having given up any pretense of being human. the illusion is all that's left. (an illusion is all it ever was.) thistle and the citizens of the golden kingdom- they're ghosts just as much as the ones who wander the dungeon floors. and if it weren't for thistle sealing the lion away, he would've been eaten by it long ago.

all of this encapsulated by that single panel of the dinner table.

[eeriefeelingsat3amuwu]

hdhahdhajfbajdnaudb Okay having Thoughts™️ about some of these ‘Odysseus raises Astyanax’ fics. Because. Because if we’re talking about the full odyssey experience. If Astyanax were to survive. He would have spent 11 years of his life growing up with Odysseus as his father. Now, to the main area of thought - Telemachus. Imagine. Imagine being a child, hearing of your father only in stories. From your mother, the servants, your grandparents. Seeing your grandmother succumb to her grief, seeing your mother grow sadder by the day, more sullen, seeing your grandfather withdraw into himself, all because of your father.

The man you are told you look like, the man who left for war, six, eight, eleven, fifteen, TWENTY years ago, left your home in disrepair, left your mother and you to deal with suitors disrespecting your house and name, the man who you are so angry at, yet Also worship as a god, because you don’t have a CHOICE. You can’t love him, you don’t KNOW him, but you love him in the way you love your gods - distant, unknowable, unreachable, and yet you have his face, your mother sometimes gates at you with these sad, sad eyes and you know she’s not really seeing you when she tells you she loves you.

You know he is a man, logically, how could he not be when your mother still remembers every calous on his hands and your grandfather tells you of how he almost set his room on fire one day, but he is only a legend to you. You hear other Kings, Kings from the same war your father left for (they came back, they are already back and he is still gone) discussing him, you hear how he helped end the war with your and your mother’s name on his lips and YET! He’s not here, he’s not here but he can’t be dead, because everyone agrees that he is too stubborn to die.

And then. He is back. And he has a boy with him. A boy who is younger than you, still just a child. And he regards the boy as his own, introduces him to you as ‘your brother’. He hasn’t dishonoured your mother, he took the child from the burning city of Troy because he is merciful and kind and you see it in the way the boy hugs him and calls him papa. And you should be happy, your father is back, you have a sibling now, your mother finally smiles properly again, your grandfather no longer cries when he sees you.

But. This boy. The boy your father brought from Troy. He got all that you have ever wanted: he got your father, from the moment he was Born he got your father, he was there for his first steps, his first words, he taught him how to sail, fight, read, count, he has been there with him through it all and you have never wanted anything more. ‘This child is not his son’ says that hateful, angry voice in your head.

You spend time with your father. He weeps, hugs you. Tells you he’s proud of the man you are now. Teaches you how to rule, it is your birthright, he says. He goes hunting with you and tells you he loves you and that the thought of you and your mother got him through many a peril. You spend time with your brother, you make him laugh, he loves you, clings to you just as much as he clings to your father, you teach him more about Ithaca, the way it is now, because he’s only heard stories. And still, in the back of your mind, you know you hate the child. You despise him with every fiber of your heart even if your mind knows he is not to blame - and that he has dealt with the same thing, just opposite to you.

Whereas you had a home, your mother and the rest of your family, but yearned for more than just the memory of your father, wanted for freedom, the boy had him, in the flesh, soothing his nightmares and teaching him to live, had the open sea and the deck of a ship, the capability to go anywhere, he lacked the stability that you had and despised. He didn’t know his grandfathers, would never get to know his grandmother, only had a memory of a mother and a brother, saw them as saints, as a reason to keep pushing forth.

You are opossites. You don’t know how it happened, as the child is not hers, but your brother looks like your mother where you are clearly your father’s son, yet your personalities seem to have been switched. You’re calmer, much more subdued, you don’t smile easily and are weaker of will. Your brother is loud and boisterous, quick to crack a grin and so, so Brave.

You still get the compulsion to bow to your father whenever he enters a room, to touch him to make sure he is real, at times. He sometimes wakes screaming, seeing horrors that you could not imagine in his sleep and doesn’t feel comfortable in a proper bed for years. He sets the curtains on fire and your father laughs in relief and he holds him to his chest. Your own chest cleaves in two.

Just. Is this anything?

[martian-astro]

D9/ Navamsa chart observations - Part 5

Moon in 1st house gives a spouse who is emotionally expressive, they can also be very moody. If you're attracted to men, then this can also mean that your husband might be a huge mama's boy, so marry someone whose mom likes you. With this placement, if you manage to maintain a good bond with your MIL then you'll have almost no problems in your married life. Your spouse can be prone to jealousy as well.

Sun in the 5th house gives you an extroverted spouse, I feel like this works the best when the person who has it, has a really high self esteem, because if not, you can be jealous of the attention that your spouse gets. You can also feel as if you're not good enough for them.

Mercury in the 4th House can mean that your spouse will be working as an advisor. They may also come from a family where education is given a lot of importance (I know a few people with this placement and their spouse's family was super adamant about them completing their master's before marriage, this is true for both men and women). If you're an academically intelligent person then your in-laws would be more than happy to help you establish your own business, I have noticed this to be true in a lot of cases.

Venus in the 5th house.....can give you a spouse who may be a little too obsessed with themselves. I used to think this was a good placement but then I met a lot of people who have this and their spouses always downplay their achievements and play the victim in social situations. I know a couple where both of them have this and they constantly talk about things that the other has done wrong and it's like a competition of who is sadder, it makes me soooo uncomfortable. One good thing is that, your children are gonna be SUPER creative.

Mars in the 11th House is great in regards to finances, your spouse knows how to earn AND save money, and even though they may like to live a luxurious life, they're well aware of the limitations. They may also have friends in high places and be good at climbing the social ladder. One negative of this is, that they can be TOO focused on earning money, but if Jupiter and Venus are well placed then you have nothing to worry about.

Jupiter in the 3rd house can give you a jolly spouse, they can also be the youngest in their family. They may be really close to their family and after marriage, they would like to live close to them. Your family will treat your spouse as their own child. You know those couples where a person's family ends up becoming closer to their spouse than them, yeah, this is what happens when you have Jupiter in 3rd. You guys may also travel a lot together. I think this placement is really cute.

Saturn in the 2nd house gives you an ambitious spouse, very hard working and tough love type person. They may earn a lot of money but refuse to spend it, OR they refuse to spend money on themselves but have no problem spending it on you. It depends on other factors. ( I know a woman with this, and her husband is so fucking rich but doesn't get new clothes for her, and doesn't buy anything for her, I feel so bad ��, Its giving "ballerina farm") BUT you can also get a spouse who is like "here's my credit card, buy whatever you want"

Rahu in 4th is a strong indicator of moving abroad after marriage, I know people who were unable to get a student visa, work visa and then they got married and were able to settle abroad. This also shows that your MIL may be very involved in your married life, whether for good or bad depends on several other factors.

Ketu in the 5th house gives a spouse who won't be that interested in raising kids. They may also be a little emotionally detached, and can believe in traditional gender roles.

I was thinking of not putting this observation, but then.... precaution is better than cure, so...90% of the female celebrities who have been cheated on by their husbands have Jupiter in Gemini/ Aquarius in d9. So if you have this, be very very picky about who you marry, this is for everyone, but especially for those who have this.

© martian-astro All rights reserved, 2024

[levenlike11]

a little lovesick satoru drabble after that horrible suna one, i really hope this is better.

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"oh god, here he comes." shoko sighs as gojo is nearing you, geto following close behind. you look over your shoulder and quickly turn back when you see the white haired, extremely annoying male.

"y/n-channn!!" gojo sings and throws himself on you, giving you not an inch of space to breathe with how he pushes his head and hair on your nose.

"hello satoru," you push him but fail to make him move so you pull his hair.

"OUCH! why would you do that to meee!?" gojo whines and stands up, turning around to look at geto who's grinning, amused by the situation.

"don't laugh at me! i'm suffering here." he pouts and shoko lets out the laugh she had been holding in.

"it couldn't have possibly hurt that much. stop overreacting." you say which only seems to make him sadder.

"now you announce me a drama queen, how will my heart ever recover?" he raises his hand to cover his face dramatically, contradicting himself. he never misses to give you an oscar worthy acting, so talented they would hire him to play in a shakespeare theater if he applied.

"you'll be fine." you mutter and open your book again, mumbling a curse under your breath when you realise you lost the page you were on.

"see, now i have to go through all the book to find my page." you sigh but gojo doesn't seem to care, still busy whining about how rude you are towards him.

"you never act this way with shoko, or geto. he's much less handsome than me- no offense bro." he turns at geto, who doesn't seem to mind the comment enough to argue back. it's just gojo and his usual dramatic-ness after all.

"because shoko is my best friend and geto is a really nice guy, who is definitely more handsome than you by the way." satoru quite literally throws himself on the ground after hearing those words come out of your mouth.

"i'd rather die than hear those words again coming from the love of my life." he closes his eyes. he looks like the people playing dead to fool a bear.

"i told you to stop calling me that, and it's the truth, he's much much more handsome, and cool, and strong.." you start counting but gojo cuts you off.

"i'm gojo satoru, mind you! the one with six eyes and stuff you know. i'm literally the coolest and the strongest."

"this is why they don't like you back." shoko chuckles and you sigh, putting your book down again. he doesn't look like he'll let you read at all.

"gojo-" "satoru, please. i want my love to call me by my name." "i am not your love, satoru, please leave me alone. i already told you i don't like you." he has called you a sadist multiple times. even 'the cruelest person on earth'.

"you do, actually." he smirks, "you looooove me. how could you not?"

"i currently do not feel anything positive towards you. i might start hating you if you don't get up soon." you'd be surprised how quickly he gets up after that.

"no, please don't! we still have to marry and buy a house with pets and raise kids together-" he gets on his knees and hugs your legs in front of him.

"slow down satoru, we don't even date yet." you laugh at this antics. he's the most stubborn person you've ever met, dedicated to get you to like him romantically. it's not like you really hate him, you sometimes even think you might like him back. just a little bit. but it's fun seeing him like this, so desperate for you. (it makes you feel nice.)

"yet?!" he springs up, grinning from ear to ear. "so we might date in the future?"

"not if you keep doing this."

"what if i take you out to dinner?" you act like you're thinking about it.

"maybe if you also take me to the bookstore later and buy me ice cream."

"GETO, DID YOU HEAR Y/N? we might go on a date!" he jumps on geto, hugging him tight. shoko and you are practically dying of laughter at this point.

"get off of me." geto pushes him away but also smiling, seeing how excited satoru is and happy since two of his close friends are finally about to get together. he's also glad he doesn't have to suffer while watching these moments on first row with shoko. (they don't know it'll be much worse and annoying after you start dating though.)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

☆ hope you enjoyed reading! please feel more than free to leave feedback and have a great day/night!🫶🏻

[savagewildnerness]

Let’s breakdown this scene…

Lestat, playing piano: bent over, lost in the world of the music - out of this world entirely. Louis sees a broken thing playing a plank of wood. A far cry from the proud, splendid creature he once knew.

(From Interview with the Vampire) "My eyes widened as I studied this stooped and shivering vampire whose rich blonde hair hung down in loose waves covering his face.”

Side note from me, as I love to talk about things that make The Vampire Chronicles appealing to me. Some people seem to be of the view that they wouldn’t desire immortality, only to be these sad, lonely, melancholic creatures… but I have always felt this way myself - even when I was a tiny child, long before I read The Vampire Chronicles. There has always been an innate loneliness and isolation to me deep inside. I don’t think you’d necessarily know it to meet me, mind! I am a smiley person! I like to do childlike, fun things. I try to bring happiness, not gloom to the world.

However, my instinct has always been to retreat into my own, wordless, unbound imagination, and to feel entirely alone, in truth. And still, I am. As a child, I felt more the weight of the world as if I were already 1000 years old. Now, loss of hope that comes with time is both sadder, scarier and, in its way, more freeing.

Anyway - imagine having infinite time and so being able to truly drift out of existence for decades. It’s such an appealing concept to me. I know Lestat is very sad here, but the idea of this kind of true escape… oh how I yearn for it. To let the world crumble around me. To step out of existence for some decades, with the possibility of return, not the reality as it is in mortal life that that is you falling through cracks you’ll never crawl out of ever again…

Lestat names Louis, reflexively when asked who said “hello”. He hasn’t turned to see Louis yet. To Lestat, Louis died 50 years ago. He is a ghost, surely? Lestat’s voice has a flat affect here. He isn’t thinking. He is merely reacting.

When Lestat first looks at Louis, I see fear:

- Does Louis really exist?

- What will Louis do?

- Must Lestat be drawn back into the world here? To acknowledge reality?

(From IWTV) “`I've dreamed of your coming . . . coming. . ' he said.”

Lestat asks Louis if he’d like a rat, as if he were a hallucination still, more than real-Louis. I think Lestat knows Louis is real when he speaks, but he’s still only half in reality himself.

Louis says “I’ve come to see you”, but Lestat is still half in his own constructed world with his music and Argerich… I love how Lestat hugs and caresses his plank-piano, drawing it into himself, as if drawing music in to himself. Me too, Lestat. Me too. I adore how Rolin and all added music to this scene. It isn’t there in the books. Of course it makes a through-line for rock star Lestat, but it is a deep love of Lestat’s and I am SO HAPPY with this addition!

I know a lot of people find “Siri, pause…” funny, but I must be a weird human, as I just find it oddly poignant. Like did people watch and laugh at this moment? This feels like when I go to see a play and people all laugh at something and I don’t laugh, then some other thing I laugh out loud at, but nobody else is laughing. And this is why I can’t do memes or any popular thing. SIGH. ANYWAY!!!

The way Lestat puts the keyboard up on front of himself, like a shield as Louis moves closer, his breathing growing ragged. Lestat genuinely scared… as though Louis’ mere presence might obliterate him if he gets too close. And of course, he does not know why Louis is there. Is he there to kill him? Does it matter if he is? He should kill him. He could too, right now. The emotional support piano becomes a protective plank.

But what Lestat is not expecting is Louis’ kindness, care, worry and empathy.

“Did you save my life in Paris?”

And now we get the first glimmer of the old Lestat as Lestat lifts his chin, shakes his head, tries to be nonchalant and to muster up his old pride, maintain any pride he still possesses. He immediately dismisses Louis’ niceness with a self-criticism as he truly perceives that he put Louis in danger by not protecting him from Armand. Responsibility in Nicolas’ death, and, he thinks, in Louis’.

Lestat is defensive. His unspoken mantra, “Don’t see me. Don’t see the real me, Louis. I cannot take it. Not right now.” Lestat is almost begging Louis to tell him he hates him, as he’s imagined Louis’ hate all these years… I fear halluci-Louis may not have been the kind, loving vision for Lestat that DreamStat was for Louis…?

A side note again: Lestat’s “All hail me” gave me a full-on spontaneous existential crisis. Folks, does Lestat say “All hail me” in the books? I hope not! Because for as long as I remember, in appropriate circumstances, I say “All hail me” and obviously it’s a turn of phrase, but I had a sudden heart stopping moment where, with a chill, I thought *Did I get that from Lestat?!* Am I entirely even my self at all?! Am I merely a manifestation of all the art I have ever consumed? Am… I… Armand!?!?!??!! Oh MY! I don’t think Lestat says this in the books though, right? Right!?!?

Well, Lestat puts his piano-plank down, terrified Louis might show him love. Craving it. Fearing it.

“Been enduring here?” Lestat is truly proud now. He will not admit his pain. As if not speaking it could make it invisible when it’s plain all about - from within him and without. It is *very* Lestat when questioned on the pain in his soul or shown that it has been seen to be like “I am FINE” & to think that’s how he comes across to others, when really of COURSE they see how broken he is. And then he bemoans that nobody will let him be broken, when he himself struggles to be broken other than when alone or on the page.

“I didn’t know it was a gift.” - Lestat is still wary. Still expecting hate from Louis here… unable yet to fully accept and understand…

Then Louis begins to say the only things Lestat has ever wanted to hear and know from Louis - thanking Lestat for the gift of vampiric immortality, showing he understands the beauty of it and intends to value that and use it… & Lestat is done for; broken open from here. He still, for a moment tries to fight back with “Shall we list all the ways we have wronged each other…” etc. But really, Lestat can now no longer maintain ay facade. Louis has opened him up.

And now we are open to Lestat’s thoughts for the last half-century. Armand erases Louis’ suicide attempt from his mind, but it is the first thing Lestat asks about. In his mind he has replayed for 5 decades how Louis is dead and it is his fault.

Sam and Jacob are so brilliant and beautiful as they open to each other in this scene. Claudia. Grief. Pain. Then, love. Broken-Lestat is particularly too much - holding on to responsibility over Claudia’s fate and how she looked at him at the end and he did nothing… and Louis, trying to take away and share the burden. Louis - so empathetic… and as they move through grief to love, words fall away (or become too personal to matter) and the storm outside echoes the storm of their hearts and their love.

(From IWTV) ““…And as I looked down at him, as I saw his yellow hair pressed against my coat, I had a vision of him from long ago, that tall, stately gentleman in the swirling black cape, with his head thrown back, his rich, flawless voice singing the lilting air of the opera from which we'd only just come, his walking stick tapping the cobblestones in time with the music, his large, sparkling eye catching the young woman who stood by, enrapt, so that a smile spread over his face as the song died on his lips; and for one moment, that one moment when his eye met hers, all evil seemed obliterated in that flush of pleasure, that passion for merely being alive.

" Was this the price of that involvement? A sensibility shocked by change, shrivelling from fear? I thought quietly of all the things I might say to him, how I might remind him that he was immortal, that nothing condemned him to this retreat save himself, and that he was surrounded with the unmistakable signs of inevitable death. But I did not say these things, and I knew that I would not.

" It seemed the silence of the room rushed back around us, like a dark sea…””

Bonus: misprint in my TVL copy!

(From TVL) “Louis had come finally to this very place and seen me through the windows. I tried to imagine it. Louis alive. Louis here, so close, and I had not even know it. I think I laughed a little. I couldn’t keep it clear in my mind that Louis wasn’t burnt up. But it was really wonderful that Louis still lived. It was wonderful that there existed still that handsome face, that poignant expression, that tender and faintly imploring voice. My beautiful Louis surviving, instead of dead and gone with Claudia and Nick.

But then maybe he was dead. Why should I believe Armand?”

[fanaticsnail]

Snail, mad props, I love all your writting but your Hey Doc series hits me in all the right spots! So fun and cute!

I've been thinking, Doc's in a pirate crew.. Does Doc know how to fight? Because here's a fun scenario that has been on my mind...

Doc is buying/gathering ingredients and gets attacked by thugs or other crew. Doc puts up one HELL of a fight but gets beaten up pretty badly 😩

Upon returning to the ship, Doc tries to hide away and lick the wounds, acting like nothing happen.

So who do you think would come barging in Doc's office yelling "Who the fuck this that to you?" Daddy Killer? Or the Captain himself?

If you feel like writing a little drabble to go with this I would die! 🫶🏻🫣🥹

Love! ❤️

Hello my darling. I hope you enjoy this interpretation of your request. This is how I saw it playing out in my head. Thank you so much for your beautiful contribution to the story!

What do I do, Doc?

Hey Doc Masterlist

Word count: 2,900

Synopsis: Dressing as a civilian on the usual supply run with Wire does not go according to plan. Your past finally catches up to you, and your crew scrambles to come up with a way to treat you from your injury.

Themes: kid pirates x gn!reader, platonic kisses, hurt, injury, graphic pain, impaling (reader receiving), Wire/Heat/Killer/Kid x reader, partial Bubblegum x reader, angst, fluff, delirious Doc, poison. You are "Doc", the doctor of the Kid Pirates. Pet names used: hon, honey, sweetheart, baby for Doc.

Notes: I have been feeling some sort of way for a while, and this request was singing me their siren song. I also wanted this in a fic pretty bad, and I wanted to make it sadder.

“Hey Doc,” the soft growl in Wire’s tone had an edge to it, a warning felt in his dangerous aura, “You gotta stay awake. We're nearly there, hon. Stay with me.”

The grogginess you felt masked the pain from the spear protruding from your thigh. Your life escence pooled from the wound, the stain dripping down your leg and onto Wire’s stomach as he cradled you into his chest. Each slow blink grew heavier and heavier, the frequency between them coming closer as unconsciousness called to you.

“Doc! Hey, Doc!” Wire jolted you in his arms, forcing your eyes open in shock to his ferocity, “Doc, I need you. Stay awake, damn it!” You offer him a fluttery smile, your lashes batting up at him as his expression contorted in fear.

“Keep-... Keep the pressure on it,” you managed to stutter, your teeth chattering through each syllable as you spoke. “Don't take it-... Don't take it out. Leave it in u-until the bleeding stop-...” Eyes rolling back into your skull, you never finished your instructions to the larger commander. He cursed beneath his breath, sprinting towards the Victoria Punk where the remainder of the crew were waiting for you.

This was not your fault, nor was it Wire’s. You both thought yourselves to be safe: both dressed in loose civilian attire away from your usual garb. Compliments were given to both you and your older commander, praise that would make even the most hardened pirate blush.

You were both seeming to be the least conspicuous and recognisable of the amassment of crew. Your reputations and bounties were both high, but away from your regular clothes, your vacant and stripped-back appearance was the perfect disguise.

Unfortunately, this base had someone you thought had long since forgotten your face. A person from a past you attempted to keep hidden, trapped beneath lock and key in the chest kept in your mind's eye. The spear came out of nowhere, impaling you against the floor and successfully rendering you immobile.

While pinned stationary, the only warning you gave was a choked gasp, Wire turned and immediately sprung into action. Trident aimed back in arms, his motions struck true: claiming the life of the attacker immediately. Usually one to extend the pain, Wire’s instinct to protect came before anything else.

“Doc,” his whisper hissed through his teeth, “Honey, what was that? Who was that?” You were struck in shock, looking down to the spear leaving a welt in the ground; a familiar engraving on the wood having your eyes scrunch tightly shut.

“Wire, just-,” you started, halting when Wire dropped to his knees and hovered his hands over the spear.

“-Doc, you know how to fight. What the fuck is this?” he pointed to the spear, the pain of the sting leaving you and dulling the longer you remained stationary. “Explain, now.”

You sigh, lip beginning to tremble as his eyes finally gaze up to join with yours. Noticing the quiver in your lip, the pooling in your eyes, his demeanor immediately changed.

“Oh, honey,” he gasped, rising to a soft crouch and cradling your cheeks in his palms. A small tear managed to spill from your waterline and trickle down your cheek. “Talk me through what to do. Tell me how to help you.” Closing your eyes, you lean into his touch and take a moment to calm yourself within his palms.

“Break the spearhead at the neck,” you informed him, “And keep the fucking thing in until I get back to the sh-...” You fell forward, your forhead brushing with the commander in front of you as your eyelids drooped.

“...Fucking coward,” you huffed out a soft laugh, floating your eyes to the injury. Gazing down at the spear, you nod against Wire's head with a sarcastic smile on your face.

“Poisoned. They used the poisoned one.”

Finally reaching the ship, your mission long since forgotten, Wire used his great height to his advantage in propelling himself along the top deck. Several crew members attempted to stop him, Bubblegum immediately shrieking and running before Wire to open every door towards your office.

The captain and the lingering two commanders trailed behind Wire, Killer halting as he bore his eyes down at the ground. A trail of bright red spattered over the deck, his piercing blue orbs glaring at it as his lips curled back. Clicking his fingers, he gestured to the nearest crewmember and gestured to the closest mop and bucket before trailing behind Heat and Captain Kid.

Once below deck, Wire set you down on your medical bay and immediately began readying gauze to replace the linen satchel you used to make a basic pressure aid. You mentioned about not making a tourniquet, nothing to aggravate the complications of the wound. Heat was immediately through the doors next, the Fire-Breather gazing through hollowed eyes at the injury first before running immediately to your desk.

“What,” a rumbling growl barked, “the fuck,” your captain ducked beneath the threshold of your office door, “happened?” Wire couldn't speak, his own manic state prohibiting him from thinking anything other than cutting away your pants with your scissors and placing the scraps in a damp pile beside you. Nothing was to pull him away from his task, keeping pressure on the wound while he cleaned you up best hr could.

“Wire,” Captain Kid roared, a jolt felt deep within his chest as he fell away from his transfixed attention. Turning to Kid, Wire managed to bark back at the captain.

“We were recognised,” he called over his shoulder, “Someone knew Doc.” He peeled away the final fabric, your doll-like state limply moving with each push and pull from the taller man.

Eyelids fluttering, slipping between consciousness and slumber, you peeled your eyes open enough to gaze at Killer as he entered the room. Offering him a weak smile, you attempted to move your lips to speak. Killer raised his hand to hush you, wordlessly telling you to save your strength for something more intentional than a greeting.

“The fuck recognised Doc?” Kid growled, “Doc's been with us for ages, changed their look and everything from that stuffy shit they wore before.” Kid bullied his way to Wire's side, shoving his hands away from the spear and assuring his one good hand be weighty enough to force the wound shut.

“I know as much about it as you, Cap,” Wire stuttered, his panic tangible in his shaken hands. “One of the first things Doc said about it was they were cowards for using poison.”

“Fuck,” Heat finally added, carding through his lengthy pale hair as he searched through the medical and personal journals in your desk for any information. Finally stumbling across a filagree design on one of the pages, he shook his head and clapped the book shut. “There's nothing in here. I don't know what to do. Doc just writes about weaponry in the journal, but nothing about poison.”

“What do I have to do about the spear? What does it say, Heat?” Wire yelled at the scarred commander, his Glasgow smile grimacing at the tone. Looking back to the desk at the open pages, Heat shakes his head and looks back at Kid.

“Doc needs a surgeon,” he uttered darkly, placing the journal back on the desk beside him, “Closest one is the marine base, next up is Trafalgar. Make a choice.”

The captain never tore his eyes away from your thigh, his deep frown growing in size the longer he lingered on the thought. The marines wouldn't help, they'd likely kill you and anyone else that entered on behalf of you. Trafalgar was days away, and there was no way wyou could make it. He didn't know how to treat this injury himself, that's what he had you for.

Considering there was poison in your leg, likely spreading to your blood at this point, he clamped his eyes shut and finally looked up to your face. Eyes open and glazed, you offered him a soft smile.

“What do I do, Doc?” he drew his metal hand up to caress your cheek, “What do I do?” You dart your eyes between his while slowly blinking in your daze.

“Under my bed,” you whispered, your vocal fry straining as the pain lingered, “Antidote.”

Killer was already out the door as soon as you stated ‘under your bed,’ refusing to daudle as you lay there bleeding out. Kid nodded to you, the cool of the metal palm soothing your scorching flesh. Beads of sweat flooded your skin, your hair sticking to your forehead as you bit back the ache.

“And the fucking spear?” Kid laughed down at you, “What you wanna do about that?” You snickered weakly, trying to best phrase how to proceed next.

Ideally, you would want to: remove the object, clean and sterilize the area, remove any necrotic flesh, provide antiseptic, antiinflamitries and suture it back up. Unfortunately, none of the crew were you; and you were in no position to do it yourself. Before you even had a moment to speak, Heat was at your side, pushing past Wire and glaring up at your captain.

You lazily lolled your eyes to the side of the desk, noticing the page Heat opened and let out a preemptive whimper in preparation. Heat looked down at you, watching your brows raise in a triangular peak in the center of your forehead as you nod to him.

“Antidote,” you hissed out, gulping while closing your eyes tightly shut, “And rum.” Heat nodded, immediately walking to your desk and almost instinctively pulling the leaver to reveal your secret stash of rum. Kid gasped out a laugh, smiling playfully down at you.

“Little shit,” he affectionately chastised you, “Where the fuck was that when I asked for it last week?” You choked through a soft laugh in response while biting back the pain.

“In my fuckin’ desk, hiding from you.” He laughed at you before his lips curled into a soft pout. Leaning forward, he kept the pressure against your wound as he pressed his forehead against your own. Clamping his eyes shut and grinding his teeth, he shared your breath with you in a bid to draw you closer.

“When you live through this, Doc,” Kid hissed before nuzzling his head against yours, “I'll-.”

“-Kill me?” you chirp playfully up at him, prompting him to open his eyes and glare down at you. The pain was in every follicle of your face, even in the radiance of that grin you wore so much.

“No, Sunshine,” he whispered, no humour in his tone aside from his melancholy smile, “No.” He learnt up, pressing his painted lips against your forehead while inhaling a sharp breath through his pointed nose. “I'll give you that raise you've been asking for. I swear to you, Sunshine.”

Pulling away from your face, he gazed down at you with hardened resolve and absolute unwavering compassion. Darting your eyes between his two, you lazily draw back your lips to a lazy smile.

“You know, Cap,” you utter whimsically, “From a distance, your eyes look almost orange.” Reaching up your hand, you gently take his cheek in your palm. Your weak grasp feels foreign on his hands, your usual steely demeanor slipping away, “But up close?” you whisper intimately, his breath catching in his throat, “You've got a band of gold in the middle.”

Kid attempted to keep his composure, staying strong in front of his commanders, and you, as you speak in nonsense. Your eyes held this foreign affection that he had yet to truly witness. Every part of your usual abrasive attitude diminished, your soul raw in your expression as you stared up at your captain.

“D-Doc-...” he gasped, Wire watching the interaction between the two of you and choking on his breath. Heat's eyes never left your face, waiting for the exact moment you give him that nod of approval to inact your unspoken agreement.

Stampeding through the threshold of the door tumbled Killer, each movement intentional and deliberate while weighty and desperate. Shoulders arched and chest puffed, he slid to your side and uncorked a vial of viscous liquid.

“Here you go, baby,” he leaned forward, taking your neck beneath his hands and cradling you up to steady you, “Easy does it now.” The vial ridge was placed at your lip, your eyes not leaving your captain's as you swallowed the contents of the vial. Barely tasting the liquid, the vial was replaced by the lip of a rum bottle to numb the pain and drown the pain you were about to endure.

As soon as the amber liquid hit your chest and trickled down your throat, Heat removed the spear from your thigh with his larger hands. A spurt of liquid pooled in your Captain's palm the moment he did as such, the scream you let up caught in the rum bottle. Killer leaned forward, placing his helmet covered lips against your temple and holding you against him. In your panicked state, you barely registed the next phase to Heat's agreement.

Slapping the captain's wrist away from your thigh, Heat placed his lips over your wound. Engulfing the area completely, Heat ignited his gullet and immediately seared the wound shut with the intensity of his flaming breath.

The sizzle of flesh lingered in the air, the scent of caurterizing skin and burnt hair tainting the burn of liquor in your throat. Your screams were stifled in your mouth as you grit your teeth, the widening of your eyes and glaring at that golden band within your captain's eyes.

He had no choice but to look down at you as Heat scorched your flesh. Heat's lips pressed a heart-shaped mark into your skin, the guilt of marking you with his ability ate at him from the moment he read the passage on cleaning and sealing wounds. Manuevering your thigh with ease, he released the topside of your skin and immediately pressed his lips to the underside of your leg.

Another roar of flickered flame ignited in his chest, this time your back arched and head lulled in Killer’s arms. Your vision went white, the lingering ache of pain and swell of poison leaving you as you fell into unconciousness. Four voices painted the air with their plea, your ears ringing with their unique cadence.

“Doc, I know it hurts. Forgive me, please.”

“I should've protected you, Honey.”

“Baby, hold on. Just hold on a minute longer.”

“...Don't. Don't, Sunshine. Stay with me now.”

Hours slipped into days before you managed to rise from your slumber. That first taste of air expanded your lungs felt fresher, cleaner, than what you felt in years. The weight of your past had managed to catch up with you, the cost being higher than the one you were ready to pay with such hastiness.

As you looked to your bedside, the signature purple jagged locks of your sensitive crewmate lay unravelled beside you. Bubblegum’s face burried itself against the plush duvet, both his hands lay cradling your own as you roused with a sucked gasp.

Where were the commanders? Where was the captain? Why are these bedsheets so comfortable? Questions you would not be plagued with for much longer.

Door sliding open, the towering figure of Wire entered your chambers and slipped to your side. His eyes met with yours just as his breath caught in his throat. His great strides close the distance between you as he kneels by your head. Forehead first brushing with your mattress, he slowly and silently raises his gaze up at you through his eyelashes. Rounded eyes: wide, guilty, and pleading at you.

Before he had a chance to utter his confession and explain his emotion verbally, you silenced him with a look.

“I'm so sorry, Wire,” you whisper beneath your breath in an attempt to not wake Bubblegum. “I hesitated. I should've reacted faster-.”

“No, honey. No,” he whispered, shaking his head and rising to stoop over your bed. “You don't owe me anything you're not willing to give. It's not my place to reveal you, just as it's not yours to interrogate me.” You sigh out, a flood of emotion washing your heart in waves. Each passing wave has Wire lean forward, his lips casting over your forehead and holding you firmly beneath his kiss.

“We love you, Doc,” he whispered softly, “Doesn't matter who you were, only who you are now.” You scrunch your eyes shut as you bite-back your emotion. The wound, the familiar unfriendly face, the sting of poison still flooding through your veins, everything spilled over the rim of your emotions. Each moment replayed in echoes, Wires arms and desperation reminding you of his compassion.

“I'm ready,” you whisper, feeling him peel away his lips from your head. He searches your eyes for meaning, your own orbs darting between his.

“But first,” you added, your smile returning to your lips as you teased him with it, “Send me Heat. He's likely to be feeling like absolute horse shit about the whole thing. I can't bare to have him beat himself up about it.”

“As you wish,” he smiled at you, releasing you from his grip and pulling himself away, “I'll bring you your Fire-Breather, honey.” Giving you one more playful wink, the larger man exited your bedside and sauntered down the hall to do as you asked. Bringing you the man who used his abilities to cleanse you from your ailment as he lay in the mess hall with the captain, finding reprive from their guilt at the bottom of their rum bottles.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @nerium-lil @sinning-23 @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @a-killer-obsession

[magics-neptunes-things]

Adversity

Hello everyone!

Here you are with a new story, with my one and only Ona. I hope you liked it! Please tell me what you think about it ♥

TW : Dirty Talk, mention of lover fight and mention of possible smut.

(Of course according to logic some dialogues are supposed to be in Spanish, but by sheer laziness I will simply put everything in English without translation)

___________________________________________________________

With your face resting on your hand, you are sitting at a table in the refectory in which the team usually meets for breakfast before the big games. Your teammates seem in a good mood, but you must admit that you don't listen to what they can tell around you. You vaguely realized that Lucy, Salma and Claudia are sitting next to you, but that’s it. Playing with food and the tip of your fork, it's only when Alexia settles down on the vacant chair next to you that you leave your gloomy thoughts.

You see her looking at you with wrinkled eyes while gently placing her tray on the table.

"What?" you asked raising an eyebrow.

"That’s what I was going to ask you. What’s going on?"

You shrugs, taking a small piece of tortilla on your fork.

"Nothing"

"She had a fight with Ona last night and they both are moody in their corner of the room"

Lucy answer at the same time as you and Alexia eyes goes to the english girl. You glare at Lucy, who send you a big smile, chewing her toast with some disgusting happiness.

In fact, she was right. Ona, contrary to your habits, was not at your side but at another table with Aitana, Ingrid and Mapi. It was in reality you who had changed tables when you saw her installed with the three other girls. A very stupid moove since it made you even sadder than you were already.

You can’t even tell why you started arguing, probably because of a small thing like every rare time it happens. But you went to bed angry and when you woke up Ona was already gone. She had an appointment with your medical team for a vague story of aductors and the worst is that you don’t even know if she’s okay and able to play.

"You're ok?" Alexia ask, full of empathy.

"She will be, you know how they are. If they are not reconciled after the game and in each other’s arms, call me Lucia for the rest of my life."

Lucy raise her eyebrows with amusement, while you prefer to answer nothing and lean against the back of your chair, showing her your middle finger.

"Leave her alone Lucia" Salma smiles.

You take advantage that Claudia relaunches a conversation with Salma and Lucy to lean discreetly towards Alexia.

"You know what the doctors said about Ona?"

"Yes, false alarm, she has nothing at all. She will be able to play the game as planned."

You nod, despite everything relieved to learn that your girlfriend is fine. Alexia doesn't add anything and doesn't even point out that you could have gone to ask her yourself, preferring to place a reassuring hand on your arm. The blonde definitely has great captain qualities.

On Ona's side, the mood is also gloomy. If the Spaniard finished her plate at Aitana’s insistence, she can’t help but look at your back and try to guess the interactions you have with your teammates. She saw you raise your middle finger at Lucy and then lean towards Alexia. She obviously also noticed that you didn’t swallow anything.

"Ona for God’s sake go talk to her!"

Ona responds negatively at Mapi's sentence with a nod and biting her lip. In her eyes, the fact that you didn't come to sit next to her is a way to make her understand that you have no desire to see her at the moment. And even if it break her heart, she respects it.

"What was the fight about?" Ingrid ask full of concern.

"I... I can't ever remember"

"Oh god, you are a real lesbian couple cliché, both of you" Mapi wines, earning a knowing smile from Ingrid.

Even Ona must bite the inside of her cheeks to avoid smiling.

******************

Like Ona, you're starting the game too. Striker, you will be next to Alexia as Ona is on the back with Mapi, Ingrid and Lucy. You have not yet exchanged a word, but the elusive looks of the beginning of the day have become longer and longer. You even get a little smile from her when you turn around in her direction, while you wait with the rest of the team in the tunnel to enter the field. You smile back, just before the signal is given to you.

You were playing the final of the Copa de la Reina, against Real Madrid. As the rivalry between the two clubs no longer has to be explained, you all expect it to be a physically difficult match.

And the firsts minutes of the match will show you that you were right to have prepared yourself for this. The opposing players don't hesitate to tackle the person with the ball, sometimes rather hard. It's only at the eighth minute that a shock leaves Ona on the ground, much longer than usual. Usually she's quick to get back on her feet and run to her post, willing to take all the shots without flinching. This is not currently the case and it lasts a little too long for your taste.

So you decide to take advantage of the game stop to approach her, while she is still sitting on the lawn.

It's only when she looks up at you that she realizes you have approached her, a mixture of surprise and relief passing briefly on her face.

"You ok?" you ask softly as she nods.

"Yeah. My head is hard"

"Tell me about it" you joke.

You give her a small smile before before reaching out to help her up. She gives you a smile back and with that you go back to your place with such relief that you almost feel like you’re flying. Finally maybe you will be able to reconcile, even if you can't bother Lucy aka Lucia.

******************

After half-time, the score is 2-0 for Barcelona, thanks to a goal by Alexia and a free-kick rather well drawn on your part, in all modesty obviously. You sat next to Ona in the locker room without talking, looking like two collegians in love but you didn't care. You even managed to avoid Lucy’s goofy look.

Back on the field, the game is even more brutal and rough than before. Dirty talk is also added by the Real Madrid players.

And Ona is the first one to suffer. In the action of the game and after a battle for the ball, you find yourself unbalanced by the number 12 of the opposing team who simply falls on you. Lying on you while you find yourself on your back, the situation isn't really pleasant. You nervously clear your throat, realizing that it takes her a few seconds too long to get up, both of her hand on either side of your waist, her face only a few inches from yours.

It's only when Alexia takes her by the arm to lift her up that you are finally released.

"Don't kill my best striker. Thanks."

Your captain’s icy tone sends your opponent back to her place, but she can’t help but smile with a bad look at Ona.

"Your girlfriend is really hot Batlle. Maybe at the end of the game I’ll have the trophy and your girl screaming my name in my room, who knows?"

Of course your girlfriend attended the scene and she already felt her blood bubbling. Far from suspecting what is happening, you thank Alexia on your side with a simple look. Jaw clenched, Ona takes a few steps in her direction but is immediately stopped by Mapi. No need to say anything, a look exchanged between the two women makes Ona realize that it's indeed not necessary to enter into this kind of things.

"You seem very sure of yourself, Leon. Maybe I could give your girl a try too"

Badly for her, with all the teasing she didn't realise that the game started again. And it only took a few tens of seconds for Ona to express her frustration in her rush and go to score a goal at the other end of the field.

Sincerely proud of her, this time you can’t resist joining your teammates to congratulate her. Both of you aren't the type to exchange kisses in public, especially on football fields, but you enjoy this embrace perhaps a little longer than usual.

"My little dragster" you smile and the smile she give you back asks you to use all your self-control not to kiss her until your lungs scream for help to get oxygen again.

Instead you kiss her cheeks and go back again where you belong on the pitch. And this time Ona will be content to address a corner smile to number 12 who will throw her a new spade based on "It is not that which will prevent me from asking her her number"

******************

35 minutes later, the referee whistles the end of the game, awarding the victory to your team. Cries of joy rise in the stands as you begin to celebrate this victory too. Salma happens to be the closest to faith to the whistle, she was the first you hug soon joined by Alexia and several other of your teammates.

After releasing her, your eyes begin to travel the field, eagerly looking for your small brown head. Lost in your contemplation, you don't notice the number 12 of the opposing team which makes its way in your direction of a decided step. But Mapi does and she runs to you, jumping on your body, turning you away from her new enemy number one.

"Great kick maestro" she smiles, dragging you to the middle of the field by your hand.

You were going to protest that you would like to see your girlfriend, but you barely opened your mouth when she magically appears next to you.

"Hi" she says with her supermagic smile.

"Hi" you say back, before opening your arms.

She doesn't hesitate a second before snuggling up, seeing over your shoulder Number 12 with an air of defeat that fills her with pleasure. You're hers, no matter what. Passing her two arms around your neck, she sighs with ease at the same moment you feel your body finally relax against her. Her happiness grows a little more when she hears you whisper in the hollow of her ear.

"I want to kiss you so bad right now"

She smiles and look at your eyes, biting her lips thoughtfully.

"Maybe later, if you are nice enough"

"I was born nice"

You fake a pout and Ona smile wider. As you remove some golden confetti that fell in her hair, you see Lucy two meters from you. She's looking at you, arms crossed over her chest with an air that seems to speak for him.

"What did I tell you?"

And, while you find yourself in a fiery makeout session in a corner of the stadium with Ona a few hours and glasses of sangria later, you have probably never been so happy that Lucy was right. Ona's lips on yours, your arms keeping her between you and the wall and the caresses she makes on your neck are the only reality you want to face right now.

She will talk to you about the statements of the unfamous Numero 12 opposing team once you get home, needing to talk to you anyway. Because despite your arguments, you tell yourself everything.

And if someone asks her, if there’s a name that was screamed by you that night, it’s definitely hers.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hey there! Halfa!cass anon here

Holy shit that was such a good read, I've gone through and re-read it over a dozen times now

Can we please please get a part 2?

When Cass wakes, she knows that something is seriously different about her body. There is a lightness to her bones that she only associates with flying through the air or even leaps during her dance.

The fact she is lying in a bed completely still makes the lightness a worrying sign. Cass doesn't sense anyone else in the room, and if there is, they do a wonderful job hiding from her instincts.

Carefully she cracks open an eye, careful to not move any other part of her body. She does a slow look around taking in the room that for all purposes seems to be a hospital of some kind.

There are even informational posters on the walls, the kind that doctors put up to help citizens with basic hygiene. She can't see any windows, which isn't promising for her if she needs to escape, but there are no restraints on her body.

Despite the weightlessness, there also doesn't seem to be anything wrong with her body that would hnder her movement. If she is being held against her will, then this is an oversight.

Either her captors are underestimating her or there are no captors at all. Cass carefully goes to stand up, trying to stay as silent as possible, when suddenly she finds herself floating.

She panics, attempting to go back down, but the more she moves the higher she goes. She ends up on the ceiling trying desperately to figure out what is happening- is there a telepath in the room? Anti-gravity ray she got hit by?- when the door opens and in steps a man in his early thirties.

He looks around the room, body language screaming worry and confusion before he glances up and makes eye contact with her. At once his face softens, amusement and relief bleeding into his body language.

"Hey there." He says flouting up to her level slowly. "Need some help adjusting?"

"Adjusting?" She asks her voice slightly rough from disuse. "From what?"

The man's smile turns slightly sad. "I'm sorry to have to tell you but you were in an accident and it killed you."

Cass blinks at him and then shakes her head trying to gather her thoughts. She knows that she was electrocuted- it was like a blink had passed since the shock, really and she isn't surprised that it was strong enough to kill her. But she doesn't feel dead.

Doesn't feel much different at all. Does that mean she died quickly? Was that a mercy?

The man must have mistaken her head shake for denial for he only smiles sadder. He pulls out a mirror from his chest- that was only slightly alarming after all she's seen in life- turning it around and showing her reflection.

Or someone who looks like her but is so very obviously not human. Cass reaches up, afraid to touch the dirty silver hair that stands straight up like someone had gone at it with gallons of gel. Her reflection does the same staring back at her with glowing silver eyes Her skin is now an ashy grey, covered in blue Lichtenberg marks like a full body tattoo.

She gasps.

The man's body sings of regret, of sadness for her, but most of all comfort. "You're a ghost now. That's your ghost from. We can work on getting an understanding of your powers at a later date. For now, let me help you set in."

He takes Cass's hand- making sure his movements are slow and allowing her to pull away if she wants. She doesn't. He uses their linked hands to descend back to the ground. It's only then that she notices there is no light in the room- the glowing she had been using to see is coming from her.

Cass is glowing because she is dead and now she is a ghost. Somewhere her corpse is lying in an abandoned town where it will likely stay until her family realizes she hasn't reported in.

She hopes it's not Bruce who finds her. Her dad has already suffered enough. Cass wishes he saved the view of her corpse if only to save him from that heartbreak.

The man leads her towards the door. He is speaking but Cass can't hear a single word that he is saying. Her head is buzzing, she's trying to come to terms with everything so when he pushes open the door she nearly walks right off the edge of a cliff.

"Careful now." The man says yanking her back. Cass swings wild eyes at him, at his flaming white hair and glowing red eyes, before she looks around.

She is shocked to see floating purple islands, each top with a building flying around. The floating islands are close by, barely kept apart by small gaps, gently moving around in the wind.

All around here is green, the sky is the bottomless floor, and even some flying beings are green. If it were not for the few human-like beings she could see jumping to and from between the islands she would think of herself on an alien planet.

"This is the Ghost Zone. We're in Phantom's Keep." Her guide says gesturing around. "The locals call it New Amity Park. Said locals are the humans and Phantom's only rule here is that no one harms the humans. Understand?"

So they were humans. But how did they get to the Ghost Zone? Who was Phantom? Were they the missing people of Amity Park?

Something on her face must have given away her thoughts because the man- a ghost? Is he like Cass- gives her a weary smile. "The humans are stuck here. See a few years back their hometown was attacked by the old King, and were sucked into the Ghost Zone. When Phantom defeated him the town returned but the people couldn't."

Why she wants to ask. Why can't they go home?

He shrugs as if though he heard her question. "You know how if you eat food offered by the Fae you are trapped in their world? Same concept. Phantom has been trying to get them home, but it's been seven years now. Everyone pretty much adjusted to this place."

He nods to the flouting island that proudly proclaims a large mall that is slowly passing overhead. "When they first arrived the humans were all stuck on one large piece of rock that used to be their park. It was Phantom that slowly pulled islands towards them, linking them to a gravitational pull he designed and powered, that let the humans expand into this web-like conany."

Cass thinks back to the large crater in the middle of town. She remembers passing by a half-buried sign that proclaimed "Amity Park" but she never realized it was literally snatched off the ground.

A group of children- likely born after their parents were trapped- jump by, laughing in a carefree way only those with wonder can. They land gracefully on the flouting rocks that form makeshift stairs as they race up toward- an ice cream shop.

Cass realizes those rock stairways are all over, connecting all the parts of the town into one. They all lead to a large green field that a castle sits on. Likely the old park.

""By the way, my name is Dan. I'm in charge of Phantom's Keep while Phantom is away." Dan says. He shrugs at Cass's questioning look, somehow aware of her question without her having to speak it again.

Could ghosts read body language in the same way she could?

"I'm basically the mayor/ enforcer. Phantom stuck me with the job as a form of community service. I can't leave because, like the islands, he trapped me here with a gravitation pull."

Trapped?

Then was this Phantom evil?

Cass opens her mouth to ask- when a strange tightness in her abs makes her jerk to the side. She doubles over, pressing a hand to her stomach and Dan pauses. "Are you alright-"

Twin rings of pure darkness appear, running over Cass's form before vanishing without a trace. At once Cass feels her whole body become heavy- the familar heavy she had known all her life as her balance.

She also realizes that she had been flouting the whole time before she fell to her knees right at the edge, using her hands to cushion her fall. Her now normal human hands- the deadly grey nowhere in sight.

Dan sucks a hiss through his teeth. "You're a halfa."

Cass looks up at him, watching the ghost rub the space between his eyes while his hair flickers around in irritation. "Of course the new ghost I come to welcome turns out to be a halfa. Right when my shift was ending too."

The ghost rolls his shoulders and then sighs "Alright come on. We have to report this development."

Where are we going?

Dan's smile turns sharp. Cass isn't sure she likes "To See the Fentons."

She follows him anyway for she has no other choice. As she hops along the rock stairways down to the castle, she notices multiple people stop to stare at her. Some beings that are obviously not humans- ghosts her mind supplies- gape at her with just as much wonder.

She picked up bits of conversation as she scurried after Dan's floating figure.

"A new human? Has Danny finally found a way home?"

"Maybe she fell through a natural portal. Poor thing"

"Will never see her family again. That's going to be the hardest part. My dad said he was only passing through Amity Park the day it was attacked. My grandparents might still be looking for him."

"If King Phantom leaves, what will happen to ghosts like us? His Keep is the only place that welcomes us!

"Calm yourself, the King never stays on Earth long. Not when his entire family is trapped here like the rest of the humans. We will be safe."

Cass doesn't like the implications of this place one bit

[autistichalsin]

If you're curious, this is what Halsin's letter says in the epilogue if you fail to break the Shadow Curse:

My friend, I was truly heartened to learn of your success in the fight against the Absolute- the whole of the Sword Coast and beyond owes you a debt that can never be repaid. I dearly wish I could have joined in your moment of celebration, but the Shadow Curse remains, and so my vigil must continue. Perhaps I shall yet discover a way to restore light to this place, but until then, the memories of my time traveling with you shall sustain me through all manner of hardships. If the Oak Father is kind, one day I shall feel the warmth of the sun and know the joys of your company once again. Yours until the end, Halsin

So... there is a LOT going on here. A lot. One, obviously, the heartbreak of Halsin resigning himself this way. "If the Oak Father is kind," he'll feel the warmth of the sun again?

The way he sees the player's company as something he longs for just as much as the sun. While confining himself to darkness and despair, what he longs for most- even more than nature itself- is sunlight and the player.

Which brings me to... you can feel the pining here. This letter was what finally cemented it for me: Halsin is, canonically, in all "good runs", in love with the player. Not "holds a lot of affection for the player that may or may not become romantic" like the others. This was what finally made me decide, beyond a doubt, he is ALWAYS in love with the player so long as they don't raid the Grove. This is just too much pining, too heavy of a romantic coding, too much he sees in the player, to be anything else.

He puts the player on par with sunlight. The thing he uses as a metaphor time and time again to explain as a basic need, something no life can live without. Something whose absence chokes the nature he loves so much into nothing. A need. That's what he considers the player.

And that's not even getting to "yours until the end," which is so obvious, I think it speaks for itself. With all the "I'm glad to be had"s and the "I am your servant, my love"s, Halsin is someone who- despite loving to be "unbound in nature"- considers a form of "being had" to be something of a love language. And here, knowing he will very possibly never see the player again unless a miracle happens or the player goes on a borderline suicide mission just to visit him, he still calls himself "yours". Even when he devotes himself to the land he couldn't heal, he still sees his heart as belonging with you, first and foremost.

And that's the happier explanation. The sadder explanation is that he's so tormented by the shadows and everything else that he's making up a fantasy in his head, of the player being his tragic, could-have-been love, just to cope. Just to convince himself there's something, someone, waiting for him should the curse ever be broken, so that he can imagine better is waiting for him, to give himself enough strength to endure the shadows for however long it takes, because the alternative is surrendering. And he can't let himself do that as long as he's needed. So, as he has done before, like when he convinced himself he liked being a sex slave to survive being a prisoner in the Underdark, he indulges in fantasy to survive- but instead of enslavement, it's solitary confinement.

Both are HEARTBREAKING options, in a scenario that was already beyond heartbreaking just before the epilogue.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Pride! Can I get some trans content<3

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45

He can’t be pregnant.

The curse mark on his arm tells him that he is living in this body on limited time. Eventually, he will die, the string keeping him inside Mo Xuanyu’s body snapping like a string and sending him back to wherever she summoned him from.

He’d let himself forget, a little. The body he inhabits is so different than the one he woke up in. He’s made her stronger, grown her golden core into a fearsome thing, worked and worked muscles until they swelled and hardened.

It had begun to feel like it belonged to him, liked he’d carved his body from Mo Xuanyu’s. The differences from his old body hadn’t felt important, and still don’t, it’s about how this is the body he worked for and made from the one given to him.

But Mo Xuanyu is dead and her body isn’t his to keep.

If he wants to have this baby, then he must betray Mo Xuanyu and her sacrifice. If he wants to bring Lan Zhan’s baby into the world, he cannot kill Jin Guangshan.

Completing the mission she retrieved him for will sever the connection and he will die again and so will the life he’s growing.

His only hope is that maybe, maybe the thread binding him here will hold long enough for him to both deliver this child and kill Jin Guangshan.

He looks from Jiang Yanli to Jiang Cheng, their fierceness and determination the closest he’s felt to home in a long time. He shouldn’t be letting them do this, shouldn’t be sinking into the comfort of their protectiveness when they think he’s someone he’s not, but he can’t help it. It makes him feel even sadder for Xuanyu, to think that they would have done this for her, if only she’d let them. Hadn’t Jiang Yanli reached out to him that very first day while he was a confused and terrified mess? And here she is now, offering to shield him from his husband, offering to help Mo Xuanyu choose her own path and either continue the pregnancy or have it end here.

He takes a deep breath, trying to stem the flow of his tears. Jiang Cheng’s hands on his shoulders feel like the only thing keeping him in place, like he’s pressing Wei Wuxian’s spirit into place in Xuanyu’s body.

He presses a hand against his stomach, thinking of the life shifting in his womb as the first lotuses that had sprouted from muddy mountainside. If he could grow flowers in the burial mounds, he can grow a child in a borrowed body.

But does he want to?

This isn’t what he’s here for. The best case scenario is that he leaves Lan Zhan behind to raise a child alone, the husband and child of the woman who murdered a clan leader. The worst case is he leaves Lan Zhan behind to mourn a wife and child and he dies without avenging the wrongs done against Mo Xuanyu. Or he can end this here, remove the potential child from the equation and kill Jin Guangshan as subtly as possible, something he has the time to arrange when he isn’t pushing his connection to this world to the brink. Then Lan Zhan will only be the widower rather than the husband of a murderer.

There are no good choices.

But he’s used to that.

He breathes in, holding it at the top of his lungs and letting out slowly.

A-Yuan had been the brightest light in the burial mounds. Anytime he wavered, aching for the life and the people he left behind, it wasn’t Wen Qing or Wen Ning of Granny who hardened his resolve once more, but A-Yuan.

He’d loved being a parent. He’d wished he really could grow siblings for A-Yuan like he’d grown turnips.

Wei Wuxian’s legacy is one of failure, of loss, of destruction. All those he tried to protect fell. All those he had protected turned against him. The last thing he will do on this earth is kill again, even if it is a man who has earned it.

He does not want to leave behind a legacy of only terrible things.  

It could all end horribly. But he’s always been foolish enough to hope for better than he has.

He finally meets Jiang Cheng’s steady gaze.

“I’ll talk to Wangji.”

[quinnylouhughesx43]

Like Real People Do - lh43

summary: luke spends time thinking about rosey and how she’s locked him out of her life the last few weeks. he shows up on her doorstep in one last attempt and she lets him in

warnings: small use of y/n, adult content, talk of blackmail, ex boyfriend being harassing, talk of nudes, sweet fluffy luke, depiction of depression overtaken room,

word count: 3.68k+

notes: hozier’s song ‘like real people do’ has been stuck in my head for days. so hence the name ✨ not really based of the title but title is used

adult content is used in this fic, 18+, minors do not interact. Thanksies🫶🏼

Rosey, wasn’t just a girl to Luke. She was the girl.

His girl.

Rosey, a girl who painted the world with her laughter and filled the air with the sweet scent of her favorite honey crop apple scented based shampoo and apple perfume. Her eyes, always bright and sparkling. Luke swore that they could outshine any gem, that her eyes held a depth that he found himself drowning in every time she looked his way. Her hair fell in soft waves just the way she liked for it to, framing her face perfectly. Luke had come to memorize the freckles that danced across her nose like constellations in a summer night sky.

Only she had a way of bringing light to the darkest of days, and Luke allowed himself to bask in her glow whenever she was near.

It was when Luke realized his feelings had grown beyond the confines of friendship that he began to notice the tiniest of things. Like the way she threw her head back when she wholeheartedly laughed at his jokes, how her cheeks flushed that shade of rosey red that never failed to make his heart race. The way she leaned into him when they would watch movies, how her body fit perfectly against his as if they were two puzzle pieces that had finally found their rightful place. And the sweet, lingering scent of her apple shampoo and perfume always seemed to follow him around, leaving a trail of warmth and longing in its wake.

It was in the quietest moments that truly spoke volumes to him recently. When he sat alone where they used to sit together on the tire swings in his backyard, where the setting sun would have been casting a warm glow over her features, that Luke always found himself lost in his thoughts about her. He had found a four leaf clover and picked it. Had he found it months earlier maybe he wouldn’t be sitting here alone.

Months ago he had silently wished for the courage to tell her how he felt, to confess that her smile had become his reason to get out of bed in the morning, and her voice the sweetest melody to his ears, even when she squeaked along to Taylor Swift. He still found it endearing. Yet, fear held him back and then her relationship with Jason held him back. Then he took his opportunity, it seemed to have been mutual. But since that day he’s been alone, Rosey shutting him out. He’s not even sure she’s left her house. Luke has made numerous attempts to go across the street and see her. Her mom stopping his entry with sad eyes and a simple apology each time. The fear of losing her friendship, of her looking at him differently, of shattering the delicate balance they had so carefully maintained for years. The terrifying thought of losing her entirely was overwhelming.

He decided to try again today. The air was cool, the scent of rain lingered from earlier in the day’s downpour, almost as if it was mimicking Luke. The world felt like it was holding its breath waiting for the next heartbreak to happen.

He knocked gently on her door, the anticipation building in his chest like a pressure cooker about to blow. The door swung open and there she was, standing before him, looking just as beautiful as ever, yet sadder than he had ever seen her. The sparkle in her eyes had dimmed and her smile was forced, a mere shadow of its former glory. His heart ached for her, and he wished more than ever that he could just pull her into a hug and take away her pain. Luke’s arms twitched at his side merely able to hold back.

“Rosey.” His voice betrayed him in his attempt to sound strong, instead his voice cracked through the knot in his throat.

Her eyes met his, the pain in them resonating deeply within him. “Hey, Luke,” she managed to say, her voice quieter than the rustling leaves at their feet.

“Can I come in?” He asked tentatively, unsure of his welcome, after being turned away time and time again.

Had she known he’d come?

Rosey nodded, stepping aside to let him enter. The house was eerily silent, a stark contrast to the usual symphony of life that resonated through her walls. The living room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to keep the prying eyes of the world at bay.

Luke’s heart sunk more at the simple sight of the curtains. She used to sit there and watch him and his brothers play out in the street for hours from the window. It slowly turned into her reading nook and their study spot. The open curtains were also Luke’s way of knowing she was home and he could come over. He knew then she really didn’t want to see him.

It was clear she had been crying. The evidence lay scattered across the coffee table in the form of used tissues and an empty pretzels bag.

“Rosey.” Luke whispered. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you letting me in? Letting me help?” His voice barely making it over the knot growing in his throat, fighting the urge to cry seeing his usual happy-go getting girl so deeply depressed.

Rosey took a shaky breath, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She sat down on the couch, her posture deflated, and motioned for Luke to join her. He sat down gently beside her, his arm instinctively reaching out to wrap around her shoulders. She leaned into him, the warmth of her body seeping into his, offering a small sigh of relief. “It’s Jason,” she began, her voice trembling. “He won’t leave me alone. After the breakup, he said he’d make sure no one else could ever have me, not like that.”

Her words hit Luke like a punch to the gut. He had always known that Jason was no good for her, but he never imagined the depth of his spite.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice low and measured, trying to keep his emotions in check.

Rosey took a deep, shuddering breath.

“After we broke up, he kept texting me, saying he had something to show me, something that would change my mind about him. He said it was proof of how much he cared. I was so stupid to believe him. He sent me these pictures... pictures of me that he took without my consent, and said if I didn’t take him back, he’d send them to everyone we know.” The tremble in her voice grew stronger, and Luke felt his blood begin to boil.

The room seemed to close in around them as she spoke, the very air thick with the weight of her words. Luke’s mind raced with a mix of anger, confusion, and fear for her safety. He had always known that Jason had a possessive streak, but this was beyond anything he could have imagined. Jason hitting Rosey was a tough pill to swallow for Luke and now, the thought of anyone seeing Rosey in such a vulnerable state made his stomach churn.

In Luke’s mind she was already his ever since that day at his house.

“Rosey girl, he can’t do that, you’re not 18 yet it’s illegal. Do your parents know?” His arms tightened around her, practically pulling her into his lap in the need to keep her close to him. In fear she may disappear from in front of him again. Luke felt the need to whisper to her although it’s just the two of them in the house.

Rosey nodded, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “They know, but the police said they couldn’t do anything since my face isn’t clear in the photos. They said it’s not enough to prove it’s me and that without that it’s just his word against mine. And everyone knows how convincing he can be.”

Luke’s jaw clenched as he processed this. He had to help her, but the thought of anyone seeing her that way, even for a second, was unbearable. He looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of doubt or uncertainty, but all he saw was fear and resignation.

“If the faces are unclear or can’t be made out, are you positive it’s you in those pictures, Rosey?” he asked gently, hoping against hope that there was some mistake.

Her gaze remained unwavering. “Yes, Luke. I know it’s me. I know his sick mind and what he’s capable of. He made sure to get enough of me that people would know it’s me, just not my face. It’s like he’s playing a twisted game with me, enjoying my pain without fully crossing the line he knows would land him in trouble.” Her voice was laced with bitterness and despair.

“I need to see them, Rosey.” Luke’s voice was firm, his eyes searching hers for any hint of resistance. “Just show me the blurry faces. I don’t need to see anything else.” He insisted. “I know my sweet Rosey.”

Her eyes searched his, a silent conversation passing between them as the gravity of the situation weighed heavy in the air. After a long moment, she nodded and reached for her phone. Her thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating before finally unlocking it. She scrolled through her messages, finding the dreaded thread from Jason, and handed the phone to Luke.

He took it with trembling hands, his stomach in knots. The first few pictures were blurry, as she had described, but then he saw it.

The mole on the neck of the girl in the photos.

His Rosey doesn’t have a single spot on her neck. He was positive.

Luke knew this for sure, yet he still softly grabbed her by the chin and moved her head around softly to complete the inspection.

“Babygirl, these aren’t you, it’s your blurry face on some other girl’s body.” Luke explains. His thumb softly caressing her tear stained cheek.

“How, how do you know? How can you tell?” Rosey hesitantly asks Luke leaning into his touch.

“From years and years of admiring your beauty. Memorizing every visible part of your body. Look here, this girl has a mole on her neck, you have no markings on your neck. Just right here.” Luke taps her nose for emphasis. Earning a small giggle and a smile.

Rosey lunges into Luke’s arm, her face in the crook of his neck. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Lukey,” she whispers, her voice muffled against his skin.

Luke’s heart swells with a mix of affection and pain. He wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly as she sobs. Her tears dampen his shirt, but he doesn’t care. All that matters is that she’s here, with him, and he’s going to do everything in his power to make this right.

“Rosey, I’m going to talk to your parents, and we’re going to deal with this. I won’t let him keep doing this to you. You’re worth more than his twisted games.” He whispers into her hair, inhaling the sweet apple scent that has become a balm to his soul. “I can’t go another second of another day without you.” Luke nearly whimpers, his heart cracking at the thought of her putting him out again after jumping into his arms.

Rosey pulls away slightly, wiping at her eyes. She sniffs and looks up at him, her gaze earnest.

“I’m sorry for shutting you out, Luke. I just didn’t know how to face you after everything. I was so afraid of disappointing you that I couldn’t even look at you without feeling like I had failed.” More tears fall, tracing a delicate path down her cheeks, reflecting the dim light from the window.

Luke’s heart feels as though it’s been ripped out of his chest and handed back to him in a million pieces and they’re slowly putting it back together while in each other’s arms. He cups her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the fresh tears. “Rosey, you could never disappoint me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I just want to be here for you, to help you through this.” His eyes are filled with sincerity, his voice raw with emotion.

Rosey’s eyes searched his features, looking for the truth in his words. The sadness in her gaze slowly lifts as she nods. “I just... I just didn’t know how to deal with it all. And the thought of losing you, too... it was too much.” Her voice cracks, her grip on his shirt tightening.

With her eyes still on his, Luke leans in closer, his heart racing. The scent of her apple perfume fills his nostrils, and he feels like he’s been waiting for this moment for an eternity. Her eyes flick down to his lips and back up to meet his again, a silent invitation that sends his pulse soaring. He whispers, “Tell me to stop if I should, Ro,” his voice barely audible above the sound of their mingled breaths.

Rosey’s gaze holds his, and for a moment, she seems to weigh his words. But then, she tilts her head slightly, closing the space between them. Her eyes flutter shut, and Luke sees this is it. He’s been given the green light, and he’s not about to waste it. He’s been waiting weeks to feel this alive again. He presses his lips to hers, tentative at first, feeling the softness of her mouth, the warmth of her breath mingling with his own. They were frozen in time, the air charged with unspoken confessions and long-held desires. It was then that Luke’s heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. He leaned in, the anticipation making his stomach flip just like the first time. He felt the warmth of her breath mingle with his, and it was all the encouragement he needed.

Their kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as if they were trying to make up for lost time. Luke’s hand slid into her hair, feeling the softness of the strands between his fingers. A soft sigh leaves Rosey’s mouth and Luke nab’s his chance to explore her mouth with his tongue.

He’s dreamt of this moment happening again for what felt like forever. The way she melted into him was like she had been waiting for this moment too. It started off as the sweetest, most tender kiss he had ever experienced, and moved to the sweetest and neediest kiss. And it left him feeling like he could conquer the world.

The sound of the door opening and closing brought them back to reality, but they didn’t pull away, lost in the moment. It wasn’t until they heard the unmistakable sound of her parents’ footsteps approaching that they broke apart, their eyes wide with panic.

“Y/n, honey, we’re home,” her mother’s voice called out from the hallway.

The two of them sprang apart, hearts racing, evidence of their passion filled kiss placed on both their faces, swollen lips, bliss filled eyes, messy hair and looking straight in the face of impending parental judgment.

Luke’s mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse for the intimate position they’d been caught in. If this was his house Ellen and Jim wouldn’t think twice about Rosey straddling across their son’s lap as she is. They have two older sons they had to live through.

He glanced at the phone still in his hand, the non-incriminating evidence of Jason’s threats a reminder of how they ended up this way. They both jumped to their feet as the footsteps grew closer, the sudden realization of the situation crashing over them like a wave.

“We need to tell them,” Luke murmured, slipping the phone into his pocket and placing a comforting hand on her arm.

Rosey nodded, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and hope. They stepped out of the living room, her parents’ footsteps drawing nearer. Her mother’s cheerful voice calling out to her was a stark contrast to the turmoil within.

“Y/N, we’re ho— oh!” her mother’s voice grew louder as her parents approached Luke and their daughter in the hallway to the living room.

Rosey’s mother stopped abruptly, her eyes taking in the scene before her. The way Luke’s hand rested protectively on her daughter’s arm, the lingering closeness of their bodies. The look on their faces was one of pure panic and shock, but it was quickly replaced with something else, something she hadn’t seen in her daughter’s eyes in a long time—happiness.

Her father’s voice cut through the silence, a teasing tone in his words. “Nice to see you let Luke in finally. Poor boy looked like a lost puppy every time he stopped by, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, sweetheart.” He winked at his daughter, trying to lighten the mood.

Rosey felt a blush creep up her neck, her eyes darting to her mother, who gave her a knowing smile. It wasn’t lost on her that her parents had noticed the change in her demeanor and the persistent presence of Luke at their doorstep.

She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “Mom, Dad, we need to talk. It’s about Jason,” she began, her voice wavering.

Her father’s playful expression faded, replaced with concern. He stepped closer to them, his hand landing on her shoulder. “What’s he done now?” His voice was firm, the protective instincts of a parent coming to the forefront.

Luke’s arm instinctively tightened around Rosey.

“I.. uhm respectfully i look at the pictures.” Rosey’s parents eye’s widened. Her father’s face turning sour at the thought of another boy seeing his baby girl that way. Scaring Luke silent.

“Daddy listen.” Rosey urged her father.

Clearing his throat, Luke continued. “I only looked at the pictures from the neck up. Yes I know the faces are blurry but the amount of time I’ve known your daughter, and honestly the time I have spent in love with her I’m confident in my ability to know her by the features I’ve seen almost everyday since we were little.”

Rosey’s mom is looking at Luke in awe as he rambles about her little girl. The love he’s had for her has been evident for many years and if he’s truly on to something her husband may just finally let go and let him in.

“What are you getting at son?” Her father growing impatient.

“Ro, zoom back in them please?” Luke ask softly knowing even opening them still makes her queasy.

“If you look here, this girl has a mole on her neck. Rosey doesn’t have a single mole or freckle on her neck. The only place, that I have ever been able to see sir, she has freckles is across her nose.”

Rosey’s mother took the phone, her eyes inspecting the blurry images. She nods in understanding, looking back up at her daughter with a fierce expression. “We will deal with this, honey. Your dad and I will handle it. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

Her father’s gaze switched from the phone to Luke. He studied him, his eyes intense and searching. Then he spoke, his voice a mix of relief and warning. “You’re right, son. I’m trusting you to keep an eye on her, keep her safe. Don’t let anything happen to my little girl. Just don’t let yourself learn where anymore freckles on my baby girl are!”

Luke laughs nervously at his last statement.

“I understand, sir. I promise to do everything in my power to protect her. She means more to me than you could ever know,” Luke replied solemnly, his love hazed eyes never leaving hers.

Her father’s gaze softened slightly, recognizing the sincerity in Luke’s voice. “Good. Because she’s going to need someone like you by her side.” He squeezed her shoulder gently before turning to his wife. “Let’s go upstairs and talk this through, honey. I think these two have some things to discuss as well.”

With a knowing smile, her mother nodded, leaving them alone in the hallway. The air was thick with tension, but there was also a newfound sense of unity between them.

Luke’s hand found hers, and she laced their fingers together, feeling a rush of comfort at the simple touch.

The two sat back down on the couch, the earlier intimacy of their embrace now replaced by a shared comfort knowing her parents are pushing to overcome this latest hurdle.

“Thank you, Luke,” she murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Really, truly I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against his. “You’ll never have to find out, Ro. I’m not going anywhere.” His voice was firm, the words a promise that he intended to keep.

Rosey’s eyes closed as she melted into his embrace, letting out a sigh of relief. The tension in her shoulders visibly dissipated as she felt his comforting touch. For a moment, she allowed herself to just be in the safety of his arms, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her chest. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long few weeks, and it filled her with a sense of peace she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.

“Lukey?” She mumbled.

“Yes pretty girl?”

“Back to the last time I saw you, can I fulfill what I said? I want to be yours and just yours. Now and forever. A real relationship where I can kiss you like real people do and I can tell you I love you whenever and it not be weird and-”

Without allowing another word, Luke leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, silencing her nervous babbling with a gentle, lingering kiss. It was a promise and a declaration wrapped in one sweet embrace.

His eyes meeting hers the second they parted, and he uttered the ever so softest "yes" against her lips. “God, yes Rosey be mine.”

[ellestra]

Paul Muad'Dib Usul

Dune Part 2 had more changes to the story than Part 1. It's not just omitting stuff for the sake of time but also changing the roles of many prominent characters. On one hand I understand why it feels like changing the story and characters. I felt it too watching - especially with Jessica and Chani becoming so different.

But on the other I feel it makes final message clearer. There are so many people who mistake this for a hero's story. This is why the white saviour phrase is so often thrown around. I feel like this version of the ending makes it very clear that is in not what Paul becomes.

It makes it sadder too since we see him try to avoid this and just be part of his new home. But the weight of expectations of so many people leave very limited options - from the believers and Jessica to his old life and Gurney Halleck - they all push for what they want him to be so they can get their fight and their revenge. And none of them is interested in the cost. Just like Stilgar they see the opportunities to get what they want and ignore everything else (which really is so common in wars it's not surprising even 20 000 more years in the future nothing changes). So Paul is left with only two options - it's either swim with the current and keep some control over where it takes him or go against it and drown.

It is of course magnified by the other side doing all they can to stack the deck for themselves so it's either victory or annihilation. And trying to pull the rains out of the hands of forces controlling the universe is never not bloody.

Reverend Mother Mohiam admits here directly that Bene Gesserit didn't just want a Kwisatz Haderach. They wanted one they could control. Just like they planted religions to control the populaces of countless worlds. But this kind of manipulation is easy to get out of hand when infighting happens and in the end not even chosen one can chose how it ends.

Even knowing the truth doesn't stop it. Even knowing what will happen doesn't stop it. Avalanche of history only stops at the bottom and you can only hope not to be one buried by it. But you can still judge those who started it.

The parts under the cut are bit more spoilery (about spice and controlling the universe)

So I don't necessarily disagree with the changes. Like I understand why Alia the way she is in books wouldn't really work. And I certainly get why they cut Count Fenrig. But there is one thing I wish they did leave - the Space Guild confrontation. Because this is missing important part of the message - the person who rules the Empire isn't the Emperor but the one who controls spice. Paul taking the title is just a formality.

Spice has always been the clear metaphor for oil. Spice is what allows for space travel and without it world become stranded alone. People are literally addicted to it and its life prolonging properties. Who controls the Spice controls the universe. And the person who can destroy something controls it. And this means there is no stopping the jihad. No bombing Arrakis from space. No travel ban on Fremen from Spacing Guild.

This allows Paul to destroy the old balance of power. He controls it all but he only does it through fulfilling other people expectations of who he is. And that means he becomes figurehead of a holy war. Those who helped him win now awaiting their rewards in blood for all that was done to them.

[ma1dita]

liar, liar

part two cn be found here-> truth be told

words: little under 2k

summary: sirius black is a good liar. spot how many times sirius lies in this fic.

warnings: slight nondescript smut!! errr cursing & another self-deprecating marauder, mostly unrequited love/being led on, sirius’s trauma response, fem!reader is too good for sirius, fem!reader has ‘i can fix him’ complex

a/n: guys… i thought of this prompt and the necklace Alex Russo wore in WoWP and suddenly, complex by katie gregson-macleod started playing so…sorry if this gets sadder.

(posted 9/8/23 & edited 11/6/23)

—

At the very core of him, Sirius Black is a liar. 

It’s not directly his fault, but a subliminal result of the loveless household he grew up in. Lies roll off his experienced tongue more naturally than when he’s ever tried to say I love you. So he’s convinced himself that it’s easier to live life this way, without love. If love ever fell into his hands, he’s not quite sure what he’d do with it. 

If Sirius Black could be defined, he thinks it would lack the word love and instead encompass a lot of his anger. Fiery, palpable anger, deep set in his core. That’s what he is. There are a lot of things to be angry about in this life, after all.

—

You’re 16 and this birthday party might’ve been your best idea yet. Your friends are dotted around your dorm room, along with some people you’ve invited from your classes. Among the forming crowd, you spot one Sirius Black. You don’t talk much outside of being Potions partners, and you get by with smiles in the halls and friendly touches. He’s looking at you from across the room like he knows you intimately, but that is far from the truth. Sirius Black is an enigma if anything, but what’s more unusual to you even after three shots of firewhiskey is the fact that he doesn't have any of his friends in tow. He meanders around the open space before circling back towards your direction as if that wasn’t his plan in the first place.

“Trouble in paradise?” you joke, gesturing to the space his posse would usually occupy behind him. He scoffs, avoiding the question, giving you a proper kiss on the cheek instead as he loops his arms around your waist. It piques your interest; you’ve always loved a challenge.

“Happy birthday, gorgeous.”

Sirius is handing you a small jewelry box, and you look at him dumbfounded. You’re barely even friends.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Black. I just called you over to get drunk with me and my mates.” You giggle, cheeks red from the alcohol.

It’s a necklace. A magical, really expensive one. Sirius is gauging your reaction, scratching the back of his neck. It’s easy to put a price to something rather than show you all of his cards.

“Well, aren't I special? This is too much, Black. I shouldn’t…” Your soft hands are pushing the box into his impenetrable wall of a chest as you shake your head in disbelief. No one’s ever gotten you something this nice or expensive before. You wonder if he does this to all the other girls that fawn over him.

“It’s nothing. I insist. You keep me distracted in Slughorn’s class and for that, you get a prize just as pretty as you.” He’s holding your wrists now, rubbing them casually like this isn’t the most intimate encounter you’ve had with him yet. Somehow you can sense that he needs this more than you do. To be needed. He doesn’t want to tell you that you’re the only one making him smile nowadays since his friends haven’t talked to him in weeks. You indulge in this behavior, because it’s new and exciting, and who would say no to Sirius Black?

The party ends much later after you tease him until his wit’s end, and then it’s your whispered approval that moves him to move his body over yours, the rest of your clothes quickly flying off in his pursuit to become a part of you. Physically and metaphorically, his being overtakes you quickly. Deep into the night, when he’s fucking you into your mattress, the necklace he gave you swings back and forth against your chest with every thrust of his hips, every bump of the headboard against the wall thumping the final nails into the coffin. You can’t help but feel special as he lays kisses on your spine. You know this isn’t intimacy in Sirius’ world though. This isn’t love, it’s bodies yearning for connection, to find something meaningful. To string the words to define how to pass the time. You hope he finds what he’s looking for between your sheets and as he breathes into your hair.

Sirius is angry at the world and he’s chosen you to be his target. What color on your necklace can define the fact you wanted him to fuck you brainless anyways? What can accurately portray the shaking of his hands as he slaps the fat of your thighs? Both of you don’t remember, but all he knows is your naked bosom is glowing amber as you pant, and it looks and feels like you’re on fire. Lust has a way of consuming the body, both of you moving until you cannot anymore, anatomy animated by the need for touch.

He needed this, a distraction. And you just wanted a crazy story to tell. You keep note of the fact that Sirius likes it when you moan his name, and he makes it his mission for you to scream the name he grew up hating because it sounds pretty coming from your mouth. Because here in this room, it means something other than disappointment.

“Oh my god, baby, right there!”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your baby.” he pants, pulling your hair roughly as he jackhammers into you. No pet names or endearments are allowed. Just Sirius, and he’ll correct you if you get it wrong. By the end of it, you’re slurring your words and screaming nonsense anyway. You think nothing of it.

He wants you as much as you’ll have him, which, when you’re 16, you think can be made a priority just to keep his eyes on you. Everyone wants a piece of Sirius Orion Black. And your hands are stretched out in hopes of partaking in this transaction of physicality and sin. Weeks later, after you seemingly fall asleep in the boys’ dorm, James asks Sirius if you’re his girlfriend. “She’s…alright,” he mumbles into the air. They’ve finally forgiven him for The Prank after your urges to get Sirius to swallow his ego. He never got to thank you for it. Gratitudes and endearments were a rarity at Grimmauld Place. 

Peter whispers in the dark of their dorm and asks Sirius if he could ever fall in love with you. With your eyes closed and your head lying against his chest, you feel him shrug as he traces a hickey he left on your collarbone. What is love to Sirius Black? He’s looking at your chest glow red, and his hand clutches the pendant in his fist, trying to dim its light. You go to sleep instead. The incandescent glow of the pendant seeps beneath your eyelids.

—

You’re 19 and sometimes you wonder if it’d be easier to be dead. Good days are a relief for all to have, presenting themselves as scarce and far apart in your new normal. There’s a war going on and you think it’s criminal to consider yourself adult enough to fight in it, but you and your friends–and your boyfriend do. You sleep in Sirius’ apartment more than your own now, but he never calls you his girlfriend, he just calls you his, and you convince yourself to not worry so much about it because death itself is coming for everyone you know. You’re together, and that’s what matters, right? There are bigger problems at hand.

Between Auror missions, Sirius has a bad habit of picking fights with you in front of your friends, which now include his friends. A lot of you comes from him, which you don’t resent. They’re lovely, but they see through the struggle. They know him too well, and you go to every gathering with an inkling that they know how mean Sirius can truly be. Old habits die hard. Tonight he yells at you because you won’t let him get a fifth beer. 

“Always thinking you know better than me, (Y/N). You’re not my fucking wife, so I don’t need to listen to you! No one wants to hang around a killjoy.”

He wrenches his grip from your thigh, nearly toppling your chair over to stomp over to the bar himself. Everyone stares at you, waiting for you to react before they judge. Before they defend their friend. His behavior has been erratic lately with his world crumbling as he knows it. But then again, Sirius has never known life without chaos.

“I know it’s not… ideal. But he’s a good guy. We’re all just going through shit right now. His brother’s missing, so I’m there when he needs me.”  Which is always, you omit from your response. You don’t mind being needed though. Helping him fight his demons is a part of being in a relationship with someone so damaged. You bring him light when his mind darkens. That is not transactional. It’s something deeper, though the words dissipate before either of you can utter it at night.

Lily reaches over the table to hold your hand, with Remus pulling his arm around the back of your chair, and rubbing your shoulder. Your chest is still glowing red, your love for him triumphing over any embarrassment he’s caused you. How you feel has always been clear, evident on your chest. What a weakness to have, to lay yourself bare to him and you wonder if Sirius did it on purpose.

He gets piss drunk as you expected and you have to side-apparate him home while you insist to everyone else that they should stay and have fun. They’re not as easily convinced, but you bid them farewell anyway. You get to the apartment and Sirius mumbles a ‘thank you’ as you help him take his clothes off and you gently tuck him under the covers, kissing him goodnight. Small moments like these are tender. They say more than anything you could put into words.

Moments later, you pretend to not hear Sirius cry, but his chest is heaving and the sound coming from his throat is so gut-wrenching that you lift yourself out from under him where he was weeping into your shoulder. In the dark, your eyes adjust to find his face in the moonlight.

“Sirius?” you breathe, fingers ghosting over the tears on his face. 

“He’s dead.” he whimpers. You’ve never seen Sirius Black let himself be vulnerable like this. Not to the Marauders, and especially not to you. There’s no carnal aspect in sorrow, though it leaves one gutted, worn down to the bone.

“My baby brother is dead, and no one knows. I don’t even have a body to mourn over.” 

He chokes back a sob, and you let his arms shroud your body, leaving the red glow of your pendant trapped between both of your ribs. You hope some of the light and some of your love seeps into him. You have plenty to give, and it’s all his for the taking, if only he’d let you.

Sirius falls asleep hours later, and you’re pinned to the bed underneath him. There’s a crick in your trapezius that you try to ignore as you stroke his hair. Maybe in his dreamless state he can find peace. You close your eyes and wonder if Regulus has found solace in death. Maybe it would feel something like this.

—

You’re 21 and most of your good friends are dead or in hiding. It’s the night before Halloween, but there’s not a lot to celebrate if real life is much scarier now.

Over the years, Sirius and you have come to an understanding. He’s flawed, with a viciously large ego and oftentimes he’s mean when he doesn’t know how to react. But he’s human. He tries now, more than ever to quell the anger born in the Black name. He tries to be gentle, though the instinct to hurt is in his blood. You’re patient, and resilient enough to take the blows, knowing what you feel is deeper than his anger, often revealing itself as his darkest fears. You like him ‘because’ and love him ‘despite’. Your cue to comfort him is usually right before he gets the look on his face that tells you he’ll say something knowing it’ll make you cry. You’ve always loved him, but now you know why. Sirius wonders every day how you’re still with him. He’s a runner, but since the day you’ve met him, you haven’t quite let go of his hand.

Usually instead of an apology, he’ll usually fuck you to oblivion, making sure your legs shake and your brain is jumbled enough to not talk about the hurt he causes you. He strokes the fire in you, and the feeling of anger that continually wracks his being can only be satiated by your touch. His skin on yours is the best place to be, but maybe there’s a part of you that likes the hurt, his anger. It's almost passionate, the only emotion he knows how to express well. You love him in a way that only you can, despite all of that. But it all blurs when he kisses you, consumes you. You especially like it when he pulls your hair.

You shriek as you come down from a release, hands rubbing the expanse of his chest. His thrusts slow as he grapples with reality, pawing at your breasts. Your hips milk him for his worth, and he groans lowly.

“You’re too good to me, wife. You’re all mine.” 

Your ministrations come to a stop as you look down at him, pendant hanging between your faces. Nicknames were a growing commodity lately.

“Wife, huh…”

The air is heavy between you two, still connected as one while you wait for his response. Let him take the lead, as it’s the role he’s more accustomed to.

“If that’s okay.” he breathes, not knowing what to do with his hands. Love has fallen into his hands, and her physical form is sitting in his lap. His grip eases as he accepts you wholly.

“Maybe someday soon.” 

A slow smile stretches across your face. 

“Ask me properly and I’ll consider.” But the glow of your necklace is more vibrant now, and you two both know your answer as he grabs your waist and pulls you down for another round.

Sirius tries to sneak out of bed in the early morning as you doze off. You wake, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, bare feet padding across your shared apartment in search of him until you see him dressed in the kitchen and holding a letter. 

“I have to go… deal with some business,” he mutters, not stepping away from the window nor sparing you a glance. Lying to someone he loves is harder than he thought it would be.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” You’re standing in the doorway wearing his shirt and his boxers. He likes it when you say his name. You could call him anything you want and he’d come running.

“James and Lily, they’re in trouble. I’ll be back by morning.”

You turn to grab your wand, planning to go with him, but he’s suddenly grabbing your arm and pulling you into a kiss, stopping your advances. He has something to lose now. You’re his, and he’ll be damned to let you follow him blindly into danger.

“You have to stay here. Everything will be okay,” he says, holding your chin. The lie sits heavy on his tongue. Maybe if he focuses he’ll see the rose-tinted hue of your irises every time he shuts his eyes.

“You’re scaring me...” You look at him in apprehension, his movements erratic and you wonder if he’s cracked and needs an exorcism. Then your heart is thundering in your chest and the red glow turns ice blue. A new feeling has taken a larger form than your love, and its fear. Briefly, you wonder how Sirius lives on edge like this. Something is dangerously wrong. He looks into your eyes, and then the cold glow on your chest. He takes a slow step back away from you, looking almost apologetic.

“Sirius Black, don’t you fucking dare.”

“I love you.”

He’s apparated and long gone before you register what he said. It sounded unfamiliar coming from his mouth, but you weren’t surprised. It was something you’ve always known. You just didn’t think that hearing it would hurt this badly.

—

The doors of the dreary prison cell screech shut in Azkaban. Visiting hours are over, and Sirius hadn’t left his space the whole two hours you waited outside in hopes of seeing him.

Tossing the lunch you packed into the bin as you push through the exit door for the last time, you think that killing him would’ve been easier than this, but he is not the victim in this story. You at least hope he got your package, as you think that maybe you could find a different adventure now, one that doesn’t involve having your feelings splayed across your chest for a murderer to come in and kill you dead. What a fool, to know someone so intimately, so innately, and for him to be a killer.

The envelope is slid under his cell door, and he opens it slowly. The necklace. Sirius sighs, and he wonders if you’ll finally let him go. It’s what you deserve anyway, now that he’ll rot in here for the rest of his life for a crime he didn’t commit. He’s hurt you enough that even if he did tell you everything, there’s a chance you wouldn’t believe him. No one does, after all. The cool silver of the chain makes goosebumps rise on the back of his neck as he slips it on. Red. 

With all the time in the world to think, he realizes that he can easily be defined by the sound of your voice calling his name. He’s called many things now besides a liar; a murderer, a deranged madman, a traitor. The only definition of himself he prefers now is one where he is described to be loving you. There are a lot of things to love about you, after all. He spends days, weeks, months, years, keeping track. He finds new ones every time he closes his eyes.

But Sirius Black is first and foremost a liar, and if there’s anything he’s sure of, is that he’s damn good at it.

—

“You say you love rain

but you open your umbrella.

You say you love the sun

but you find a shadow spot.

You say you love wind

but you close your windows.

This is why I am afraid

when you say you love me.”

William Shakespeare

love me some tunes! i listened to this while writing: complex by katie gregson-macleod

taglist: @jsjcue

[bequeerbehappy]

OK you see this scene

well here is what they really look like

My life has never been the same since I realized it (it has became even sadder)

Imagine Max, traumatized after the death of her abusive stepbrother. She experiences nightmares and has suicidal thoughts, distancing herself from all her friends. Meanwhile, her mother is sinking deeper into alcoholism. Max learns that a monster has cursed her, and that she will inevitably die soon. This monster gives her visions that force her to relive her worst traumas and fears. She finds herself on the floor, her eyes bloody, screaming that she doesn’t want to die, while looking like this:

Imagine Lucas trying to fit in to avoid being bullied, which distances him from his best friends. He notices that the girl he loves is struggling and pulling away from him. He ends up hanging out with guys who claim that the game he's played since childhood has a satanic purpose and that they’re trying to kill one of his friends. Later, he learns that the girl he loves is cursed by a monster and will soon die, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He watches her float in the air, powerless, hoping that her favorite music will bring her back down. Ultimately, he finds himself holding her in his arms, half-dead, screaming "Erica, help!" knowing that all he can do is talk to her to keep her alive, while looking like this:

Imagine Eleven finding herself in an entirely unfamiliar city, trying to cope with the grief of losing the man she considers her dad, while struggling to fit in after spending half her life in a lab. She has lost her powers, which were an integral part of her. She realizes that the first person to ever show her real affection is unable to say "I love you." To regain her powers and save her friends from potential death, she must confront the greatest trauma of her life, facing the man who robbed her of her childhood. She learns that one of the most important people in her world might be on the verge of death, and she finds herself battling a monster, partly responsible for her deepest trauma, to save her. In the end, she witnesses the scene where Max is on the brink of death, with Lucas desperately trying to keep her alive. All while looking like this:

[whoyacallinyellow]

Borrowed Time hurt me a lot omg- Now I offer you even more angst.

It's sad that Javier became the very thing in 1911 that he swore to destroy (working as a hitman for a tyrant government) but it would be even sadder if (as a part 2 ig of borrowed time) Javier and his love meet again but this time, he was there to arrest her and bring her to town to hang.

Borrowed Time II

Javier Escuella x F! reader

Spoilers: major RDR1-2 events Content: 18+, low honor Javier, angst, betrayal, loyalty, dramatic, possessive, referenced/implied sex, canon typical events & violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes, google translated Spanish Type: I-II changed to second pov (wc - 4133) / pc: pinterest a/n: i can feel this request in my veins, so here’s my mediocre yapping! live, laugh, angst 

Summary: Following the events of Beaver Hollow and your departure, Javier falls into work with Allende. After your reunion he reflects on his time with you, to only turn you in by nightfall. 

It was a warm day in New Austin, the orange rays blanketing the barren dirt landscape, and not a cloud in the sky. Javier only imagined finding himself wandering these lands again, but yet he returned on what seemed to be borrowed time.

A few years had passed since he last saw you at Beaver Hollow. The man could not bear to show his face, the embarrassment of being wrong about Dutch was an ego check it say the very least. 

Yet your note lived in the far corner of his mind, a small cabin just north of MacFarlane's Ranch from his understanding. 

It did not take the man long to find it, local cowpokes cowered at the sight of the large Mexican outlaw sitting upon an even larger steed, interrogating them about a maiden. It was almost as if the best pieces of you resembled him, immediately reminding the folk of who it was he was searching for. 

Boaz grunted against Javier’s spurs, digging deep into the loose red dirt below. The sunbeams which crept through the dry pine trees created quite the atmosphere, allowing Javier to get lost in his head, even if it were just for a few moments of bliss. 

Despite the directions given to him, Javier hoped you had moved on after all these years, fled somewhere safer, started a new life, perhaps changed your name as well. Somewhere he would never find you. 

Boaz continued to race down the winding path, feeding Javier’s anticipation against the warm breeze. As it gusted past the side of his head, loose strands from his tied hair tickled his ears, merely reminding the man how badly he needed a haircut. 

The starving grass which bordered West Elizabeth held a yellow tinge, the land rolled and waved, flourishing with birds and wildlife. Javier reckoned he has not been to the area before, but you were not lying about how appealing it was— a perfect home for you two. 

Upon whipping around the corner, abruptly revealed a small cabin with songbirds singing to him in the trees. The place was quiet, cozy, and seemingly inhabited, with small smoke stacks exhausting from the brick chimney. 

Bringing Boaz to a halt, there was no sign of you— but sure enough a big black cloud skulked in the nearby pen, following you wherever you wandered like a burden. 

Javier stiffly slid off Boaz, his knees nearly giving out from under him as his boots crunched onto the dirt. The beast was grazing on hay as he approached the fence post 

After whistling and calling your shire a few times, Javier was promptly ignored, perhaps the slow and ominous brute heard the man call him el diablo one too many times. 

He was still a strong believer the only reason the horse broke for you was out of pity— you looked like a child struggling to climb him every endeavor. Maybe the beast had a soft spot for you, just like himself. 

But now the old shire was relieved from his saddle, serenading in the New Austin sun, not bothered to obey the envious man’s command. 

Javier leaned against the corral post, admiring what he could have had with you, the thought of being a family man loomed over his shoulders and displayed no signs of leaving. 

You and Javier ran together prior to joining Dutch, less for money and more for survival. Your past crimes covered bounty boards and train stations as a permanent reminder, never forgetting the wrongs that were written. That price only increased once Mexico inevitably caught wind of all the messy jobs in neighboring lands. 

He drowned and you sank with him, the price of his sins were bricks added to your back. Being his accessory, the government saw you as a pawn, smart and knowledgeable, if caught— Javier would come for you, and they would be ready for him. 

Those days were nearly from another lifetime. 

Now under Allende’s ruling fist, he offered him a twisted plea deal of sorts; protection at the cost of something the man held more dearly than life itself—you. Your capture was not about the money nor status, but simply a test of his loyalty to Allende; if Javier did this job, he’d do anything. 

The poor man’s convoluted loyalty never got him far, proving time and time again, leading him only to dead ends and false hopes. Charismatic attributes and big promises was something Javier foolishly gave everything to with a blind eye, something you always warned him about.  

“Javier?—“ 

Your voice could have made him leap out of his own skin. As he hesitantly turned towards you, his gut twisted into something mean. You were beautiful as ever, after all these years you waited for him— just like you promised. 

“Never thought I’d see you again, especially in the west.” You spoke again in disbelief, rag wiping your hands clean of a job he should have been doing. 

Your voice only lived in his memories, hearing it again nearly whipped Javier back into shape, feeling sick for your puppy love he desperately relied on so long ago. 

“Home sweet home.” The man swallowed dryly, throwing his arms out awkwardly and gesturing towards the open lands around you both. 

Before his thoughts could catch up to the moment, you ran to embrace him, flinging yourself into his arms with a long awaited kiss. Javier grunted softly against your lips, staggering back to support you, the extra attention only reminding him how saddle sore he really was.  

Just for a moment things felt normal, a feeling he was searching for since you split. He had a place in this cruel world once again, everywhere had a price on his head, no place to retreat to besides you— you were home. 

Perhaps he could head tail between his legs back to Allende, saying you disappeared. 

Maybe he could take you to Canada, or a tropical island— oh, anywhere but Guarma. 

We must leave,

Javier’s unsaid words pricked beneath his skin, prodding relentlessly at his deepest desires for redemption. 

“Oh—amor.” 

Was all the man could choke out, the words exiting pitiful and weak, a near cry for help you assumed was just your bittersweet reunion. 

Leaning away you smiled coyly at him, admiring your lost cowboy;

Your time apart was not easy on Javier, his hardened stare and the chip on his shoulder now set in stone. 

The constant blazing sun of Mexico, along with surviving off rationed canned beans really took a toll on the man. His face was dull and lacking the usual pigment he wore so handsomely when Mr. Pearson cooked for everyone. 

Javier’s newfound demeanor only put emphasis on his sharp brows peeking from under his bowler cap brim, residing above dark cunning eyes, ready to match any cowpuncher who dared challenge him. 

Over Javier’s shoulder was where his mount rested, hoove digging into the dirt at the end of the cabin’s path. 

“—and Boaz?” You began after a shared silence, slowly approaching the overworked horse. 

“Still kickin’.” He uttered gently, a large hand scratching the back of his neck. 

Boaz never really liked you, or anyone besides Javier that is. It wasn’t until the gang hunkered down in Colter for the stubborn bastard to take a liking to you. 

The weather and unpredictable circumstances was not easy on the gang, including the horses, causing rations to be small among the mounts. 

You always carried treats in your satchel to gain Boaz’s affection, and your efforts would eventually succeed in Colter. You would secretly slip him sugar cubes every time you left the shack, he must have appreciated the extra attention. Javier barely recognized Boaz trotting up to him in the snow, you mounted on top wearing a proud grin. 

You wore a similar grin now, full of satisfaction and pride that he returned to you— with warmth flowing through him, his heart rapidly thumped in his ears, all the pent up feelings for you were reopening like floodgates. 

“What’a nice feller, huh.” You cooed to the mount after a slow approach. 

Showing no distress Boaz allowed your kind pats and rubs. Tenderly nudging you, the horse’s chops tried sneaking its way into your pockets, searching for the snacks you usually held after a long journey. 

“Ai, fácil!” 

Javier exclaimed, quickly guiding Boaz’s large snout away, the loving gestures nearly toppling you over. 

“Guess I’m glad he still remembers me.” You beamed, tipping your hat lower to shield yourself from the beating sun. 

“Or perhaps your donations, amor.” Javier quipped softly, his eyes wandering meekly. 

Something besides time passing seemed different about him, you could not quite pinpoint it. Javier was always a timid man at first when it came to his lover, maybe your time apart presented this old side of him. 

You knelt slightly, peeking under his sunken head which hung towards the ground. 

“Javier? You don’t look so good.” 

Your soft words managed to dig their way through his ringing ears, the man squinted his eyes tightly before swiping his lids with rough fingers. 

“Uh— maybe you oughta sit for a bit, I think you’re overdressed for this heat.” 

Your words broke through once again, giving a small tug on his poncho, his disoriented vision cluttered with black floating spots as you guided towards the porch. 

As his vision continued to warp, the cabin doubled and skewed while you put him in the shade. 

Javier knew you were speaking, your voice fading in and out irreguarly, piercing his ears every so often. 

The words felt like they were being consumed by the ocean, his head bobbed up and down as if he were drowning. All he could think about was Dutch’s screams over the storm and waves, as he was about to be consumed by the large void. 

But Dutch snagged him before being swept away, yanking him upon the tiny rowboat that threatened to tip from the added stress. Javier’s senses were waterlogged, rejecting the mean salty water from his lungs. As he gasped for air; the only thing he thought of was you. 

“S’alright, son, You’re not dying today!” Was the first thing he heard. He faded in and out of consciousness as Dutch beat the sea water out of him, his ribcage rattling under each and every smack. 

Javier sometimes wonders if Dutch should have just let him die, abandon him and allow the dark waters to engulf him whole, repaying his sins to his maker. Maybe his death would free you of your burdens. 

He felt like his time had withered before Dutch had saved him anyways. Being a prisoner in Guarma is what convinced him that he would never make it back to you, sealing the deal. Your previous words borrowed time scratched at his skin again, yearning to be acknowledged. 

“Ah well, I knew you’d come crawling back, you’re here for a reason.” You would always say to him after a particularly dangerous run with the gang. He would dismiss you with a mumble and a kiss, but always knew he was lucky to be alive as more of his brothers began to fall. 

Sometimes he would catch you talking to a disgruntled Arthur as he packed his horse. 

Upon inquiring about your words, Arthur being a somewhat vague man would shortly grumble; 

“Jus’ focus on the job, and returnin’ to your woman, Javier.” 

—and he always did. Javier knew you did not worry about him much, at least outwardly. But he did notice Arthur’s presence whenever trouble presented itself. 

~

“Javier— some water.” 

Your words along with a canteen dangled in front of him, the prior hallucination of a watery grave was almost enough to empty his stomach. 

Javier stared back towards your shire lounging in his corral, his mind once again wandering back to the life he could have had with you. 

In the midst of his tunneling vision, a lean coyote lingered through his gaze, stalking towards him, icy eyes sending daggers into his before diminishing. 

“Javier. Say something.” Your words were now much clearer to him, breaking through his consciousness, the ringing disappeared from his mind fog. 

“‘M alright.” He muttered, spitting out the bitter taste from his mouth. 

“I reckon you oughta take it easy, being an old man n’ all now.”

Javier frowned at you and blinked a couple times, jaw agape, processing the pun you made at his dismay. 

“Ha— so sorry, chica, ‘suppose I’m no longer the young buck you remember.” 

He replied sarcastically, his voice both bold and hoarse as he raised back to his feet, every step whining for rest. 

“Ride with me?” Javier suddenly asked as if nothing happened. It took you by surprise, he had just arrived after all. 

“Alright.” You obliged shortly after a pause. “Let me grab my belt.” You continued, motioning towards the missing holsters on your frame. 

“No need.” He cut you off quickly, his voice leaving traces of urgency. 

“Boaz is packed.” 

You eyed him up, watching the man shutter under your antagonizing gaze, how he hoped you were not suspicious of his intentions after all this time. But rightfully so, the man was yellow-bellied. 

But you had no reason not to trust him. 

You were not exactly sure where Javier was taking you, but for now his company was enough to keep you satisfied. The ride was eerily quiet, even for his standards, being a man of few words. 

After riding a little down south he brought you to a small mountain that overlooked Mexico. He perched you both on a small flat area, just in time for the sun to sink below the land. 

Javier stared over the horizon, he never really did think about how big the south was, yet how small he felt in comparison. A glimmer caught onto his peripheral, turning towards the shine was the pendent he had given you, when you both first started running with the gang. 

The feeling presented itself again, feeling so small in the world— you were the home he had been searching for since the gang's fallout. It was always you. 

He sank into his memories, a vessel of his former self was all that remained. 

You two were quite away from your newly shared camp, with all the members and leads, the moments you had alone became quite sparse. 

“What do you think, Javi?” Your sudden presence caught him off guard. 

“The gang?—“ he pondered your words, leaning against a shady oak. 

“I suppose they’re family for now, señorita. We’re much safer, and they’re good to us.” Javier replied, a hand brushing over the stubble on his jaw. You smiled gently with a nod, making your uneasiness all too obvious. 

“It’s just temporary, amor, once we have the money to get on our feet— it’ll be the two of us again.” He reassured, a polite arm sliding around your waist. 

Javier remembers the look in your eye, doubtful and full of sorrow, but you still trusted him, knowing he would never lead you astray. The same he thought about Dutch.  

Repositioning himself behind you, he dug a necklace from his pocket, draping it over your chest and clasping it. You fidgeted in surprise against his movements, gazing down at the beautiful silver pendant that glistened off the very same sun. Before you could say a word he planted a kiss on your lips, gentle and quick before mounting Boaz. 

“I promise!” 

He called out. After blowing a kiss to you, he was off to assist the gang. He didn’t have much money at the time, but Javier always knew how to make things work—

Oh how naive of him— bright eyed and lovesick, he wanted to make a woman out of you, settle down. That is, before Dutch’s plan captivated him. Which ultimately led to this mess, but who is he kidding, he never really had a chance anyways. 

Javier thought back with immense regret, wishing he was more romantic with you in a way, officially making you his chica earlier on, instead of prolonging it due to the possibility of death. He always feared that courting would further your heartbreak if something bad were to happen. 

It was his own unaddressed way to cope with the harsh reality of survival and being an outlaw, he always prioritized your safety over intimacy until joining the gang. When he looks back on it, your shared time at Horseshoe Overlook and Clemons Point were some of the best times of his life. 

Around that time of riding with the gang was when your relationship with him really began to evolve. The potential competition of other men drove Javier and his intimacy up a wall— his usual gentle lips ghosting over yours turned into small nips, and purple blotches he would mark on your neck late at night. A tight palm covering your mouth which muffled the moans of his name, words the man would kill to hear in such an uncaged manner. He entertained no confusion of who you belonged to; even if he did not make things official until that night at the lake.  

Javier had nearly forgotten the sun had already set, and he somehow had no recollection of it. He looked down at you, only in a thin shirt as you gazed longingly off the mountain side.

The final sunset you shared was simply a ticking clock for him. 

“Cold?” He whispered, words he could barely choke out. 

“A little.” You replied, big doe-like eyes staring up at him, holding so much love for the man. Love he was not sure he ever deserved. 

Forcing his gaze away quickly he arose, soles of his feet vibrating and pulsing with each step. After approaching Boaz his shaking hands freed his bedroll clasps, attention locked upon his rifle poking out of the saddle. 

His head spun, finally digging himself out of his trance. After returning to you, he draped the cloth over you coyly. 

“You okay?” You suddenly asked, your hush voice startling him, he sighed in despair. 

The words you said to him at Beaver Hollow replayed through his mind,

Leave with me. Let’s run away. 

But he could not get them out, his chest quivered under the constraint of his uneven breaths. 

“Course.” He managed to form the word, you nodded in contentment, fresh air filling your nose. 

His response would have to do for now, you decided to cut him some slack since he returned to you, after all. 

By now you knew him well enough. Some nights he would stay up and collect his thoughts before laying beside you. You always respected his space, he had his demons, like everyone else. Soon enough in your slumber  you would feel his protective arms drape around you, his steady breaths hitting the nape of your neck, tense body encapsulating yours— those were the nights you felt the safest, and knew he was going to manage just fine. 

Other nights Javier would stay up while you were by your lonesome. He always feared something would kill the both of you while asleep, reluctantly you agreed. But the man always let you rest, you needed it more, that is for putting up with him all day round. 

Your memories swam with always being coaxed to sleep, eventually giving into the soft lulls he would sing. A wordless agreement that there was no point for the both of you to be cranky and tired in the morning. 

—But there he sat, only to turn into the monster he swore to protect you from. 

“I love you, Javier.” 

Your words racked his brain, digging and clawing invasively into each one of his bones. Javier thought he imagined them until he looked over to find you staring this entire time. You knew there was something seriously wrong, but surely he would tell you within due time. 

Javier’s voice was lost, swallowing suppressed sobs down his dry throat, he nearly felt like he was drowning once again in the frame he called a body. 

Just like the days he would not say it back while pursuing a lead, with doubts he would not make it back to your arms— but he always did, it was the least he could do. It felt like lifetimes ago to him, how could the man choke out a te amo before sending you in? 

Instead, he planted a kiss on your soft lips, lingering there for a moment, knowing it would be your last. 

Looming below in the shadows, trailing to the border resided monsters he used to protect you from— two Mexican soldiers camped out by the tracks. Their lanterns flickering softly in the distance, patiently waiting for the man to arrive at the agreed meeting spot. 

Javier shivered, feeling like a young boy again. His eyes fixated on the stock of his rifle that Boaz held. 

Your breaths became shallow, harmonizing with the warm night’s breeze as you fell into a slumber. You trusted Javier’s judgment on setting up camp or heading home, you perhaps allowed yourself to get a little too comfortable. 

It all happened so fast for him, and there was no going back. Javier’s mind blurred as he rode, Boaz fussing and fighting under his control. His very own horse feared the  monster he had become, maybe poor Boaz thought he was Javier’s next victim. 

He rode fast— but not fast enough to flee from himself. 

A coyote lurked around the darkness, gazing at Javier from behind the two Mexican soldiers who taunted him, puffing on their big cigars from Uncle Sam.  

The coyote disappeared as Javier reached for his revolver, patiently waiting for the man to shoot him— but he never did. 

The soldier simply laughed, knowing Javier’s bark had no bite. While under Allende’s power, he was simply a coward a soldier would not even match out of pity.  

Soon enough the two men fled into the night, banter that could be heard a mile away through the ravines. Anyone could have mistaken them for sick hyenas. 

He could hear their stallions riding hard in triumph, with a new prize Javier held so close for many years, he watched the soldiers grow smaller and smaller over the uneven land until the darkness swallowed them whole, taking a piece of him along. 

The nighttimes ahead would find Javier in a one horse town saloon, nodding off more times than he could remember. His glass turned from full to empty until his vision doubled. 

Javier was not sure how many days had passed, the whiskey dulling his mind and senses, but the thoughts still ate him alive. 

Did you think he would come for you? Or would you be envious, spilling everything you could before meeting the gallows. 

Javier hid in his palms, knowing he got it all wrong— it should have been him. 

It did not take too long for the man to get kicked out from the saloon due to his drunken stupor, not even the bartender wanted his dirty money. 

Javier took Boaz to what he thought was east, the coyote returned to accompany him, lurking around on the monotone forest floors he traveled. 

The night breeze made Javier reminisce of the times at camp, the very same breeze that whipped through your hair as you would drag him off somewhere secluded, your mischievous grin reflecting off the summer night's moon as you snuck off into the bushes. 

You gave everything to each other— all for nothing it seems.

Javier sank lower into himself before eventually staggering off Boaz. It only took him a few unsteady steps to empty his bowels on the dirt path, elbows hoisting him up on his shaky bent knees. 

Peeking out from his jacket cuff was a scar he once wore proudly on his wrist. A scar he earned in some honky tonk town just because another man looked at you wrong. The mere thought of it worsened his nausea.  

All signs pointed to you, and you were gone because of reasons he barely understood himself— He feared he didn’t know what loyalty was anymore. Or what he stood for in fact. 

Your blind love killed you in the end, and it was his cross to bear. 

The sky was dark and dull, which was just as familiar as a bottle and a glass. Not a single star in the sky greeted him, leaving him to fester alone. 

The wind howled violently through the trees, causing the leaves to rustle and sway. A northern was quickly sneaking upon the lands of New Austin. 

His lone coyote joined him on a distant cliffside, coat black as sin, mocking the cowboy who lingered below. 

~