#when I write something it's simply what I'm thinking

[kkuras-gamer-gf]

Read your diary | Megan Skiendiel

Smut. Any maneskin fans? Loosly based on their song of the same name! Too short, so sorry.

G!p megan. Perv!meg who sneaks into your room when your gone. Reader is just as bad kinda. Perv4perv in a way. Dom!Megan?? Who would've thought

Megan didn't intend on going this far; it started simply as wanting to be a good roommate, doing the laundry. One day while folding and putting it away, she found something, a small book. She shouldn't have read it, but she couldn't help herself.

Surprised by what she found: your dirty little secrets and detailed summaries of your hookups. Then she read further, and her name started popping up. First, just little comments about Megan being attractive, and then it switched; filthy fantasies filled the pages.

The next week, she was doing more laundry, and a pink pair of underwear fell out of the basket. She shouldn't have; she should've just put it back in the basket, but she opted to stuff it in her pocket. Later that night, she wrapped them around her cock as she pleased herself.

It should've stopped there, but it became a bad habit, stealing a pair and then throwing it in the washer after she was done. It was the perfect excuse; you were gone most of the day for work, so she felt comfortable in her dirty routine.

Until today, that is, you had a half day at work. Megan didn't know that, so she assumed it was safe. But it was different this time; she had dared to go further, settling into your bed with your used panties in her panties, reading various pages in the diary.

Just as she reaches into her boxers, you open the door with a sharp gasp at the sight.

"Wh- Is that my underwear?!" You ask, looking at the balled-up fabric in her hand.

"I—I was doing laundry."

"In my bed?!?"

She jumps up, hiding the small book behind her back.

"Well...well." She really didn't want to out herself further, but she also needed a way under your skin to get the control she wanted. "You write about how you want me to fuck you!" A smirk as she gains an upper hand.

Your jaw dropped at this. How'd she know that?

"You—wh—how?" Your cheeks are bright red as you fumble around for words, "Did you read my journal?!"

"This one?" Pulling her hand from behind her back and opening to a page, "I feel guilty. What would she think if she knew I fucked myself in her bed?" She quoted, An embarrassing confession.

"I—stop."

She didn't, flipping forward some pages.

"I wish instead of my fingers it was her coc—"

"Don't act like you're innocent." You interrupt, "You take my underwear when you do laundry. God knows what you do with it."

"I think you know what I do with it." She takes a step, making you gulp, "And I think it turns you on." Faces now only a couple inches away.

"You're disgusting." It's more of a whisper, not meaning it enough to put effort in. She wasn't wrong; you knew that with the way your core dripped.

"I'm disgusting? I'm disgusting?? Says the slut who writes chapters about me and my cock. Let's see, which page was it..." Long fingers flip through pages, "In my dream last night—"

"Fuck you."

The smirk on her face drops, slamming the book shut and throwing it on the bed before a hand moves to wrap around your neck, threatening to tighten. As much as you tried to suppress it, you couldn't help the small moan that left your mouth.

"On the bed."

You oblige, lying down, as she uses the grip she has to push you in that direction. Her hands fumbled with the button to the jeans she was wearing, not bothering to take them off, just reaching in a hand to pull her cock out, hard and already glistening with precum.

Bigger than expected, intimidating almost. Your eyes widen at the sight, causing a cocky smirk on the girl's face as she looks down at you like you're her prey.

"Aw, don't tell me it's too big. You can take it, right?" Faux sweetness in her voice.

Nodding rapidly, needing her to do anything to soothe the heat in the pit of your stomach.

At this, Megan pulls you so your legs hang off the edge. Pulling at your jeans and throwing them to the floor, a thumb rubbing over your soaked underwear, practically drooling at the sight.

"Fuck, no wonder I have to do laundry so much."

"M-Megan, please."

"You want these off, huh?" Despite the teasing tone, she pulls at them as soon as you're nodding your head. Though she doesn't throw them to the side, instead balling them up to stuff into her pants, you were too much in a haze to protest, admittedly the act turning you on more.

Her leaking tip slides through your folds with embarrassing ease before sheathing herself inside you in one thrust with no warning; a moan mixed with a cry echoed off the walls.

"Fuuuck." Megan moans as her head falls back at the sensation, "So fuckin' tight."

The brunette's hands grip at your waist, trying to ground herself and not cum right away. Starting with slow, deep thrusts, pulling little noises out of you with every move.

"You know how fucking long I wanted to do this?" Her breathing gets increasingly labored, and she thrusts quicker with her words as if she's working herself up.

"Fix that bratty attitude." A particularly harsh thrust as she mumbles the last part.

"P-pl-please." The words leaving your lips don't even make sense as you beg her, for what you're not sure.

It's like she was made to fuck you with the way her body fit with yours, the tip of her cock reaching where others have. Her tempo changed in tune with your body; it makes you wonder if she's that good or if she did a little too much research.

"Tell me how good this cock feels."

"Shhhit. So, so good." Words slurring at the pleasure, hands grabbing to try and pull her closer.

Megan's hand that once gripped your waist moved to rub fast circles over your clit, your own hand wrapping around her wrist at the overwhelming sensation. You didn't want to admit that your nerdy perv roommate had you close to an orgasm within minutes. Neither did Megan, as she wanted to uphold her current dominance, holding herself back.

"Mm, I want to fill you up." She mutters through her heavy breaths.

The loud moan you let out shows the effect it had on you, clenching around her, basically begging for it.

"You'd like that, right? Having my baby?" Megan's voice lowered as her hips stuttered, the idea making her closer to cumming.

"Yes! Fuck, yes. Please." Tears stream down your face as you plead for her to fill you up. "Want it so bad."

"Yeah? Want my cum, baby?" Breathless moans and whimpers as her once loserish persona fades back in a bit as she reaches her peak.

Pulling out her eyes filled with wonder as she stared at the liquid dripping onto your bedsheets, seemingly never experiencing it before.

Your body lay limp; you barely noticed her cleaning you up with your own underwear and, of course, stuffing them back in her pocket for whatever perverted thing she'd do with them later. Grabbing the diary from beside you and placing a sweeter-than-expected kiss on your cheek before grabbing your laundry basket.

"Same time next laundry day?" She smirks before walking out to your laundry room.

It seems now you have a new tradition for laundry day.

[equestria-cross-mod]

Very long vent/rant below the break (yes, another one). Also, go read Twin Runes, it's really good. Also also, bully me into reading the entire thing, because for some reason I can't seem to sit down and do that on my own.

And to clarify, this whole thing is directed at the anon who asked the question, not the person who answered the ask.

I was just scrolling through this blog since I enjoy the comic (though I really need to read the whole thing) and came across this post. If you know me, you know that I really don't like letting injustice stand without me saying or doing something, so here we go. Prepare for heavily restrained anger.

Akanemnon have stated that how people see them doesn't matter as much as how they make others feel. And they want them to feel positively. I can tell they're incredibly kind because of that.

I also empathize with them about this in particular, considering that, while I'm not popular, I do still struggle immensely with being social just in general. Especially publicly.

Now, here's the thing. I have a different approach to this sort of harassment they're experiencing here, which I've stated above. While I'm not as aware of the unspoken social rules that neurotypicals have, primarily because I'm autistic (among other things), some of the rules I do know are ones I don't agree with.

Now, to my point.

Anon? I didn't see the post being referenced here, but I don't think I need to. You're being ten times worse, anyhow. What you're doing is known as "guilt-tripping", and it's something I take huge issue with. You're also assuming the worst here, which tends to make you look like (excuse my language but I can't think of a better word) an asshole.

I know you'll never see this, and you know what? Fine. That's not why I'm writing this.

I'm writing this because I'm sick of people trying to make genuinely innocent people look bad. One mistake doesn't make you a bad person. Not even many. That probably just means you're stubborn or something, but not necessarily bad. Intentional and repetitive bad decisions make you a bad person.

That's what you're doing here, Anon. They made a mistake, and you decided to make them feel bad about it because you felt offended over something they said because they were stressed out.

If you were stressed out and said something dumb, I'll admit, I'd probably be a little offended too. That's not the problem. The fact that you acted on it in this way is the problem.

Everyone gets angry sometimes. Everyone can occasionally be unprofessional. But what you did was worse, because not only were you also unprofessional, but you did it intentionally. And that is unacceptable.

So many people on the internet just like you need to watch what you say, for various reasons, and to be considerate of other people. It doesn't matter if you can't be traced, those words still affect not only the people you direct them to, but also everyone else that sees them. I know that because I was affected.

And if people figured out it was you, which I don't think is entirely unheard of, they will treat you the same way. 95% guarantee.

Treat people how you want to be treated.

In this case, I'm trying to be as nice as my rage allows me to be while calling you out for being rude. As such, I also want people to tell me when I say something wrong or bad so I can correct myself, preferably in a manner that doesn't trigger bad memories to return to my mind and make me feel awful.

If your purpose was simply to ask for an apology, or to let them know that you were uncomfortable, then you need to learn to not insult them or make unreasonable assumptions in the process. You were lucky this time, but many people would've just ignored you. Telling you this from experience.

And if you do see this, just know that I do genuinely hope you learn how to address problems in your life better than this. Both minor and major. Despite how much I hate bad people (which I only think you're slightly bad since this is only one bad decision), I do want everyone to improve and become better people, no matter who they are. I often don't expect it though, considering... well, a lot of things. But I'm hoping this is a one-time thing for you.

Be better. Always strive to be better. Improve continuously, little by little. And if you don't know where or how to start or continue improving, ask someone you trust how you could do so.

Please add a trigger warning next time you threaten in your posts. I already feel you don't like neurodivergent individuals with the way you react to asks but that really unprofessional.

As a neurodivergent person myself, I apologize if that is how I came across. That was FAR from how I want to make anyone feel. Because it is simply not the case.

The threat was something I thought to be a throwaway line that I unfortunately did not think too deeply about in the moment of writing it. It was too far, and I recognize and do apologize for that. It came from a place of legit frustration as it feels like whatever I am trying to state is not paid attention to.

It is overwhelming, and I can not claim in any way that I am actually good at being a public person. I have stated before that having so many eyes on me is terrifying, as it causes me severe anxiety at times.

This position was handed to me by a weird twist of fate. And more often than not I question if I really even want it.

What I do want is to tell a story. One that gives people hope and makes them feel better. No matter who they are and what they might struggle with. I do want to be a good and supportive person. To ANYONE.

Again. I sincerely apologize for my harsh words. I do not wish to make anyone feel like I hate them or hold a grudge against them.

My frustrations got the better of me, and I should have acted accordingly.

[tagged-by-trauma]

Would you do Pedro character like Harry Castillo x f!reader, if so write this

You are working as assistant. You take care of all the works and lots of schedule for his company. Harry was in his office, focusing as you came to him about schedule the meeting. He just wanna asked for dinner. You simply gonna think about it and you go back to your office. Few moments ago. You walks to restaurant that he was waiting for you. They even got chemistry and so on. *fluffiness*

Dinner with you

When your boss asks you on a date you hesitate, but it turns out to be the best night of your life. Pairing: Harry Castillo x assistant!reader Warnings: fluff, softness, alcohol consumption ( I'm not home in the world of wines so I just searched and wrote in one), Harry being himself Word count: 1.8k A/N: I still haven't seen Materialists because it still didn't come out in my country, and there isn't even a date for it yet so...

You have been Harry’s assistant for months now, always helping him in everything. You first met him on the interview of his. Before that you just heard rumours of him. How handsome he was, how caring he was, what a gentleman he was, and every woman that saw him was talking about his intelligence too.

You were sitting at your desk, organizing folders and writing down important dates when your work-phone rang. You picked it up and listened carefully as the woman on the other side informed you about needing to put Harry’s meeting to another day because his work partner got sick and couldn’t attend. You pulled a paper and pen in front of you and scribbled down every important information. Thanking the woman, you put down the phone.

When you stood up—adjusting your skirt that rode up your thighs—you held the paper between your fingers and walked to Harry’s door, your heels clicking on the marble floor, the cool air of the built-in AC hitting against your face. You stood in front of his office, hands coming up to tap the wooden door three times with a soft ‘Mr. Castillo’.

“Come in,” you heard his muffled voice behind the door, and pushed it open to step in. His office was definitely not something what people would expect from a man so successful like him, but it was perfect for its purpose. The walls were covered in dark wood, as well as the floor, and on the side where the office looked to the streets it was covered in windows from the floor to the ceiling. Harry was sitting in his leather covered chair behind his desk, and you walked up to him confidently.

“Mr. Castillo,” he looked up from his paper, the pen falling onto the table. His eyes were dark as he not so subtly looked you up and down, and then they finally settled on yours. “Mr. Dante’s assistant called to inform you that you’ll need to put the meeting to another time due to Mr. Dante’s sickness,” he nodded, arms folded.

“And when will it be?”

“She told me they need to find a date which is good for you, Mr. Castillo and also for Mr. Dante,” as you were talking you put the paper in front of him, and his head turned towards it, his eyes skipping through the information. He let out a content hum and suddenly looked at you. “If you tell me the dates where you are free then I can inform Mr. Dante’s assistant and then we—” you couldn’t finish your sentence when he cut it at the middle with one single question.

“Are you free tonight?” your expression was completely baffled in that moment, not expecting such boldness from him. You stood there, hands intertwined in front of you, and it seemed like you were stuck in that position.

“Mr. Castillo—”

“I’m sorry for just asking it, but I’d like to take you for dinner, if that’s alright,” a million thoughts were running around your mind and you couldn’t seem to be able to form any coherent word, but one thing was repeatedly there.

It was completely unprofessional.

But you couldn’t deny it that Harry was a very handsome man with a beautiful soul and heart, and it made you hesitant in your decision. You couldn’t give a normal answer so you just blurted out the most obvious answer.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Castillo.”

“I don’t want anything else just a dinner,” he paused, and the quietness was almost touchable in the air. His answer was making you nervous, but the thought of accepting kept crawling back to the back of your mind.

“I’ll think about it,” you murmured with a final nod and a little sigh. You saw as his face lighted up with happiness, and you couldn’t help but let a soft smile creep to your face at his excited expression.

“Alright,” he stood up and walked around the desk until he was towering over you. “Uhm, can I ask for your address, so I could pick you up at let’s say… Seven?” you probably stood in front of him like you didn’t understand English, and you were trying to make out everything he said. When the words finally hit you, you scribbled down your address on the paper you just pushed in front of him and straightened back up.

“But don’t be so caught up. Mr. Castillo. I can still say no to it.”

“I know, darling,” you felt a blush raise to your cheeks at the pet name, and with your eyes fixed to the ground you started walking towards the door. But soon you stopped in your tracks when he called after you with a soft voice. Turning around you looked at him, hand resting on the doorhandle.

“Yes?”

“Stop calling me Mr. Castillo. Harry is perfectly fine,” if you didn’t feel nervous enough, then it put another pressure to your shoulders, but also happiness that he trusted you with saying his first name.

“Alright, Harry,” a grin spread over his face when he heard his name coming from your mouth.

When he turned back to his desk and went to sit down, you pushed open the office door and stepped out. In front of the door, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in all this time, and your mind drifted back to making a decision.

But deep down you knew that you’ve already chosen.

—-—

You were standing in front of your mirror when your doorbell rang. Opening the door, the sight of Harry hit you. He was standing there—out of his casual suits—wearing a grey button-up and casual jeans. He was holding a bouquet of roses, and you looked at him in surprise.

“Hey,” he called from behind the roses, and smiled.

“Hey,” he held out the roses to you and you took it with a bit of a struggle. “Roses, huh? You’re really trying to impress me.”

“It depends. Is it working?”

“Maybe. But you’ll have to do better than this,” you locked the door, and took his offered arm.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’m up for the challenge,” you went down the stairs, already trying to pull it out of him where he would take you, but he didn’t give in, always avoiding the question with a you will see.

—-—

When his car pulled up in front of one of the most expensive restaurants of New York you looked at him in disbelief. He just shrugged like it was no big deal, and parked the car close to the entrance.

Inside he gave his name, and the waiter showed you your table, but you couldn’t really pay attention to it, because the lights and the jazz music playing in the background was the only thing you could see and hear. Standing at the table, he walked to your chair and pulled it out for you. Thanking him you sat down and watched as he took his own seat opposite you.

“What can I get you for drink?” the waiter’s eyes were pacing back and forth between you and Harry.

“What would you like to drink, darling?” Harry asked, and given your experiences with luxury restaurants—which was equal with zero—you looked at him helplessly, not knowing how to answer.

“Can you decide?” Harry nodded, his eyes full of warm and understanding, and he turned to the waiter who was waiting for the order.

“Then we’ll take the Concha y Toro Don Melchor Cabernet Sauvignon,” the waiter nodded, and walked away, and you looked at Harry completely dumbfounded, but his smile was still wide and his gaze still happy.

“Well, that sure sounded pretty expensive and the name was pretty long,” he let out a quiet laugh, the sound ripping through the thick air between you. You smoothed your hand over the fabric of your dress, his palms suddenly sweaty.

“But it is very rich in taste.”

“I trust you,” the night went on with this pace, you asked for his opinion about the food, him helping you out, and the music creeping into your ear like it was a melody you couldn’t close out. The wine was the best you’ve ever had, and the food was so delicious that you ate all of it, and if you could, you would have asked for another plate of it. The conversation was flowing so easily between you two that you almost forgot that he was your boss, and you were his assistant. But as good as it was the night has come to an end, and you could see that neither him nor you liked the idea of it.

The journey back to your house was filled with soft laughter and deep conversation. In a moment of quietness Harry’s hand came down to rest on your thigh, not trying to invade but to try to capture this moment and not let it go. When he parked down, he turned to you in his seat, a questioning look on his face.

“I hope I lived up to the expectations.”

“There were never any expectations for you Harry, just to be yourself,” you murmured, and his hand gave your thigh a soft squeeze. You looked down and after a moment of thinking you rested your hand over his. His eyes shined with surprise, but the pressure of his palm remained there.

“So, that means we could maybe repeat this night?” his tone was warm, but also gravelly because of the drank wine.

“Yes, I suppose.”

You could see the struggle behind his eyes, as he was thinking whether he should give you a hug or no—maybe it would make you too uncomfortable. But before he could think more about it, you leaned over the console and put your arms around his shoulders.

“Thank you for tonight, Harry,” you whispered into the collar of his shirt, the scent of his perfume crawling into your nostrils. His hands immediately settled over your back, pulling you as close as the console allowed.

“And thank you for agreeing to go on a date with a man like me,” you pulled back with a frown on your face, and took his face between your hands, caressing his stubbled jaw.

“You’re so much more than you think of yourself, Harry. And I hope someday you’ll realize it,” with a quick peck to his cheek you reached for the doorhandle and gave him a final look. “Good night, Harry,” he looked at you as he melted into his seat by the quick press of your mouth against his skin, his brain playing tricks with him.

“Good night, darling.”

That night you both felt a connection like never before, and maybe you didn’t know yet, but it was nagging at the back of your mind that this could turn into so much more than just a friendship, more than just a relationship. You both felt it, and you welcomed it with open arms and open hearts.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi!!!! I'm absolutely obsessed with your vampire malec and arranged marriage malec, and I'd love to read more if you ever feel up for it! sfw/nsfw hope you're having a good Wednesday<3

yeah i got way into writing this scene because it's the morning after they marry and this is where the drama starts to build. so i hope you enjoy. i say drama, i mean. like besides the heavy themes it's more like... mutual misunderstandings? but not in bad ways. i have no fucking clue how to describe this fic ever. it's like... both the misunderstandings and the truth lead to the same place so it's fine? and like the angst is... 'oh no i adore him and i can't trust him. i have to keep him so close that when he betrays me i can just cauterize the wound and keep him' and 'i'm going to prove how much i love him if i have to destroy the clave and also if i make him sad i will die' kind of angst.

<3 lumine

the bitter trap of truth

Magnus wakes with a nephilim in his arms.

It shouldn’t be a shock considering he married one less than twenty-four hours ago, but it’s still not something he expected.

The sex was supposed to be ritualistic.

In fact Magnus would have been fine just fucking on the floor — after all, hate fucking didn’t need a bed — or if things were civil enough he had a… well not a guest room perhaps. But a room prepared separately from his own for his nephilim spouse.

Except they did not fuck on the floor, or at least not yet.

And the sex they had wasn’t hate sex.

It was actually some of the sweetest, eagerest and most tender sex Magnus has ever had despite how enthusiastic and at times rough it got. And that’s not even considering how —without any effort on his part—  he had Alexander’s begging him constantly simply to keep touching him and kissing him and talking to him and well… Magnus has some thoughts to put in order.

Eventually.

Because currently, he’s not leaving Alexander here in his bed, alone.

Not because Alexander shouldn’t have access to his room unsupervised — monitoring magic has already been threaded through the entirety of Magnus’ lair — but because he doesn’t want to.  He wants to see Alexander wake.  He wants to see what those hazel eyes show during those first moments of rare unguarded emotions and the truths Alexander’s sleep-vulnerable body will tell him.

It’s obvious when his shadowhunter wakes up.

Alexander stiffens, he goes cold and hard in Magnus’ arms and just as Magnus is about to give up and let go and realize that last night was probably just Alexander being relieved at not having sex with a woman, his shadowhunter relaxes. 

It’s because he sees Magnus’ hand where it rests low on Alexander’s belly. With Magnus’ ringed fingers digging into the skin with a possessive intensity.

Long, calloused fingers cover Magnus’ own as Alexander gives a little sigh of content relief and then, pets his fingers over Magnus’.  He wriggles back too, gently and stealthily but he’s trying to get more skin-to-skin contact and the moment Magnus just gives in and pulls Alexander completely flush against him, his boy sighs with pleasure.

“You slept deeply.” Is the only thing Magnus can think to say, because aren’t nephilim supposed to be alert and wary and often go days without sleeping in enemy and hostile territory?

“You wore me out.” Alexander doesn’t sound upset, if anything he sounds gleefully pleased. “And I can’t imagine having trouble sleeping when it’s in your arms.”

Magnus really needs to get a handle on this.

Soon.

Because he’s about five more sentences from Alexander and marrying them the warlock way as well. Which would be incredibly irrational and foolish and irresponsible yet Magnus doesn’t want to let this go.

Whatever Alexander is planning. 

Whatever is going through his intelligent, beautiful mind, Magnus is going to figure it out. Whatever threats are the deadly thorns hidden by Alexander’s beauty, Magnus will neutralize them and he’ll keep Alexander.

Because he doubts very much that he can give this up now that he’s had this and it can’t all be faked.

Nephilim are hardly good actors and Alexander — despite his stoicism — is fairly easy to read.  Which makes it all the more confusing and harder to truly trust him.  However what Magnus can trust in is that Alexander is attracted to him.

That was clearly not something the Clave had planned and well, Magnus will use it to his advantage.

However he needs to and can.

—

Alec really doesn’t want to wake up.

He’s never felt this rested or this content and small moments of joy almost always mean something terrible is about to occur.  It’s about at that moment he registers another person in bed with him and his mind blanks in a blind panic.

It’s bad enough that he had to get married and drug himself into sleeping with a woman but to sleep peacefully and restfully next to her as well? Alec is about to bite off his own tongue because clearly, the aphrodisiac was more powerful than he thought and he is not dealing with this, until he takes one final inhale.

The scent of sandalwood and sex and sweat confuse him, because those scents comfort him even if they’re only newly familiar.  Like the memory of a dream and then fingers flex on his belly and he looks down with a sigh of desperate relief.

Magnus.

Some part of Alec’s sleep-muddled mind had thought he’d been a dream.

— how else could someone so amazing be possible? —

Magnus is the culmination of the desperate tangle of Alec’s deepest desires and hopes and it’s with euphoria that Alec tries to soak up as much of Magnus’ skin against. Sharing in the warmth of his husband — Alec is married and to a man — and he delights in it.

Magnus’ fingers twitch under his own, digging deeper into his skin as Magnus pulls him back, flush against him and so close that he can feel every exhale and inhale Magnus makes.

Magnus may be teasing him — Alec isn’t stupid, he can tell Magnus is confused and wary.

Except Alec is serious.

He doesn’t know how to get Magnus to trust him either.

There is no reason whatsoever for Magnus to trust him and it seems like the best way for Alec to prove his sincerity  — and just who he considers to be his priority — is simplyto be the best husband he possibly can for Magnus.

Alec might need a little while to get used to the sex. However that’s not a complaint. He just has a feeling it’s going to take some repetition before just being held by Magnus is no longer so overwhelming that he can’t think during it.

Eventually, he’d like to actually be able to form coherent thoughts while Magnus touches him. Instead of the puddle of pleasure that he’d been turned into.  Alec’s pretty sure his legs are still trembling when he shifts and somehow, that just makes him grin into a pillow that smells like Magnus.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Magnus asks, fingers petting over Alec’s skin and Alec is… Alec is frankly shocked that Magnus thinks Alec can think about food when Magnus is touching him.  Despite the fact that his mind is very aware of his priorities, his body betrays him as his stomach growls and Alec lets out a sigh and turns without thinking.

Magnus is beautiful in the afternoon sun and his eyes glow gold but as awestruck as Alec is, it’s all he can do to mutter a soft ‘wow’ before burrowing his face into Magnus’ chest.

It’s warm and comforting and he can hear his husband’s heartbeat and yes, fine.  Alec is hungry but he’s hungrier for this. It doesn’t have to be sex, just the warmth of Magnus’ body against his own and the relief of being married to a man seeping into his bones.

“Alexander?” Magnus asks a few moments later and Alec means to answer, he really does but he just nods his head against Magnus’ chest and finds that he very much likes the feeling and continues to do it, nuzzling Magnus until fingers are tangling in his hair and he’s being pulled back. “Don’t give me that look.” Magnus tells him, voice firm but not angry.  If anything Magnus seems bemused and his eyes are darker, the pupils larger than a moment ago.

—

Magnus really isn’t sure what Alexander is anymore.

He’s clearly not just a nephilim.

Magnus would assume he’s some highly trained honey-pot except, he’s quite frankly terrible at the pot part.  Oh, he’s sweet as can be and Magnus is going to savor him, but he also clearly has no idea what he’s doing and is more than happy to let Magnus not just take the lead, but direct everything.  If anything, he seems delighted by just being told what to do.  Except now, when he’s pouting at Magnus as if wriggling all up against Magnus wasn’t a clear attempt to delay both a meal and conversation.

Except when Alexander pouts at him, it’s hard to imagine that Alexander has any plan.  He doesn’t need one. His face is devastating enough that Magnus is sure wars would have been fought in his honor once upon a time.

“Food, darling.”

The pet name is an accident and Magnus has a feeling he’ll be making quite a few of those with Alexander but it earns him a pleased smile and the flutter of sleepy eyelashes when Magnus tugs on Alexander’s hair in reprimand.

Alexander doesn’t seem to be particularity picky.  Magnus had planned to leave his spouse to fend for themselves except… none of this is going as he’d expected and he wants Alexander close.  Not only for surveillance but well, he is a delectable view so Magnus isn’t complaining.

It’s when Magnus has finished summoning a decent spread of food that Alexander looks around the table and offers a polite thanks but there is little gusto in his appetite. If anything, he seems a little perturbed and while Magnus had made sure to summon some of the heartiest and heavily laden with meat dishes that he could think of, Alexander still seems dismayed.

Magnus would assume this is where the complaints begin — because every shadowhunter spouse has thrown a fit about their dietary needs being met — except Alexander’s not actually saying anything.  In fact he compliments almost everything he tries and even when it looks like he hates it, he still finishes it.  To the point where Magnus is beginning to feel like he’s torturing his boy rather than just, having a meal.

“Alexander, is there something else you’d enjoy eating? These are most of the dishes requested by nephilim spouses. I did do my research, but I realize that personal preference can vary.”

Magnus isn’t sure if he’s trying to comfort Alexander or remind him of who is in control.  At his question Alexander’s expression twists and then he pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“This kind of meat and nutrient dense diet is the same kind of diet a nephilim keeps to when they’re in enemy territory or at war, Magnus. It’s to help ensure all nutrients are met but with as little comfort or excess as possible. It’s to ensure we stay properly fit and in shape and without letting our guard down.”

Magnus isn’t surprised by the explanation.  If anything, it’s makes sense in the most ridiculous of ways.

“I however, would like waffles. The ones with chocolate and fruit, please.”

Magnus blinks. 

“That doesn’t sound like fare for war.”

“I’m married, Magnus." Alexander gently taps his bare knuckles against Magnus as if Magnus needs a reminder. "I’m pretty much retired from the Clave. My position as your spouse take precedent over my rank and by my vows, I answer to you. I'm on my honeymoon at this point. As considerate as it was of you to prepare what you thought I needed. Why would I eat my weight in boar when I could eat twice my weight in strawberries and waffles?”

Well… despite the fact that it’s still confusing and definitely not an argument any other nephilim has made, it does make a strange sort of sense.  Especially because the moment Magnus snaps away the food and replaces it with food from one of his favorite Belgian cafes, Alexander’s entire face lights up.

It’s like watching a chum being set out for sharks.

Alexander devours half a bowl of berries before he seems to remember to breathe and then, despite clearly wanting to eat the rest he offers them with a pout — a pout! — to Magnus.

Magnus takes one just to see how Alexander’s mournful expression turns into a different kind of hunger as he watches Magnus eat the berry and then, Magnus takes another and this time offers it to Alexander directly.

There’s no hesitation.

There’s no moment where Magnus has to wonder ‘why am I doing this? What the fuck am I thinking?’ because before his hand finishes reaching out, Alexander mouth is meeting him. His lips are soft around Magnus’ fingers and his teeth are gentle as they tease Magnus’ skin.

Magnus is left flushed and wondering how his thoughtless action backfired so spectacularly, only to find Alexander looking hopefully at him.

Magnus isn’t about to turn Alexander down. 

He’s just confused, because Alexander is the byproduct of two Circle members. He's only here because of his parents own sins and he has no reason to play nice despite it being a relief that he is. However not long ago, Magnus was at a political dinner when every piece of tableware a downworlder touched was destroyed after their use.  The assumption that the taint of them could not simply be washed away a slap to the face during an already tender time.

Magnus realizes that he’d half expected his hand to be slapped away but Alexander is waiting there, eager and excited and he’s waiting for Magnus to continue to feed him.

So Magnus does, reveling in the fact that Alexander seems to care for nothing more than each bite of sweet berry and the brief taste of Magnus’ skin against his tongue.

“Do you plan to only eat fruit?” Magnus manages to ask, offering another berry because well, what a way to go?

“Honeymoon.” Alexander tells him firmly, lips stained from juice and he’s quite tame like this.

All sleep soft and hair tousled and he’s Magnus'.

Magnus isn’t sure how to handle it at all.

“I realize you don’t intend to restrict yourself to the same meals of the other nephilim, but surely you need to eat more than berries and chocolate?” The waffles Alexander had requested are barely touched and it’s with a gleeful suspicion that Magnus cuts a piece of his own, eats it and then offers the second bite to Alexander. Who eats it with a tired sigh of contentment, though his eyes still wander to the fruit.

But by Edom he is going to successfully keep Alexander if he has to dismantle the entire Clave to do it.

AN:

and we start to see some of the layered context here.

Alec woke up thinking Magnus was a dream and he was in his own personal nightmare and yes, he was about to bite through his tongue before he realized it was Magnus. like he was about to say 'screw the clave i can't deal with this' and then he was like 'oh.. oh. well thats fine, we're still screwing the clave. or well, messing with them. since i'm only screwing magnus'

-

magnus: this is a trap, i want to figure out the truth so i can make it real. he's mine. that's the rule. he's mine. i'll just spring and neutralize the trap but either way i'm keeping him.

alec: hi. i just met you. and this is crazy. i'm your husband, i love you maybe definitely.

magnus: ... he's been drugged. clearly. but also he's adorable and pretty and i'm both lucky and doomed.

-

alec: okay. i have to be polite... this is so awful. why is he feeding me wartime rations? like... what did i do? does he hate me? is this because i fell asleep during sex? does he think i need better stamina? because i think having more sex will lead to better stamina over this awful food

magnus: ... you don't like it?

alec: ... uh no. it's fine? it's great? i just you know, want comfort honeymoon i'm celebrating party food? since this is the happiest time i've ever spent in my life? the war rations are kinda killing the mood

magnus: i feed you a berry, haha you probably wont even let me what was i thinking-

alec: okay. so now you have to hand feed me. the rest of the meal. this is a couples thing. i distinctly remember reading about something like this.

(Alec is convinced magnus is being romantic. Magnus now thinks its a kink thing. Alec is just really intimacy starved and Magnus is his husband? what's wrong with being romantic and intimate with his husband?

also in my headcanon alec is autistic. all the verses. so you have to remember that even as a nephilim, he's a super unreliable narrator for even his own race because the way he interprets stuff might be completely different to the typical reality/knowledge. Alec thinks he's doing the best job flirting and wooing his husband. like, he's trying so hard.)

magnus mentally: is he a baby bird? how bird like are nephilim? i'm confused and concerned.

Magnus five seconds later: oh... oh it's a kink thing. oh he didn't know this about himself either. okay. this is delightful. im pleased. i'm so fucking pleased.

Alec: this is like, pure euphoria. i'm getting attention and care and he's so sweet to me even though he has no reason to be. i have to be the best husband for him. forget raziel, my mission is to be Magnus Bane's Husband.

Alec finding the 'spare guest room' at one point

magnus: this is... well it was. it's supposed to be... at one point it was. well it's your room, technically.

alec: ... oh. do you want me to start sleeping in here then?

magnus: ...

alec with a blank face: its a nice color? the bed looks comfy? ... oh it even has its own bathroom. (the implication for him is that he will no longer get to bathe and shower with magnus)

magnus: NO I DO NOT WANT YOU MOVING INTO THIS ROOM. I WANTED YOUR OPINION ON MAKING IT A WORKOUT ROOM.

alec: oh well, i'm fine just using the roof, Magnus.

Magnus: Alexander. you need a space. of your own.

Alec: *sad eyes*

Magnus: ITS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD!!! YOU DONT HAVE TO STAY IN IT JUST YOU NEED IT.

Alec: but then you might think i'm hiding things from you?

Magnus: ... alexander. darling. my very strange and still confusing husband whom i adore but also do not trust through no fault of your own... i'm giving up. *snaps fingers and dissolves the room into the magic of the lair*

-

Magnus seeing Alexander sneak over to his jewelry box only to watch him just try on rings.

but only on a specific finger.

Magnus realizing Alec is fantasizing about wearing one of Magnus' rings on his ring finger... his wedding finger.

Magnus: oh no. oh no. no, magnus. magnus be strong. be strong magnus.

3 hours later

Magnus: Alexander, this is just a little something i made in some spare time since i've last seen you... on a whim.

Alec staring at the little initials of MB on the ring with little catseye gems and just kind of, sighing. that dopey kind of grin he gets like when he first met magnus in canon? and just offering his hand, like excuse me. the finger is still empty? magnus this is mean if you're being slow on purpose.

Magnus putting the ring on and then finding himself sitting on the couch with Alexander on his lap admiring his ring as he forces Magnus to equally admire it and then very deliberately takes a picture,t transfers it to his tablet and sends a very long and detailed email about the symbolism of the ring and how much is means to him and that he hopes the clave appreciates his hard work and efforts in furthering relationship with the downworlders.

(Magnus nearly chokes on his drink twice before he just chugs it and waits to make another until alexander is done with the email).

Alec is like... half serious and half fucking with the Clave. he's not wholly honest about all of the symbolism in the ring. just the obvious ones. and he also adds in code (which magnus can also read)

tonight is going to be better than my wedding night

Magnus breaks two lamps with magic he laughs so hard, because 1) thats true and 2) the clave is going to be horrified by the entire thing.

no,. magnus still does not trust alec. because alec has to have some kind of an agenda but he's also... starting to let more of himself thaw. there is this huge push and pull because it's hard for magnus to trust (for good valid reason honestly magnus is being unreasonably generous with his trust and faith in alec) and alec gets that.

like yes, sometimes alec will sulk or be sad because it sucks that magnus doesn't trust him. but hes not going to get mad because if he were in magnus' position, he wouldn't trust himself either. and he likes that Magnus is competent and smart, as much as it sucks for him, it's also part of why he admires magnus and alec knows magnus cares for him. he can't tell how much, like he's very unsure of his place in magnus' life besides the fact that magnus likes to fuck him and talk to him and sometimes pamper him and protect him and also is pretty possessive of him and likes to take care of him.

(alec is a bit oblivious but to be fair, while he has hope for the future he is not going risk assuming magnus likes/loves him because alec knows trust is a part of that and that rn, it's still impossible for magnus to trust him)

-

Magnus to Cat: look i know you said that people need their own space for privacy and that if i want to be able to trust him or figure out what he's hiding i need to let him have the space to fail, but it's like he doesn't know the words exist

Cat: uh-huh

Magnus: he added my thumbprint to his phone and clave issues tablet

Cat: ... wait, what?

Magnus: he doesn't even try to hide doing things i shouldn't know he's capable of! he just does them and then waits for me to mention it and then what am i supposed to do? scold him?

Magnus: apparently all nephilim who marry out are supposed to send two correspondences. one in code and one normal. he TAUGHT ME THE CODE BECAUSE AND I QUOTE 'SECRETS ARENT HEALTHY IN MARRIAGES'

Cat: ... i can't even argue with that when your spouse is the literal enemy and i don't know why i'd want to. is this a new tactic?

Magnus: ... i'm not sure but i'll call you back later. alexander takes champagne and strawberry dates very seriously and he's currently handpicking them from the roof and he just finished.

Cat: how much surveillance magic do you have on him?

Magnus: what do you mean 'how much'? you think there are limits? oh no, he's going to think i'm ignoring him. he knows i'm watching him dammit. i cannot handle his sad eyes again. bye.

Cat to a silent phone: i think i need to call Ragnor

[nostalgebraist]

When you finish writing a big story and you became very close the characters, was there a time after where you were like "i kind of want to revisit these characters again, but i should probably just let the story be, they deserve to rest" Im not talking about wanting to write a sequel, is more about still coming up with fun ideas for them, maybe a little scene or something, but choosing not to do anything with it because it'd feel disrespectful to the ending you gave them?

This doesn't happen to me, no.

The reason is that, once I finish the story, my sense of "being close to the characters" suddenly vanishes. And, although there are rare moments where it (briefly) returns, it mostly stays gone.

I can't remember if I've ever talked about this in detail before, but – when I'm in the process of writing a story, especially near the end, the characters feel "real" to me in a very strong and kind of uncanny way.

I don't actually believe that they exist as independent entities from me (much less sentient ones), but it does almost feel like that's true, when I'm in the thick of the writing process.

I have no trouble intellectually distinguishing fiction from reality, even in the state I'm describing. But my emotional and intuitive relationship with my characters, when I'm in that state, is pretty similar to the one I have with real people I know in real life. And there are a bunch of... uh, mental phenomena?... associated with this that I'm slightly afraid to describe because I worry they'll sound like hallucinations or delusions if I don't add a lot of caveats.

For example, when I'm alone in a room writing (especially if I'm writing in the middle of the night), I sometimes feel like it's not just me in the room, that the character I'm writing about is "there with me," in much the same way I'd be aware of someone real person's presence if I knew they were in the room but didn't happen to be looking in their direction. Or: sometimes I feel like the characters' voices are "flowing through me," that I'm merely taking dictation from them – and will sometimes even think to myself: "man, I'm so grateful that the character is helping me write this part, because if I tried to do it all by myself there's no way I would get it right." And it takes a moment before I realize, wait, no, I am writing it by myself – at least in a literal and physical sense.

Basically if you read this post, and then sort of read between the lines of it under the assumption that I'm downplaying how weird the experience actually is because I'm worried an accurate account would make me sound kind of unhinged... then you will have roughly the right impression of what the writing experience is like for me.

Whatever is going on here, it feels like it's probably on some kind of spectrum that also contains stuff like tulpas, multiple systems, and maybe also the way that children can sometimes get really deeply wrapped up in their imaginary play. I don't know how common this stuff is among writers (maybe it is common but rarely talked about?). It's not something I've experienced anywhere else in life; I don't experience it with other people's fictional characters or stories, or with fantasies I have that aren't associated with a work in progress, and I don't remember ever experiencing it before I started writing fiction as an adult.

Anyway, as I said at the top, the moment I finish writing a story, this phenomenon simply turns off, suddenly and completely. The transition is very noticeable when it happens, and makes me feel something akin to grief or loneliness over the brief span between the moment it starts and the moment it is fully completed – like I've just lost a bunch of close friends at once.

With Almost Nowhere, I remember a very specific feeling – on the evening of the day when I finished writing – that the characters were "departing 'into' the finished book," reverting to a lesser existence as "mere words" rather than "real people," as though they had been plastic toys animated by Terra Ignota's Bridger, and were now turning back into toys again. It made me sad, for a little while, but once they'd fully "lost their reality" I no longer cared, because it was that same sense of reality that made me care, and now it was gone.

So, to finish answering your question: I don't feel an urge to return to my old characters, because it feels intuitively obvious that doing this is impossible. That anything else I wrote about them would be inauthentic, somehow, in a way that the original work wasn't. They were "there," before, but they're "gone," now. This difference is very stark, and very hard to ignore.

(As I noted above, they do sometimes "come back" to me – very rarely, and very briefly, but that is enough for a proof of concept. Perhaps, if I were to try, I could find some way to "bring them back" for longer intervals. But I doubt I will ever try that. I feel a bit afraid of the concept for several reasons – for one thing, the "inauthenticity" I just mentioned squicks me out and I'd prefer not to come too close to it, and I also have a baseline wariness of doing stuff that seems too much like messing around with my own mental health. There's also a "catch-22" involved here, where I don't feel motivated about the characters the way I used to, and that means I'm not even motivated to do things that would generate that motivation. The "target" of the effort won't appeal strongly to me until I've already gone to the trouble of obtaining it, which means the effort doesn't feel justified in the first place.)

[erwinsvow]

“something i do love is that old man being thoroughly repulsed with himself for wanting reader”

Yes yes yes yes yes! The whole dynamic of “you’re way too young for me” over and over again but he simply cannot resist

YESSS!!!! works for robby and jack but dare i say robby is much more in shambles about it than jack is???? i think he just sees himself having too much baggage and doesn't want to bring that into an innocent girl's life. doesn't like the whole old enough to be your dad thing (until he does..) tries hard to fight it, even with shy sweetheart reader. keeps it strictly platonic for as long as he can. but this man. i'm telling you. he's a sucker for a sweetheart. one day you give him two muffins and on the bag you write for later! or ask him what his favorite flavor has been so far and the next day that's the one you've made. or you give him a large when he ordered a medium but remind him to also drink water. and he just. fighting such internal demons but he knows he has to take care of you because you're so young and don't even know him but still trying to take care of him. he's a veryyyy 'my wife' guy he just. hasn't had a wife yet. don't worry robby. she's coming. she just wasn't born yet!

[clearpurpleskies]

On James Norrington's outfit in DMC:

So, I just wanted to share something I noticed just now because I'm an IDIOT, and I can't believe I didn't see this sooner—considering the amount of time already that I spend looking at this wreckage of a man every day.

I was re-watching DMC for writing purposes, and I noticed something about the costume design for James when he's in his scruffy phase.

A part of me kept seeing the coat and assumed he was wearing his uniform just changed the breeches for trousers and the buckled shoes for boots. BUT. I was mistaken.

So this is the whole uniform right, the creme-colored vest with the golden rims. The blue navy coat, the cravat, the white breeches (look at that leg)

Here's a better picture of it, which I always find hilarious:

And in my head, I always assumed that he just got it dirtier, and that's it. Like, he kept the vest, but the months he spent in Tortuga drinking (probably picking fights) just darkened the vest. A dirty vest, that's what I thought.

But that's not it.

He is wearing a flower-patterned vest underneath the navy coat. Also his pants are clearly civilian clothes, no uniform in sight, except for the coat itself. Not even the shirt seems to be navy issue because the ruffles are different, like the neck is not high enough to get that cravat and neck support thing going on. Sorry, I wish I was a fashion historian to explain this better, but basically, he's in full civilian clothes.

We know this, we know this (I didn't fully grasp it until recently), HOWEVER—

This brings me to my point. So we know that after letting Jack go:

he spent a good half of that next year tracking the man across the Seven seas, almost had him a Tripoli and then lost the Dauntless in a hurricane.

That failure drove him to resign his commission (or be forced to resign because it was a whole thing).

And at the beginning of DMC we learn that it's been some months now since he resigned and left Port Royal to go drown himself in rum (and probably to wait for Jack Sparrow to appear and idk, do something)

And he's wearing his navy coat, his WIG and his hat. WHILE wearing civilian clothes underneath.

What I'm trying to say is that THIS MAN, this beautiful, obsessed wreck of a man, resigned his commission and KEPT his uniform, of course, and the first thing he does is leave for Tortuga with his NAVY COAT, his WIG and his NAVY HAT, to go find Jack Sparrow to pick a fight with him.

He's so wrecked here, after everything, that he has to physically hold on to the last remnants of what he thinks he is (the officer, the navy man, the commodore), by holding onto his coat and wig and hat.... I'm emotional now.

This is an amazing detail to include in the films, that I think goes beyond the simply comedic effect. His wig is a mess, it looks like a roadkill, his coat is frayed but the gold still golden like they want us to KNOW its a Navy coat. They couldve just put him in another coat btw, a plain thing, a brown thing like Beckett's. They didnt had to do it like this. But they DID. On purpose. And now I cant stop thinking about this.

Anyway, people... costume design is damn great on these movies. That's all I'm saying.

[cercess]

Beneath New Skies - Chapter III

Death's Door

𖤓 Tags: Depictions of violence, mentions of death, depictions of injury, depictions of blood, angst 𖤓 Rating: Explicit 𖤓 Word Count: 3.3k 𖤓 Notes: hey all! Sorry or the time it took to get this out, I really struggled writing some parts. I want to add a trigger warning for this chapter: it depicts scenes of the city being attacked, as well as descriptions of a wound on a character's arm. If these make you uncomfortable in any way, please skip this chapter. When I upload chapter four, I will include a summary so you don't miss any critical information moving forward. I'm hoping to get chapter four out either tonight or tomorrow, because I know this one took me a long time. This chapter isn't my favourite writing-wise, but it was important for events that will come later. Please excuse any clunky parts, as this is not the type of story I typically tell; I'm much more of a slice of life/romance author. Thank you all for your continued support, and I hope you enjoy the chapter! 𖤓 Previous Chapter / Next Chapter 𖤓 Read on AO3

The day started like any other, with you working the counter at the apothecary. Kyros, the restaurant owner, was browsing the wall of dried herbs, while your father helped Akmonides with some ailment in the back room. 

“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” Kyros asked as he smelled a vial of crushed ginger.

“Is gossiping about the gossip-monger really a good idea? He’ll find out eventually.”

Kyros laughed, as he added the ginger to his basket, “not unless you say anything.”

“That depends on how much coin he offers.” 

It was just a cough. You knew because your father had grabbed eucalyptus on his way back. In your business, the answers to people’s suspicions were often much more boring than what they’d imagined. One day, you planned on taking over your father’s position and treating patients yourself. But, seeing as the man was still as spry as ever, there was still time before that happened. Sometimes he’d test you pool by simply stating the ailment. It was then your job to figure out what ingredients needed to be used. After doing it your whole life, mixing the proper tonics and ointments came as naturally as breathing. Peppermint for colds, feverfew for fevers, valerian for insomnia, ginger for mild pain, and poppies for severe pain. Those were the common afflictions you saw, but every once in a while, there would be a curveball, and you’d have to consult your journal. 

“These are pretty,” Kyros held up a blue flower, “maybe I could use those as a garnish.

“Those are flaxseed flowers, and we use them as laxatives. Probably not something you want your customers eating.” You grin as you fiddle with the necklace Phainon had given you.

He would have found that funny. 

It had been a few days since he’d left for the ruins of Janusopolis, and you’d spent most of your time yearning for his return. It was almost sickening how much you longed for him; like a lovesick teenager who had to be glued to their partner’s side at all times. 

The door behind you opened, and out walked Akmonides and your father. The former held a vial of what you assumed to be a tonic for his cold. The other telltale sign of his affliction was his nose, which had been rubbed raw from wiping mucus away.

“Could you run to Demetria’s?” Your father asked, placing a hand on your shoulder as he slipped behind the counter. “We need oranges.” 

You nodded and hopped off your stool, taking the opportunity to emphatically stretch your arms and legs. He sometimes sent you on errands throughout the day, knowing that you appreciated a break from the mundanity. 

As overwhelming as Marmoreal Market could be, you could never shake your love for it. You had lived your whole life with the bustling stalls right at your doorstep. The sound of customers haggling echoed in the back of nearly all your childhood memories. 

The walk to Demetria’s was short, and when you arrived, the grocer was quick to welcome you with a hug. 

“Have you grown since I last saw you?” She asked. 

“Maybe,” you say brightly, knowing full well you stopped growing years ago. 

When you placed the oranges in your basket, she took a long pause, before adding a bundle of grapes. “That doesn’t quite seem heavy enough, here. A treat from me.” 

“Thank you,” arguing with the old woman was futile. She was too kind for her own good. 

Before returning to the apothecary, you made a detour to find an old friend. She was usually easy to find, as she spent her days running along the streets. 

“Serena,” you called down a row of plant-adorned homes. It wasn’t long before she poked her head out from behind a pot. You waved, beckoning her closer. 

She scanned the street before running over to you with a smile on her face.

Gaining the girl’s trust had taken considerable effort. The first time you met her, she robbed you blind. After returning home from The Grove, you were unfamiliar with certain changes, namely the orphaned children that used the market as their hunting ground. When you told your father, he merely laughed; apparently everyone had fallen prey to her antics. At the time, you were angry, and spent two days searching for the thief. After clamouring over the rooftops, you eventually found her hideout on a balcony overlooking the market. Your anger immediately subsided when you saw her huddled in the corner, surrounded by empty boxes and various stolen mementos. A sudden appreciation for your stable childhood had blossomed since then, especially as more desperate children arrived from Castrum Kremnos.

Serena was from Icatus, and had no means of supporting herself. She insisted her parents would return, but the disillusionment of maturity told you otherwise. Since then, you made an effort to leave her food whenever you could. When you and your father had leftovers, you’d set them outside the shop for her, and in the morning there would be a flower on your windowsill. 

“Were you looking for me?” She asked, trying to get a better look at the gift you held behind your back. 

You laughed, and showed her the bundle of fresh grapes. “I thought you could use a treat on a hot day like this.” 

The little girl’s eyes widened with excitement, and she snatched the fruit from your grasp. She looked at the gift like it was a rare gem, “this is all for me?”

“Of course, I-”

An earth-shattering scream cut through the gentle moment like a knife. Instinctively, you pulled Serena behind you, her hand tightly grasping yours. “What was that?”

“Stay close, and don’t run ahead,” you instructed in a harsh whisper. 

Keeping your back against the wall, you carefully shuffled to the end of the building to peer down the main street. The lone scream had multiplied into an overwhelming rumble of panic. Ahead, people were fleeing a towering figure clad in blue and white. You’d learned of the Titankin through Phainon, but had never laid eyes on one. It’s marbled skin was exactly as he had described, and the golden dagger it brandished was far from an inviting image. 

“What’s happening?” Serena tugged at your arm. 

Primal fear overtook you when the Titankin turned its head in your direction, it’s stiff, inhuman movements only adding to your terror. Had it seen you? Was it coming your way?

“We need to run,” you pulled the girl further down the street, away from your possible assailant. 

“To where?” She asked shakily as she struggled to match your pace. 

You slowed down slightly, needing a moment to think. What you needed was to get to your father. For all you knew, he was alone in the shop. He was not a trained fighter; neither of you were. A feeling of hopelessness began to gnaw at your confidence as you realized the dire nature of the situation. 

“We need to get to my father,” your attempt to keep your voice steady failed. Getting to your father meant returning to one of the main roads on opposite ends of the street. The southern road was blocked by Titankin, and the other route would still be a gamble, especially with Serena in tow. Still, you refused to abandon the child. 

“We can get there from the roof!” Serena pointed to a set of stairs leading up to a nearby balcony. 

A low groan sounded from around the corner you had previously checked, and it became abundantly clear that you had to make a choice; risk finding more Titankin on the main road, or follow Serena’s plan. While you had about a hundred logistical questions about Serena’s route, you decided that a petty thief probably knew all the cutie’s secret passages better than you. 

“Up the stairs then, and don’t look back.” 

She nodded, and led you up the nearby building. From above, you could see the extent of the chaos. It turned out following Serena’s idea was for the best, as a particularly burly Titankin stood guard on the northern road. 

“What are those things?” The little girl was trembling, so you knelt down to meet her eye. 

“Those are Nikador’s Titankin. They are very dangerous, and want to hurt us. If one gets close, you run. Do you understand?” You hated how grave your voice sounded, knowing it would only make her more afraid. But fear no longer mattered; survival was your only priority. “Can you still get us to my father?”

To your surprise, she didn’t cry. Instead, Serena furrowed her brow and led you across a nearby canopy. You rushed after her, eager for your feet to once again stand on a solid building. 

“We can climb down here,” she gestured to the ledge below. 

You realized that she was pointing at the protrusion under your bedroom window. The route you had taken must have been how Serena left flowers for you. 

The girl scrambled down the side of the building, using the uneven stone as foot grips. Given you were larger than a child, the drop was a nonissue. You thanked yourself for leaving your window open, and slid inside your bedroom after Serena. 

“Let’s find my father,” you instructed as your anxiety became almost unbearable. You had no idea what you would find, and prayed that the worst case scenario had not yet occurred. 

The two of you crept down the stairs to the shop, the sound of your racing heartbeat thundering in your ears. Everything was painfully normal; the herbs neatly arranged, the phials on the alchemy bench perfectly in order. The only thing out of place was your father, who was nowhere to be found in the main area. 

Serena trailed you, her eyes widening as she took in the shop. If it were any other time, you might have felt a bit of pride at her reaction. Alas, posturing was hardly appropriate during an attack. 

“I need you to stay ducked behind the counter, I’m going to check the exam room.” 

She nodded and did as she was told, curling into a ball. You took a breath, and opened the door. Inside, your father sat at the desk, hunched over a book. 

“Father! What are you doing?” You asked, equal parts relieved and dumbfounded.

“I didn’t think it would take you so long to get back, I-“

“Do you not realize what’s happening? The city is under attack by Titankin.” 

He adjusted his glasses, “if this is some kind of joke, I do not find it funny.” 

Exasperation threatened to overtake you, but the urgency of the moment far outweighed your irritation. “No, it’s not a joke. We need to run now.” 

Your father rose from his chair, and followed you out into the shop where Serena remained under the counter. “You’ve found a child.” 

“Father, this is Serena. I was visiting her when the attack started. She got us here safely.” 

“Then I owe you my thanks.” He smiled warmly at the girl.

“Where do we go now?” 

Before your could respond, your father jumped in, “I suspect they've started evacuating the market. We need to get out while the guards still have a foothold. Otherwise, we’re trapped waiting for the Titankin to find us.” 

You were relieved to have the pressure of responsibility lifted from your shoulders. It was something your father always bore well, and you trusted his intelligence wholeheartedly. 

“Stay in between us,” he guided Serena to stand in the middle of himself and you. Then, your father addressed you, “did you notice where the Titan were gathering? 

“There's one on both the south and north road. We almost had a run in with the southern one.” You shuddered at the thought of that encounter going any other way. “It was farther up, though, so if we make a run for it then we may reach the guards quicker.”

“Good idea,” he nodded, “it’s also closer to the gates. Follow me.” 

The two of you trailed your father as he exited the shop. “Leave the door open. We don’t want to make any more noise than necessary.” 

He crept forward, checking around the corner as you had earlier. The angle of the building made it difficult to see the rest of the street, but you noticed him straining to see past the restaurant. 

“Now,” your father instructed, grabbing Serena’s hand. They took off down the street with you floating close behind.  

As you ran, you found yourself clutching your necklace, your grip so firm that it left star-shaped indents in your palm. If Phainon were here, you’d all be safe. If you can hear me, please come home. I need you. 

The sudden realization of your own mortality was frightening. You thought of everything you had left unsaid, to your father, and to Phainon. He’d never know just how proud of him you were; how lucky you felt to call him yours. All of the little things you were too afraid to say would die along with you.

Your thoughts were soon interrupted by your companions coming to a stop. By the time you slowed down, the cause for their interruption was clear. A Titankin, larger than the other two, blocked your way with its massive sword. 

Serena trembled behind your father, her shaky hand clenched around his pant leg. 

As for the man himself, he slowly raised a hand, “we mean you no harm! Just let us pass.” 

The Titankin’s growl seemed to encapsulate the area in cool air, freezing everyone in their place. At its feet were discarded weapons; a warning for any who wished to challenge its mighty authority. 

Your eye was drawn to a spear that laid a few feet away, its blade shining in the midday sun. It called to you like a weapon of legend, beckoning you to be the hero your father and Serena needed. 

If I die today, I will make him proud. 

You lunged for the spear, albeit not as gracefully as you would have hoped. Still, when you regained your footing, the spear sat in your hands, sharp blade pointed towards the looming Titankin. 

It shifted its attention to you, sword prepared to strike. 

“What are you-“

“Run!” You interrupted your father as the monster lifted its sword high in the air. 

You shut your eyes, bracing for the impact against your defensively positioned spear. The weight that bore down on you was unbearable. Upon impact, you were sent stumbling backwards, but your spear remained raised. 

The Titankin grunted, and shifted more of his weight to the sword. You could hear the wood of the spear splintering under the force, and you focused on moving out of the way of the opposing blade. 

Behind the beast, your father shouted your name. His desperate tone almost brought tears to your eyes. You wanted to tell him you loved him, but the Titankin had successfully broken through your spear, causing you to lose your balance. 

The weapon’s two halves stared up at you sadly, and you almost felt the need to apologize for reducing the beautifully crafted weapon into such a sorry-state. However, there was no time for that, as the Titankin had raised its sword once again. 

You scrambled backwards, holding your arms in front of your face. The pain that exploded through your left forearm as the blade cut through your skin was unbearable. A pained cry escaped you as your vision blurred. Had you been hit elsewhere? You dropped to the ground, cradling your injury close to your chest. 

“Don’t touch them!” Your father cried, before a loud thump echoed through the streets. You wanted to go to him, to see if he was alright, but your legs wouldn’t work. 

Instead, you squeezed your eyes shut and waited for the end to come. I love you father. I’m sorry I failed to protect you. I hope I made you proud Phainon. I’m sorry I never told you-

An awful sound, like nails on a chalkboard, overwhelmed your senses, but the impact never came. You blinked open your eyes to see a blade sticking out of the Titankin’s chest. It stumbled as that sound filled the air once again, and collapsed into a pile of dust. 

For a moment, the debris shrouded your saviour in mystery, but when they ran forward and took you in their arms, you knew your prayers had somehow been answered.

“What are you doing? Your arm, it’s…” Phainon’s voice trailed off as he observed the gash in your skin. You wanted to wrap your arms around his shoulders and never let go, but decided upon remembering your bleeding injury and his white coat. 

“Phainon?” His name fell pathetically from your lips as tears clouded your vision. Your whole body numbed, until the pain in your arm was nothing but a dull ache. 

“I’m here,” he cupped your face in his hands, “I should have gotten here sooner, I’m-“

“Ahem,” an unfamiliar voice chimed in, interrupting your tender moment. 

Behind Phainon stood a beautiful woman with golden eyes. She held some sort of stick in her hand, its shiny material covered in the same dust-like material the Titankin had been reduced to. Her short skirt and accessories were unlike anything you’d ever seen in Okhema.

“Are you going to introduce your friend?” She grinned down at you and Phainon, slugging her weapon over her shoulder. 

“Leave them alone, Stelle.” An equally exotically dressed man called as he helped your father to his feet. You noticed he had a small scar under his right eye, although it did nothing to detract from his handsome features.

“You’re no fun,” the woman huffed, nudging his shoulder.

You turned your attention back to Phainon, who was watching the duo with as much confusion as you. “Who are they?” 

Before Phainon can speak, the grey woman responded: “we’re visitors from beyond the sky, come to rescue you in your hour of need.” 

Once again, the man tried to real-in his companion. “You can’t tell everyone that,” he hissed, which was met with the woman—Stelle—rolling her eyes. 

“Is she being serious?” You asked Phainon, as he and your father hoisted you off the ground. 

“Yes… Kind of,” Phainon answered once your feet were securely on the ground. “They really are from beyond the sky. And they helped me get to you.” 

You and your father exchanged confused looks as he examined your arm. “It’s nothing major, but we need to get this stitched up.” His hand lingered on yours. 

“The path ahead is cleared, find the guards, and get yourselves to safety.” Phainon orders, having adopted his “hero” persona.

“What about you?” 

A mere touch momentarily shatters his mask. “I’ll come back to you, I promise. We need to clear out the rest of the city and get to Nikador.”

“Nikador is here?” Your father suddenly seemed uneasy. 

The man from beyond the sky ushered Serena to the exit, “leave the Titan to us, sir. Get your children to safety.” 

“You’re facing Nikador? Now?” Your voice wavered with emotion. 

“The Chrysos Heirs will defend the city from this threat,” Phainon’s words were rehearsed, his mask slipping back into place. 

“They’re right,” your father placed a calming hand on your back. “We need to get to safety. Let the Chrysos Heirs do the fighting.” 

Phainon patted your hand reassuringly, “we’ll be okay. I promise.” 

There was much more you wanted to say, but the pain in your arm had returned. Your head was starting to feel fuzzy, and from the trail you left behind while walking, it was clear you were losing too much blood. 

“Good luck,” you told Phainon as your father led you from the market. As you left, the city’s mortician passed, but said nothing. 

Death had come to Okhema, and all you could do was pray that Phainon remained on its good side. 

[moonspren]

Ooooh okay I just rewatched the scene where Collins talks to Robby just before he goes to intubate Mr. Spencer and their conversation segues into him having to tell Nick Bradley's parents their son is brain dead. This is such a PAINFUL parallel case, knowing what happens later in the day. The “not much older than Jake” comment when Nick is first brought in kicks it off, but when Robby does break the news to them, it’s the first patient interaction that we as an audience are left to view but we don’t hear it. All we hear is the aftermath, when Nick's mom expresses her denial & grief at what is happening. We also don’t see Robby actually break the news to Leah’s parents - the closing of the door is very similar in both scenes.

Of course, you see the allocation of resources that could DESPERATELY be used elsewhere in both cases - in Leah's case, blood and the precious time & full attention of one of the most senior doctors at a time when that expertise is critical. In Nick's case, the precious resource is a bed that could be used for another patient that can't be cleared because Robby wants to give the parents time to accept that their son is gone, to introduce it in several steps to soften the blow and allow them time to process, to gather their friends & relatives to support them It's tests that prove something every doctor in that ER already knows, simply as a kindness to a pair of people whose world has shattered unexpectedly.

Other parallels crop up throughout the course of Nick's storyline as well, with the fact that another patient is brought in to the hospital with a connection that means they could've been involved in the incidents that led Nick & Leah to become patients - Jenna for Nick & David for Leah. Nick's dad lashes out at Jenna when he suspects that she's the one who gave Nick the drugs, but Robby doesn't have the luxury of blaming David, he has to consider him as a patient FIRST no matter what he may or may not have done. He does not get that same outlet, and you can see the weight of that responsibility, even after it's proven that David wasn't the shooter, when he lashes out at McKay, trying to force some of that burden away from himself.

I struggled to find a comparison in Nick's story to what Robby goes through when he breaks the news to Jake & Jake blames him. I didn't think there WAS one, because that's not something Nick's parents COULD have felt or gone through, simply because they're not doctors. It was not their job to save Nick's life. But I realized that the part of Nick's story that corresponds most to this is when they're asked to discuss Nick's status as an organ donor. I gloss over this part when I'm watching & digesting this story because...quite frankly I've put a lot of work into distancing myself from a belief system that would or could consider something as wonderfully miraculous as organ donation blasphemous. But that thinking honestly does the writing a disservice, because if you approach the scene from the eyes of someone who maybe does believe that organ donation destroys one's ability to enter the afterlife, asking that question of a set of parents who come from that background is INCREDIBLY painful. In their eyes, Robby & Emma asking them to consider donating Nick's organs, even to save MULTIPLE LIVES is asking them to kill their son again. It's blunt. It's horrible. It's ripping yet another shred of hope from them after a whole day of agony. It's putting the blame for something entirely out of their control firmly in their hands - the same way Jake does when he blames Robby for not being able to save Leah.

Putting my shipping goggles on below the cut:

That first conversation between Collins & Robby I think is the closest we come to seeing someone genuinely express concern for Robby and try to reach out to him in anything other than a professional capacity before the MCI. She’s the first one to question if he might be putting off the inevitable and prioritizing one patient over others that could be helped, the same way Abbot does when Robby's trying to save Leah. They both understand why he does what he does, but they also both understand that they have the professional responsibility to check him on it. Those lives he could be saving with his time & resources do not mean any less simply because this one person hits a little closer to home for him.

When you look at it this way, it's IMPOSSIBLE to deny the parallels that exist between Collins, who has romantic & sexual history with Robby, and Abbot who is the only one Robby opens up to during the entire day. Throughout the entire shift, we see Dana pulling strings behind the scenes to ease his path, lightly checking in on him when they're discussing beds & availability, we see Langdon questioning (to Dana) Robby's decision to order more tests on Nick Bradley, we see Kiara letting Robby know she's available to talk if he needs it, but the only two who try to force the issue past Robby's reflex jokes are Collins & Abbot. Which could mean nothing, but which means EVERYTHING to me.

It's interesting to think what would've happened if Collins had been there for the MCI, especially after her revelation in the ambulance bay that I think softened her very firm boundaries with Robby. Obviously getting into webweaving territory here, but I'm sure based on his behavior, Robby has a lot of issues relationship-wise with "not opening up" to his partners, and it strikes me as something that could've been a huge problem in his relationship with Collins, especially given they work in the same department. She sees what he goes through every day, and it probably sucks to be the partner of someone who refuses to open up, ESPECIALLY if you're someone who would be able to "get it" in ways another partner wouldn't. His deflection is notably frustrating to her during the day, and I don't want to discount the date as a reason, because quite frankly we don't know Robby's baseline, but I think it would've been a reopening of a wound if she went to check on Robby during or after the MCI and he brushed her off the way he did Whitaker. And I think even in that moment, Robby would've pushed her away because it's all he knows how to do, and it's what she asked for every time he tried to pry into HER business throughout the day, and even in the middle of his breakdown, Robby puts everyone else first.

I have a vested interest in her being gone because it opened up space for Abbot to be that person who does get to see behind the curtain, but it is interesting to contemplate. And not to be all "old man yaoi" about it, but I do think Abbot's age plays into why he was the right choice to have that conversation with Robby. None of the other residents or Shen have the years of built-up blame that Robby & Abbot harbor, and no one else could've related to Robby more in that moment.

And I think they should kiss about it.

[aristaspark]

Kenlynn endgame: How can I still think they have any chance of getting back together after THAT season?

Chaos Theory Season 3: Part 1

Don't worry I'm not blind. This season was HORRENDOUS for Kenlynn. They killed them in every way you can possibly kill a ship, then burried them, then had Kash dance on their grave.

Not only did they not interact at all this season, but they have made it clear that the plane scene was Kenji's last straw with Brooklynn, he was DONE with her. Done trying to prevent her from ruining her life after she proved one to many times that she was eager to ruin it.

He was the one to run after her to that airport and she chose to push him away again, she chose her work over him once again, she chose to go off on her own again, so now he finally does the only thing that makes sense: he lets her. He has tried too many times already, and it always ended the same, with him being heartbroken. She wants to be a solo player, then he lets her, he will not give her the opportunity to break his heart again. He's given her one last chance to choose him in front of that plane, but she jerked his hand away. He's done trying to get it back.

So why in hell do I think they are endgame? Don't think that's because I'm stupid and can't see that they absolutely ruined the heck out of them.

No, that's actually because that's more or less what I predicted would happen. Sure I didn't expect it to happen exactly in that way, (a lot of my theories were made at a time when I was convinced we would only get 3 seasons) but if you look at my theory on how I thought the show would end the essence is there.

I'm putting it here to be totally transparant: a lot of it IS wrong. The first part is hilarious to look at now.

But the second part? Though I was shook at how much they were willing to destroy the bond between the characters, I knew that Kenji was finally going to set a bondarie with Brooklynn after the plane scene. And don't get me wrong, I'm not delusional enough to tell myself that he's *pretending* not to care. He has lost the ability to care. Brooklynn has simply hurt him too much, too much for someone who was supposed to love him. He can't bring himself to go out of his way and care for her anymore when all she's done is show that she didn't care about him time and time again.

The third part isn't accurate because, as I said, at the time I thought we would only have 3 seasons, so I didn't think we would get a whole season of Kenji being done with Brooklynn as well as a more progressive and far less angsty Dinostar reunion.

But my opinion hasn't change in that already at the time I knew that Brooklynn was going to be the one to have to prove that she was worthy of Kenji. That after all she's put him through, she was finally going to be the one that would have to show that she cared.

If you look closely, their roles have been reversed. I know that it's shocking to see Kenji so easily "not caring" about her, but when we think about it that was what Brooklynn had been doing to him.

I think that season 4 will be Brooklynn's redemption arc with Kenji. You could argue that it will be with Sammy too, there will absolutely be some of that, but Sammy's reaction to Brooklynn was more than anything else a puzzle piece in her arc with both Yasmina and her family that had been going on since season 1.

Because when you look at JWCT, and it's something that one of the writers confirmed on here, everything was written at once (which is why it's so good). From the beggining they knew where these characters had started and where they would end up. Each scene is made to lead up to something.

Take Yasammy for example: Their relationship was stained at the start of the show for very understandable reasons. But then the they made up. And yk, there was that thing with Sammy and her family that was mentionned in season 1 and that carried through season 2, without us ever really getting to know why it was there. And then Yazammy breaks up seemingly because of Brook, but really it's the culmination of all these story arcs that seemed kinda random and aimless at first. Sammy still resents Yasmina for the distance she put between them, and while Yasmina thinks Sammy was in the right in the conflict with her family, she doesn't understand how Sammy could shut them out so easily. We thought they were good after season 1, they were absolutely adorable in season 2, then boom, they were actually not good. Brooklynn was merely what made them realize just how much they couldn't see eye to eye anymore. THIS IS FREAKING AWESOME WRITING.

What does that have to do with Kenlynn?

As I said, these characters are not written randomly, they have arcs that have started in season 1 and that will end in season 4.

Season 3 was the absolute death of Kenlynn, even I can't argue against that. But it's part of their arc. A lot have been set up for them, and season 4 will be where all these set up will pay off.

Kenji broke up with Brooklynn because she neglected him for her work while he was still in love with her, she died a few days later leaving him regretful and heart broken, he finds out she is alive and for a moment he forgets all his rescentment and confusion because she's alive and it overpowers everything else so he runs after her despite everything she did to him, vulnerable as ever... but she chooses to leave him again. He tried everything to get her to stay, and now he has his confirmation, it will never work.

So now we have season 3 Kenji, who is a Kenji who has finally accepted that he is done trying. It really seems like there is no come back from that, even to me this season felt like the end END. But it's not, this season is part of an arc that had started in season 1 (dare I say in camp creataceous 🤣) and that will end in season 4.

But this time the roles are reversed.

I think I'm going to stop here and continue in other posts lol, but here are some points I will mention later because I can already see what some will say:

- Nothing in this season changed my opinion on Brooklynn's feelings towards Darius (on the contrary). Don't get me wrong, they are ADORABLE. But Brooklynn wasn't in love with Darius when he confessed, and she still isn't now. She loves Darius, he is her best friend. That's it.

- Nothing in this season changed my opinion on Brooklynn's feelings towards Kenji.

- I will talk more in detail about Brooklynn's story arc because many things I had predicted happened in this season

And some other things I guess

[dootznbootz]

Odypen definitely and equivalently adore each other BUT I weirdly can't see them as the type to actually say "I Love you".

They still definitely vocalize their love for each other but it's more so in "My Joy", and "Extraordinary Woman", "Strange Woman/Man", etc. And very cheesy lines (both say some cheesy shit in the Odyssey, and he definitely does in the Iliad as well. "Joy like a drowning sailor seeing land" bit???)

I could see "I adore you" but even then, that's probably during very specific moments but the actual "I love you"??? I just typed it just now for fic shit and... It weirdly just didn't feel right and I don't know why. 😅

Idk maybe it's kind of because I see them as over the top in ways, they love wordplay and riddles and I think they'd almost think "...That's not good enough >:( " about it??? I don't know???😂

[writingdevil]

Hiii Devil!!! [emerges from the ground all dirty and half-dead] You know very well how normal I've been over your latest Skeptunist fic, I've been yapping about it nonstop-

Anyways, I will scream and explode if you write a part 2 to that fic where Skeptic apologizes to Oppy for the argument and all the awful things he said to him. I would cry at this scene from Oppy POV, but Skeptic POV will definitely make me scream too skfkskf

Anyways! I go back into the ground now, thank you again for writing my previous request [I have been thinking about it a concerning amount /lh], and thank you for everything you do!! <3

(How did you get in the ground in the first place?!/silly. Anyway, YES- I've been dying to write a conclusion to this because it breaks my heart to break my ship's hearts. So I'm so excited to write this part, and thank you for everything you do as well, because you make me just as feral about Skeptunist. Enjoy!)

Part One

'You're useless when it comes to thinking about anything other than yourself!'

'You're useless-'

Useless. Useless.

That's all Opportunist was.

It was a truth that had been in the back of Opportunist's mind forever, but having it shoved so plainly in his face now, it was hard to deny it any longer.

Opportunist really was a selfish monster.

It felt as if his mind was torturing him, not letting him move on from that incident. He woke up and saw his face, he tried to do something and he heard his voice- Opportunist tried to do literally anything and he was just reminded of that day.

'You're useless when it comes to thinking about anything other than yourself!'

He felt his heart break into tinier pieces. Oh, Skeptic.

It's been two weeks since that day, and the more time that passes, the more time that Opportunist had to reexamine his own actions, and there was a clear conclusion to come to.

Opportunist hadn't changed.

He was still just a heartless, manipulative backstabber, who was more than willing to lie to his own flock.

If Skeptic, the sharpest of them all, the person that claimed to know the real Opportunist, thought that, then how could it not be the truth?

The worst part though, was that Opportunist didn't even know he had been manipulating Skeptic.

Opportunist had been guarded at the start, of course, but it felt like Skeptic had approached him differently, not with caution, but with an open mind, as if he didn't care if Opportunist would betray him or not.

Opportunist actually thought that Skeptic saw something good in him, saw something worth giving his love for, and all those happy moments that they shared afterwards.

Opportunist said that he loved Skeptic.

Too bad it was all a lie.

He should've known that nobody would like what was behind the mask. He should've known that everyone thinks about themselves, even subconsciously.

He should've known that he wasn't worthy of love.

Opportunist has always been afraid- a secret that he will take to his grave. He was always afraid that there was something more powerful, more stronger, more sinister than him, and that they would attack Opportunist when he least expects it, so it was simply better to play both sides until he knew which side was the winning one.

But with their newfound freedom and no cabin to endure, there suddenly wasn't a side to pick- just birds that knew Opportunist would betray them at the drop of a hat.

That put him in a difficult position, one where Opportunist was just terrified all the time, that his efforts of pleasing and playing nice to the others would all be in vain and he would be alone forever.

But then Skeptic came along and changed everything Opportunist thought about himself- or so he thought.

Opportunist thought he was in love with Skeptic, that he cared about him and wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. Turns out, Opportunist just clung to the first and only person that gave him a chance.

Opportunist took advantage of Skeptic's kind and inquisitive nature, and sunk his claws into him, to the point that he made Skeptic fall in love with a mask of himself. He made Skeptic believe that he was loving and funny and caring- but what he really was, was a coward, who couldn't stand to be alone.

So he tricked Skeptic into loving him, and now Skeptic knows the truth.

Opportunist thought he cared about Skeptic's wellbeing. He thought he wanted Skeptic to relax for the good of his health. But it was all so that he wouldn't leave Opportunist, but Opportunist pushed him too far.

He really was fucking useless.

He couldn't even keep a partner from overworking himself, and now Opportunist was more aware than ever that he was so willing to deceive people, that it was practically second nature to him.

So Opportunist decided not to feed into that nature anymore. He holed up in his room, thinking about Skeptic over and over again.

His heart had never been more shattered, and he's never been more afraid of his own mind.

He didn't leave his room. He tried not to talk to others, but Hero and Hunted always checked in on him at least once, to make sure that he ate something. Opportunist would've ignored them, but he knew that they would make a scene about it otherwise, so he pulled together a shoddy mask and accepted the food, only taking a bite or two. He didn't deserve their kindness.

He spent his days curled up in his bed. The first few days, Opportunist cried his heart out, harder than he's ever cried before. Then, his brain went wild with thinking of ways to beg for Skeptic's forgiveness, because Skeptic was always right, and Opportunist wanted to prove that he did still love him, that he wouldn't push Skeptic again.

But now he's just sitting here, withering away. Maybe if he waits long enough, the wickedness within him would die off, and then Skeptic will have a chance to love the real him.

Opportunist wasn't sure how much time had passed- his head was too busy replaying that day and remembering every kiss and embrace they shared up until the fight, questioning if any of it was real or salvageable.

He was useless.

He deceived his partner without even realising it.

Did he even deserve love-

Knock knock!

Opportunist sighed, wishing Hunted wouldn't pester him so much about eating. "Go away, Hunted. I'm busy," he mumbled, turning his back to the door, his fingers fiddling with a familiar feather, a shade of black so dark that it shone almost navy blue in the light, but then he heard another knock.

Opportunist wrapped his wings around himself, hugging himself tightly. "I'm not hungry, Hunted."

Knock!

Opportunist sighed in defeat, forcing himself to sit up, glaring at the door, mustering up all the energy he could for a mask that showed that Opportunist was fine and definitely not heartbroken.

Opportunist wrapped his hand around the doorknob. "Hunted, I promise you, if I'm hungry, I will let you-"

He opened the door, but it wasn't Hunted standing before him.

"-know," was all Opportunist could think to say, as he stared up at the disheveled and grieving face of Skeptic.

Opportunist looked up into those eyes, and he felt his breath being taken away.

Skeptic blinked, before a pained look crossed his face, and he whispered, "Oppy."

"Skeptic," Opportunist whispered back, gripping the doorknob tight.

Opportunist knew how to act around everyone. Everyone except Skeptic, so he had no idea what to do now.

"Can I come in, Oppy?" Skeptic softly asked, and he figured it wouldn't do Opportunist any good to deny him right now, so he silently walked away, letting Skeptic make himself at home.

He heard Skeptic let a sigh of relief out, coming in and closing the door behind him.

Then they stood there, staring at each other with such a heaviness in their eyes, and the memories of a fight that destroyed them.

'You're useless when it comes to thinking about anything other than yourself!'

That was what was between Skeptic and Opportunist now.

Opportunist didn't dare make the first move, not when Skeptic had been so angry at him before. It was safer to let Skeptic lead right now.

Skeptic took a deep breath in, nervously fidgeting with the feathers on his arms, something that Opportunist has never seen him do before.

"Forgive me for not speaking to you sooner, Oppy," Skeptic began. "I wanted to talk to you as soon as I could, but I wanted to give you some space."

Skeptic then lowered his head awkwardly with a cough and added, "It was also hard to get past Hunted. He guarded your door very well."

Despite the anguish in his heart, Opportunist's lips twitched, as if wanting to smile but afraid to.

"But then I heard that nobody's seen you around lately, and I knew I couldn't wait any longer. I knew I needed to make things right with you."

"Make things right?" Opportunist echoed with a weak chuckle, waving a hand carelessly through the air. "My friend, you've done nothing wrong."

Opportunist tried not to focus on how his voice cracked at the word 'friend', but he couldn't ignore the way it stabbed his heart.

Opportunist smiled at him, but he saw the way Skeptic's eyes darkened at him, and it felt like Skeptic was piercing through his mask and into his very soul. But Skeptic had never known the real him, so how could he make Opportunist feel this vulnerable?

"I have, Oppy," Skeptic firmly said, "and I understand why you're doing what you're doing. I don't blame you, because I'd hate me too after what I said to you."

"Hate?" Opportunist said. "I don't hate you. How can I hate you when you were just telling the truth?"

Skeptic's eyes widened, and then there was a heavy pause that lasted a second too long, that made Opportunist feel how suffocating the tension between them was.

Opportunist couldn't take it, so he smiled until his face hurt. "You were just pointing out the facts, just like you always do! What's to hate about the truth?"

Opportunist forced himself to take a step forward, pushing his shaking to the side. He put a hand on his chest and said in a sincere tone, "If anything, I should be apologising to you. I shouldn't of gotten involved with your work."

"You were worried about me."

"I kept annoying you when you tried to focus."

"You wanted me to relax and I wouldn't listen to you."

"I overstepped and I-"

"No, I overstepped and I pushed you away-"

"You were right!"

"No I wasn't!"

"I am selfish!" Opportunist yelled, then was immediately appalled at his outburst, but he kept going, in the hopes of making Skeptic understand. He clutched at his chest feathers as he exclaimed, "You were right- all I do is think about myself! I tried to insert myself into your work and I made you angry! You were right, just like always. All I do is think about my own personal gain and nobody else's, so I am deeply sorry, Skeptic."

Skeptic took a deep breath in, then took a step forward, holding his hands out to Opportunist.

His voice was calm, but with a hint of fear in it, as he said, "Oppy, what happened was completely my fault. You don't have to make excuses for me. I was the one in the wrong, and you were the one that was only trying to help me, and I ended up lashing out at you, which wasn't fair."

"You weren't selfish for worrying about me," Skeptic continued, his voice becoming more weak and desperate as he spoke. "You cared about me and brought me food and checked up on me. How is that selfish? The only person who was selfish was me, because I cared more about my stupid work than what my amazing partner was doing for me."

Opportunist's heart ached at 'amazing partner' but he forced himself to forget it. It wasn't real. Those feelings weren't real. It was all a ploy to keep Skeptic close to him.

He shook his head, pushing back tears as hard as he could. "No, it's okay, Skeptic. Y-You don't have to lie about making me feel better."

"I'm not lying!" Skeptic pleaded. He took a step closer to Opportunist, who hugged himself and looked away, but couldn't block out the sadness and guilt in Skeptic's voice as he pleaded, "Oppy, please! I'm so sorry for how I treated you, but I won't stand here and let you convince yourself that you were in the wrong! I was the one who treated you like shit!"

Skeptic reached out, and gently took his hands into his own, and Opportunist hated how nice it felt to hold those hands again.

This close, Opportunist could see Skeptic's eyes shining with tears, as he whispered, "Oppy, I'm so sorry for hurting you. You didn't deserve any of it, and you definitely don't deserve to be blaming yourself for my mistakes. You're not selfish, Oppy-"

"Yes, I am," he mumbled in protest, but Skeptic just continued talking, "-and you care so much about me and the flock-"

"No I don't-"

"- and I should've appreciated you more and told you how much I loved you-"

That's when Opportunist snapped.

Loved him?

Opportunist can't love anything else, and nothing can love him.

"No!" he yelled, ripping his hands out of Skeptic's grasp, leaving him floundering, and Opportunist couldn't stop the tears from flowing, sobbing his heart out as he yelled, "You said it yourself! I'm useless! All I care about is myself and my own gain and I made you love me! I manipulated you into falling in love with me just to satisfy my own pathetic loneliness!"

Opportunist broke down then, hugging himself and sobbing loudly. His head was so confused, so torn between wanting to throw himself in Skeptic's arms, and keep far away from him so that Opportunist couldn't hurt him anymore.

But one thing he couldn't do was look away from him, so when he opened his eyes, he was shocked to find the other with tears silently streaming down his face. But the surprising thing was the fact that Skeptic had a steely, determined look in his eyes now, and when they made eye contact, Skeptic's voice was low and firm as he asked, "Is that what you believe? Is that what you think happened between us?"

Opportunist nodded.

Skeptic took a sharp breath in, then said, "Wait here," before marching out of the room.

Opportunist just stood there, having no clue what was happening, other than the fact that his heart yearned for Skeptic's presence again.

Thankfully, it wasn't long that he had to wait, as Skeptic quickly marched back inside, head bowed as he held his- his diary?

Skeptic had kept and written in a diary every day since they became their own people, to help understand his thoughts and the situation around them.

"Skeptic, what are you-" Opportunist tried to speak, but then he gasped as Skeptic fell to his knees, opening his diary up to a certain page and read aloud, "Day forty- Opportunist invited himself to come on a walk with me. Not sure why, but I didn't mind. Talks a lot, but somehow still manages to say absolutely nothing- why is that? Clearly likes talking but isn't saying anything meaningful. Does he just like his own voice? Requires further investigation."

Opportunist had no idea what was going on, and he just stared as Skeptic flipped a few pages over and continued, "Day Fifty- We've all tried to come to terms with this new arrangement and settle within ourselves, but Opportunist is the most interesting case. He keeps complimenting people, offering himself up to be useful, but the others don't trust him. I see the sadness and the fear in his eyes when he thinks no one's looking. Everyone else says he's a good for nothing backstabber, but I don't think so. Will try to get closer to him."

"Skeptic, what is this?" Opportunist quietly asked, but Skeptic's focus was solely on the diary, his voice getting louder and more passionate as he spoke.

"Day Ninety- Opportunist claimed to know a place for peace and quiet, but we quickly got lost in the woods. Opportunist told me that he had everything under control, but this was clearly a lie. He seems to present himself as a very capable person, as if terrified of not being useful."

Skeptic paused to take a deep breath, and his voice wavered as he continued, "But as we kept walking, I kept asking questions, and I realised that Oppy was not who I thought he was at all. He lies because he's scared, but when he's not, he can be-really pleasant to be around. He approaches things differently to me, and I actually quite enjoyed our discussions. I hope to talk to him again soon."

"W-What are you doing?" Opportunist asked. "What are you trying to prove?"

Skeptic wiped a cheek with his palm as he kept reading. "Day one hundred and fifty- I'm not sure what this nervousness in my chest is about, but it only shows up whenever Oppy is around. Oppy is my friend, and the more I learn about him, the more I'm fascinated with him. His ideas, his actions, his smile- there's just something about Oppy that pulls me in and never wants to leave his side. I know he's a scared individual, I know that's why he betrays people. He thinks he's so confident, that he needs to be evil to survive- but I've never met someone with a warmer soul. I-I know what this feeling is now."

Opportunist weeped, shaking his head. "No-No, this isn't true-"

"Day four hundred," Skeptic said, his voice devoid of warmth and passion, sounding empty now. "I've made the greatest mistake of my life."

That was when Opportunist realised what day Skeptic was referring to- the day of the fight.

"I thought if I figured everything out, knew about anything that could hurt him, he'd be safe. But the only thing that ended up hurting him was me."

That was why Skeptic had been working so hard? He had been that worried about something happening to Opportunist?

Looking back on it now, it did seem like Skeptic was looking into all possible threats that could happen to them. At the time, Opportunist thought he was just digging too deep, falling back into bad habits- but Skeptic kept talking about keeping the flock safe, which would include Opportunist as well.

"Why did I say that to him?" Skeptic continued, his bottom lip trembling as he read. "I love him so much. Why would I push him away like that? I should've listened to him, should've spent time with him- it would've been so lovely. But instead I hurt him, and I fear I can't undo the damage I've caused. I only hope I can make sure that he still finds happiness after me."

Finally, Skeptic looked up at Opportunist, and then he broke down crying.

"Oppy, I'm so sorry!" he cried, clutching his diary to his chest, and Opportunist felt himself weep with Skeptic, his whole body shaking with grief.

"Oppy, I'm so sorry for saying that to you! You're not useless! You're not selfish! You're the most caring and kindest person I know! You were always there to try and help me, when leaving me alone would've been so much better for you! You wouldn't stop caring about me!"

Skeptic lowered his head in shame, and then dared to inch closer to Opportunist, and all he wanted was to never let Skeptic go.

"Oppy, my love, you are not a monster. You did not trick me into falling in love with you. I knew who you were from the start, the real you, and that's who I fell in love with."

Opportunist cried, and he saw how much it hurt Skeptic to see him in pain. "How do I know?" Opportunist whispered. "How can I be sure-"

"Take this," Skeptic said, and then thrust his diary towards Opportunist. "You can keep it."

"What? Skeptic, I can't." Skeptic never let anybody touch his diary, and he was just giving it to Opportunist?

"Take it," Skeptic said, pushing the diary into his hands. "All of my thoughts are yours to read. I want you to see how I fell for you, how I still see the real you. If I can't have you as my love again, then I at least want you to not think such horrible things about yourself, not when I deserve them."

Numbly, Opportunist lifted the diary up, unsure of how to feel about all of this, but he found himself cautiously opening the diary to a random page, and he gasped at how many times he caught the words 'Oppy' and 'love' in the same sentences.

Opportunist fell to his knees in front of Skeptic, as the realisation hit him.

Opportunist hadn't deceived Skeptic.

Skeptic knew what he was from the very beginning.

He took a deep breath in, and lifted his head to look at Skeptic, and it felt as if the clouds in his mind were finally starting to evaporate.

He gently put the diary down, and whispered, "I need to do one thing to be sure of something."

"Anything," Skeptic whispered back, so Opportunist gently cupped his face, and pressed a soft kiss against his lips.

Immediately, Skeptic sighed into the kiss, but didn't dare touch Opportunist without permission yet, but Opportunist didn't care. All he could focus on was the way his heart was pounding, at how right this felt.

He loved Skeptic. He genuinely fell in love with Skeptic, and Opportunist could never trick his own heart like that.

He pulled back, and looked Skeptic in his regretful, beautiful eyes, and whispered, "I forgive you."

It was as if all the weight escaped from Skeptic then as he sighed in relief, putting his hands on Opportunist's hips. "You do? You really forgive me?"

"I do, love," Opportunist said, tracing his fingers along Skeptic's jawline. "But-But you still hurt me, so you have to earn me back."

"I will," Skeptic said earnest, while nodding his head adorably. "I'll win you back all over again. Everytime."

"I know you will," Opportunist murmured with a smile, then leaned in for another kiss.

They were going to be okay.

[maxiwaxipads]

Romarriche - “Your company is one of a kind… I would never lie to you. I would never say a half-truth or be quiet.” “What is it in your mind, Merold?” “Hearing your voice, complaint or not—it is music to me either way.” Merold - “If there is one constant in this world… Let it be you.” “You’re the cruelest and the kindest thing that happened to me.” “…If only you continued to look at me like that.” Romarriche - “…Merold?” Merold - “But~ It’s only a minor case of bad-mood-itis.” “So Romarriche, spoil me with a spar, will you?” Romarriche - “Merold.” Romarriche - “Look at me.” Merold - “…” Romarriche - “Is something… Wrong?” Merold - “Instead of a spar…” “I might want to lie down on your lap after all.”

[ismyteadoneyet]

conversation: *takes a turn into gen-ai*

me: I have trained for this for months. I have heard every stupid argument possible and nothing will baffle me

brother: *somehow comes up with an even stupider argument*

me: what in the entire fuck

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[deoidesign]

I have a question, but it may be already have been answered in the story (my brain is just not the best with memory).

Since vampirism symbolises for you chronical illness (which, omg, that is a hot take I've never thought off before and love from now on), does Steve count as chronical ill, too, with the whole halfvampire thing going on? So, would his uncontrollable time jumping each month be a symptom of that chronical illness?

not in the story, no worries! Just a possible interpretation and my personal intent when writing.

As a small aside I personally don't like to think of chronic illness as something that people "count" as, so to speak, it's an extremely personal label and incredibly varied between individuals and as with all disability there is never such thing as hard lines or black and white... but I understand why you worded it that way and I understand what you're asking.

So, yes, Steve is also chronically ill within this framework. The entire comic is sort of shaped around this, to be honest! I mean he canonically has some pretty extreme memory issues... He's also canonically homeless (not that this is an illness but I just mean it's something I think most people forget about him when discussing him). And, yes, his condition is uncontrollable and is severely impacting his ability to live the life he wants to live.

He has just been barely coping up to the point we meet him, and has been very desperate which is what led him to creating that list of deviations. He has periods where his body is out of his control, he is unable to form relationships, he hurts others without meaning or wanting to... Yeah. He's metaphorically relating to a lot of things, really.

So, yknow, you're welcome to interpret him as you'd like! for me I relate a lot with my various issues and conditions and thus that's why I've projected on him the way I have, but of course I would understand entirely different interpretations of what is inherently metaphorical.