#distant axis

[thenationalmaxims]

THERE IS A PATTERN TO THE WAY THE WORLD IS TEARING UP

#matt berninger #distant axis #serpentine prison #lyrics

[prattleskidaddle]

If only you

Would come around a distant axis

I feel like I’m as far as I can get from you

#music #matt berninger #distant axis #serpentine prison #Spotify

[leighsartworks216]

Not Tonight. Not To You. Never Again.

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader (can possibly be read as platonic)

Something something Astarion would kill anybody who tries to take your drink at a party something something

I started this while sitting in the car doing laundry, and I'm finishing this while very sleepy. It was half proofread, again bc I'm sleepy

THIS FIC CONTAINS THEMES OF DATE-RAPE DRUGGING AND SEXUAL ASSAULT

Warnings: drugging, references to sexual assault, swearing, blood, murder, slight protective Astarion, no actual assault happens, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1,374

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You blinked as the world tilted on its axis, blurring at the edges of your vision, before it stood upright again, only slightly hazy. Had you really had that many drinks tonight? It didn't seem like it. Maybe this tavern's brew was stronger than you were used to?

"Everythin’ alright? You look a bit sick."

You look up at Karlach with a reassuring grin. You hated to worry any of your friends, but least of all the tiefling. She wore her heart on her sleeve, and you'd hate to see it crack. "I'm fine. Think I should head to bed - this stuff is stronger than I thought it would be."

She frowned. "Really?" She peered into her tankard, confused. "Seemed a bit weak to me."

You chuckle. It sounded distant. "Guess I'm a bit of a lightweight." You push your mug away and stand on shaky legs, using the table for support. "Goodnight, everyone."

Those who hear you bid you goodnight as well, some raising their ales in gratitude and others teasing you about not being able to hold your liquor. Astarion stares at you like he's studying you, brow pinched tight. You offer him a smile, before doing your best to stumble toward the stairs.

Halfway there, a waiter comes to your side, wrapping an arm around you and smiling brightly. You recognized him through the fog in your vision; he'd been the one to serve you drinks. "Need a hand there, hero?"

You laugh, world spinning once more as you allow yourself to lean into his support. "A hero that can't hold their liquor," you drawl. "Some hero, eh?"

He chuckles by your ear. He bears most of your weight as he helps you up each well-worn step, steering you toward your room. How'd he know which one was yours? "I hardly think it affects the world's view of you," he assures. "After all, you did save Faerûn."

"It-" Your body lurched forward, all of your limbs turning to lead. The world continued to swirl and wave and twist, until you couldn't distinguish up from down or left from right. Black spots began dotting your vision, blocking out some of the vertigo. Your stomach churned, your head ached. "'t wasn' jus' me..."

"C'mon, love. Your room is just here. Let's get you to bed."

A bedroom spun in your vision, but not for long. The last thing you saw was the waiter's grinning face as you fell to the floor, too weak to stand any longer and too dizzy to stay upright if you had.

Where....

........... Astarion.........?

-

"Tav?" Something cold touches your face. "Darling, wake up."

"Mmnf..."

"That's it. You're safe now."

You blinked open your eyes but winced at the light that greeted you. You heard a soft hiss.

"Is that better?"

You tried again, and were grateful to find it was no longer so bright. You looked around, trying to get a sense of your surroundings.

"You're in your room." Astarion sneered, glaring at something on the floor. "But we should move you to mine before you try sleeping again.”

“Mm? Why..?” You groan as you sit up. Your body feels so heavy, like it was made entirely of stone. Astarion helped you up with a hand to your back. You followed where his gaze had been. Laying face down on the floor, in a puddle of blood, was… the waiter? You blinked stupidly at the corpse. “What happened?”

Once he was sure you wouldn’t fall backwards, he sat down on the edge of the bed next to you. “Bastard drugged you. Gods know what he would have done to you if I hadn’t followed you up.”

Your brain was still slow, trying to piece together what had happened before this. You remember celebrating a battle won. You’d bought drinks for everyone, and… You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths as bile rose to your throat. “Oh, fuck,” you gasped. “I-I thought the drinks were just strong, I-”

He carefully touches your arm. “It’s not your fault, love. No doubt he’d gotten good at tricking people.”

You shook your head, looking at him with wide, lost eyes. “What if he’d drugged you? Or Karlach or Shadowheart or- or-!”

He scoffed in disbelief, nose scrunching. “You just got drugged and nearly assaulted, and all you’re worried about is what could have happened if it’d been one of us? Darling, please, have a little perspective.”

You grimace as you glance back at the body. The sight of the blood or the corpse itself doesn’t bother you anymore. But the thought of what could have happened sat thick and unpleasant in your stomach. You grab his hand from your arm and hold it in your lap, fiddling with his long fingers to distract yourself. “How did you know to… To follow?”

“Well, for one, I trust Karlach knows when an ale is strong. Two, I’ve seen you hold your own against her in your little drinking games before. And three…” He curls his fingers around your hands, stopping your fiddling and rubbing a thumb along your knuckles. “I’ve seen men like him play this same game before. Too many times. I wasn’t going to risk it happening to you, too.”

A chill runs through your body. You lean forward to press your forehead against his neck. He hesitantly brings up a hand to run along your back, holding you to him. “Thank you,” you murmur. You bury your face further into him. “Gods, I can’t believe I…” You sigh, soft and shaky, dread overwhelming you as the reality of what happened sunk in. “Thank you, Astarion.”

“As much as I’d love to sit here all night, listening to you praise me over and over for the hero I am,” he teases, earning a quiet huff from you, “you need to sleep. And not here.” He gently pulls you away from him and stands from the bed, squeezing your hands before he lets go. “We’ll just tuck you in down the hall, I’ll go downstairs and scold the others for being too careless, inform the innkeeper of his employee’s exploits - perhaps even get paid for doing so - and then we can get the Hells out of here come first light.”

You chuckled softly. He helped you stand, an arm around your waist keeping you steady as he walked you around the body and out the door. “And if I want you to stay?”

He hums as though the thought never crossed his mind, before sighing overdramatically. “Then I’ll just have to get paid for my bold rescue in the morning. I suppose it can wait until then. I won’t be cleaning up that mess anyway.”

He unlocks his door at the end of the hall and guides you to the bed, setting you down on the edge. You clumsily kick your boots off and he sets them by the door, toeing his off right next to them. You plop back into the pillows, giving in to the weight in your bones. He huffs a laugh at how pathetic you look, but it’s far more endearing than he wishes to admit.

You do your best to get comfortable under the thick duvet the inn provided, sinking into the warmth it offered. He easily slithered in beside you, touching you almost pensively as you turn into him and cuddle close to his chest. You’re so warm. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, the other draped over your waist, keeping you close. Keeping you safe.

Even just thinking about what could have happened if he hadn’t had the good sense to follow fills him with rage. He should have torn that bastard apart, piece by piece, until he only knows pain and remorse for every single victim that came before. But you’re safe, and that’s what really matters, more than his own revenge.

You press your nose against his neck, hot breaths fanning across his skin. He could almost feel the brush of your lips as you murmured another thank you. Your arms slipped around his middle, wrapping around him so you were as close as possible. You muttered another thanks, and another, and another, until exhaustion overwhelmed you, and you fell asleep in his arms.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @tototini @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive @thistrashisreadytobash @rosxtinted

#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion & tav #astarion & reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #hurt/comfort #non con

[abyssruler]

THE LOVE GUIDE

— an interactive fic

SUMMARY

He’s hopeless when it comes to people, much less when it has something to do with you. You’re kind and funny and exactly the type of person who would never look his way twice. It’s a fool’s hope to wish you’d notice him at all, but apparently the gods have heard his prayers.

On the night before the beginning of his second year of college, he finds a mysterious phone in his bag programmed for only one purpose. That purpose? A guide on how to win your heart.

CHARACTER BACKGROUNDS

Scaramouche

He’s never been the kind of person who went out of his way to make friends. People are selfish and arrogant and even when he does something remotely nice for them, they scurry about as though he’ll suddenly go insane and beat them within an inch of their life. It’s a reputation that’s followed him since he was young, and it never bothered him—until you came along, with your kind smile and enviable ease with others. You’re exactly the kind of person he should hate, but an unexpected encounter leaves him feeling as though his world has turned on its axis.

Xiao

He’s quiet, reclusive, and soft-spoken, but people misunderstand his silence and general aloofness for dislike. He can count the number of friends he has with one hand and still have some fingers left over. It doesn’t help that he mostly keeps to himself, hardly socializing with others unless forced to. You’re popular, the resident campus celebrity. Everyone knows your name and making friends comes to you as easy as breathing. The two of you were as opposite as they came, but a chance meeting leaves him off-kilter and unable to think of anything else but the reason for your tears.

Lyney

He’s good at putting on a mask to show in front of others. As much as he comes off as an open person, he likes to keep to himself and the few he’s let inside his circle. One too many times, people have made the mistake of putting their trust in him, only for it to backfire in a way that doesn’t implicate him. After all, who would think the nice and dependable Lyney would have it in him to betray someone’s trust? You used to be a distant figure to him, both well-known but not truly operating in similar crowds, but an accidental slip of his mask leads to a strange meeting that leaves him bare for the first time in years.

whoever wins this poll will be the mc of this fic

at the end of every chapter, you get to decide what action he should take. a bit like a reverse otome, but there’s a reason for that :3

reader is gender-neutral

#leave a comment to be added to the taglist :3 #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #xiao x reader #lyney x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin xiao x reader #genshin lyney x reader #gn reader #interactive fic #the love guide #series #polls

[xuchiya]

j.yunho {espresso for two?}

cafe love m.list || k.hongjoong || p.seonghwa || j.yunho || k.yeosang || c.san || s.mingi || j.wooyoung || c.jongho

I change the location from New York to Japan. hehehe

Jeong Yunho.

Just the name sent a fresh wave of nausea crashing over you. Two weeks. Two measly weeks since he'd so casually declared, "We need some space," his voice as smooth and forgettable as the lukewarm latte he always ordered.

Space? What for?

It wasn't supposed to end this way. You and Yunho have been together for three years, a whirlwind romance that blossomed during your college days. He is your everything: the man who is charming, funny, with a smile that could melt glaciers. Spent hours lost in conversation, future plans whispered over steaming mugs of chamomile tea at your apartment after a long day of class or even workloads, the very one you now toiled in, perpetually surrounded by the bittersweet aroma of love and heartbreak.

The cracks started appearing subtly. Late-night texts unanswered, cancelled dates for "work emergencies," a growing distance that chilled you to the bone. You tried, you did— clinging to the remnants of what you both had, showering him with affection that felt increasingly one-sided. Then came the bombshell – a text, impersonal and cold, informing you of his "need for space."

Your world had tilted on its axis. The vibrant cafe, once a haven of shared laughter and stolen glances, now felt suffocating. Your co-workers, bless their oblivious souls, tried their best. Your senior head took notice of your distant and pale face–offering you to take a quick break which you deny saying that you just haven’t retouched yet after the morning rush, Wooyoung the ever-optimistic barista, bombarded you with motivational quotes. And Seonghwa, the stoic manager, offered gruff words of support (his way of showing he cared). But nothing could mend the gaping hole in your chest.

A particularly demanding customer snapped you out of your reverie. Her shrill voice, laced with entitlement, taking a deep breath, you plastered on a customer service smile, channelling your internal turmoil into forced cheer. Maybe, just maybe, a day spent slinging coffee and feigning happiness would numb the ache a little.

But as you steamed milk softly, the bell above the cafe door chimed, a jarring note in the morning lull. Your gaze flicked up, drawn by a sudden prickle of unease. There, by the counter, stood Jeong Yunho. His usual carefree demeanour was replaced by a shadowed weariness. Your breath hitched, a thousand unspoken words churning in your stomach.

He hadn't changed much. The same tousled hair, the same charming smile – a smile that now felt like a stranger's. He scanned the menu, a flicker of surprise crossing his features when your eyes met. Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

"I—," he finally said, his voice strained. "Hi …"

Your heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs. A million questions bubbled up, but professionalism reigned supreme. You plastered on a neutral smile, "Did you find anything you like, sir?" You managed, your voice surprisingly steady. Adam's apple bob before a small slick smirk creeps on the corner of his lips, “Yeah … you.”You rose an eyebrow, finally showing your emotions that went from ‘Fuck! my ex is here!’ to ‘Let me punch him, the audacity!’. He saw your reaction, his eyes darted on the menu before crawling his throat, “J-Just espresso ..” “Take out or dine in?” “Dine .. in”

You look down to punch his order, “Do you want to add anything, sir?” He shakes his head but his lips move again, stuttering, “M-Make it two .. please.”

You breathe sharply before giving him the receipt after he pays for the two espresso, telling him to sit for a while. He nodded before mumbling a ‘thank you’. As you pulled the shot, stolen glances confirmed the changes you sensed. Dark circles marred Yunho's eyes, etching lines of fatigue onto his previously youthful face. The weight of the world seemed to press down on his broad shoulders. A pang of sympathy warred with the anger still simmering within you.Just why? Where did it all go wrong?

When your barista announces Yunho’s name, you watch in the corner of your eye as he places himself on the window side of the cafe with the two espresso in his hand. As you punch the order of the customer in front of you, a tap on the shoulder interrupts your work, you look over to see Seonghwa with an anticipated look over his usual stoic look, “Yes manager-nim?”He breathes sharply, eyes flicking towards somewhere before looking back at you, “You can take a break … someone needs to see you and let them explain themself.”

You immediately knew who he was talking about. You know Yunho never goes unprepared and certainly, he comes with a fixed mindset.

You sigh, removing your apron as Seonghwa rubs your back soothingly before he places the apron on him to take care of your position. You look at the side to see your senior head, giving you an encouraging smile along with the others cheering on you. You felt grateful as they have been supportive of your relationship with Yunho for a short while of announcing about your boyfriend with minimal information about him yet they never ask you questions about it until you do so.You approached his table, sat down opposite of him. He had an awkward look on his face, “Yunho please get to the point, rush hour will be an hour—”

“I’m sorry.” Those simple words were so easy to say yet the words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat. The air hung heavy with unspoken words. Yunho's apology, though sincere, seemed like the tip of a much larger iceberg. The man across the table fidgeted, hesitant to dismiss an apology so abruptly. The tension crackled between them, amplified by the approaching rush hour Yunho himself had mentioned.

"My excuse won’t do justice to the pain you went through and my sorry can not heal all those pain .The pain you feel is a constant reminder of my failings. I have doubted myself so much that I have neglected you and become selfish for my own emotions and at the end, I have regret all of those things, I have regret ever hurting you, rejecting your small offerings or even your love— I am sorry.” Yunho spoke with sincerity in every word he said, his hands were clinging on the cup of his espresso—controlling himself to not take your hands—while his eyes were glued to you the whole time.

You were slightly taken back, his words were piercing through your head. Your heart soars to the extent that, maybe just maybe, he did regret what he had done. You have known Yunho for as long as you both were before in the stage of dating, you have seen him grow to be a man and you have seen how he came to learn from who he was and what he is today.

Yet there goes the mind from letting you decide from your emotions. Your thoughts run through the painful days you have cried, doubted or even questioned your worth— you were also afraid to go on your days without thinking of your looks that had you wearing a mask to cover yourself— you were a complete and shattered person inside your apartment. The battle between your head and your heart, it is hard to listen.

Yunho, being the observant he is, took notice of your shaking eyes and contemplated heart. He knows what’s going through your head, every thought and he cannot blame you. Even he would be in a complicated mess if your ex suddenly came into your life after months of disappearing after a text so shitty.

“You do not have to talk or anything, I just came by to explain and maybe … have a closure before I go.” Your eyes that were fixed on the table slowly, trails towards his glassy eyes.

“Cl-Closure? Yunho what–” Why does he need closure? You were confused, your heart was expecting something more from what he had mentioned even though your mind had concluded that he will ask for a second chance but this? A closure? That is something you weren least expecting!

Yunho’s head nodded, a small smile on his lips, “Yeah– I have .. thought about it that you deserve an apology… “ He looks around the small cafe, eyes twinkling in admiration before his eyes settle back to you. The softness never left and it made your heart hurt, “I may have not talked to you for weeks but I have come across you a few times and I have seen you grow day by day. You slowly regain back that smile, your contagious laugh and your glow. You deserve so much more than the pain I cause you.” Both of your eyes were turning glossy, his nose was clogging making his voice slightly muffled yet no tears were evident.

Finally, he lets go of the cup and reaches for your hand which you let him hold on to. He squeezes them like he used to, “And you deserve those, you deserve a better chapter … without me.”

There, the water in your eyes had finally streamed down your cheeks when he gave you the smile that you have adored. A smile that reassures you that things will be okay, eventually. You’re gonna be okay and that he will be there to support you.

“Yu-Yunho …” Yunho shakes his head, giving your hand a final squeeze before letting them go. You jerk slightly, wanting to hold him again, “I’m off to Japan with my mom. Seoul will always hold a piece of my heart, but Japan has pushed me in ways I never imagined. I've grown here, found a strength and independence I never knew I had. As much as it pains me, returning feels like something I have wanted. Our paths have diverged, and forcing them together wouldn't be fair to either of us.”

Yunho reaches over, wiping a stray tear, you shamelessly lean into his touch. Yunho’s breath hitches, itching to hold you back in his arms but he has to do it, he has made up his mind that things have reason to happen, “Maybe someday, our paths will realign. Until then, I'll cherish the memories we made.” He stood up, giving you the other cup of espresso while the other tight in his hand.

He looks at you one last time before leaving the cafe. As the door chime hits close, your body shakes as silent sobs echo the, now deserted cafe. The tears blinded yet love never does it, it wounded you to make you wake up in reality that things were over and the questions of him leaving you were answered.

You look at the cup of espresso in front of you, and more tears fall on your cheeks as you read the letters, ‘Espresso for two?’ the inscription seemed to scream, each word a fresh tear on your heart.

You traced the lettering with a trembling finger, the memory flooding back. It was his idea, a silly spur-of-the-moment purchase during a weekend, he had to pull you out from your shift and drag you out to have the rest of the day with him. You'd laughed, teasing him about his overenthusiasm for a simple coffee cup. "What if you never have someone to share it with?" you'd joke, never truly believing it.

He'd squeezed your hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Then it'll be a reminder of me sharing this espresso with you so i could espresso my love for you," he'd promised, his voice laced with a confidence you envied now. You laugh at his joke, making him chuckle as your enthusiastic laugh echoes down the street.

A sob escaped your lips, the sound harsh in the sudden silence of the cafe— despite your co-workers glancing at you once in a while to check up on you. The espresso remained untouched, a cold, bitter echo of a love that had turned as quickly as burnt milk. But even through the fog of grief, a flicker of defiance sparked. Wiping your tears, you straightened your spine. Maybe it wasn't meant for two today, but that didn't mean it couldn't be filled someday.

You finish the cup in a go, eyebrow furrowed. You have made up your mind a little to late, but there are things were meant on a perfect time.

You look outside by the cafe windows, "I'll share the espresso with you again."

part 2? another ending? idk 😭😅

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez angst #ateez atiny #ateez jeong yunho #ateez yunho x reader #yunho x reader #jeong yunho #yunho angst

[blueywrites]

nothing is mine for free

an abo season four rewrite

alpha!eddie munson x omega!reader

On March 21st, 1986, you awaken to a slice of cool light across your forehead and a thud muffled through the wall you share with your older sister. In her bedroom, you find Eddie Munson lying disheveled on the ground— his eyes as wild as his hair, the dark angles of his limbs scrabbling on the pile of Ruby’s carefully curated cassettes. Scared, concerned, you hover in her darkened doorway, whispering his name like a question needing to be answered.  Is that where it began— the unraveling of your threads, the fraying of your softest parts? Or did it begin two years ago, when what was asked would tie two together and leave you dangling? Or perhaps it was before that, even, when all of you were nothing but moondust waiting to be formed. Questions beget questions. And though you will receive their answers, you do not yet know the cost.

series cw: 18+ only. fem!reader. abo dynamics (scenting, marking, heats, knotting, mating), arranged marriage, miscommunication trope, unrequited (?) crush, pining, sibling relationship dynamics, angst, peril, eventual smut, happy ending. references to FOI; semi-canon compliant (eddie lives).

playlist

chapter one: distant axis (JANUARY 1ST, 2024)

chapter two: if I told

chapter three: the cabin

chapter four: he's fine

chapter five: I'll go running

chapter six: the moon doesn't mind

chapter seven: my love mine all mine

#blueywrites #alpha!eddie munson #omega!reader #stranger things omegaverse #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut

[arminsfavoritepookie]

Geto headcanons 1.6k real as shit

I think Geto is a yellow flag with tiny green dots. I think after the riko incident he's not only dealing with his own inner turmoils but he's having a hard grappling his feelings with you as well. I know just let me explain...

He holds a conviction that he's unworthy of you; a perception rooted in self-depreciation. The echoes of 'you're too perfect for me' seem to repeat in his jumbled mind, becoming louder every time you flash that beautiful smile in his direction. Such a belief causes him to pull away from you, restraining himself from finding solace. You don't initially realize the reason behind his veiled expressions; behind the painfully strained curve of his lips whenever he forces a smile at you. You don't comprehend his fascinated gaze, lingering where your touch graced him each time. You don't recognize the raw, insatiable thirst that haunts his features, hungering to keep you close.

But Geto is utterly convinced that your vibrant life is far too bright for the brooding darkness that is him. He believes that you need someone who will inflate your brightness, not dim it. And that's why the sight of you and Gojo, with matching grins of pure joy, conjures a sensation in him that's equal parts pleasure and pain; a semblance of happiness. His lips twitch in a smile laced with the subtle tartness of sadness and he deludes himself, pacifying his simmering hurt, sugar-coating it as contentment.

The contentment brims within him each time your lips pucker at the white-haired boy, each time you huddle into the ear of his best friend to share a secretive whisper. Yes, he's utterly content. Jealous? Not a bit of it. Satisfaction it is, purely. His satisfaction bristles to the point where the bare idea of being near you might as well be excruciating torture. All he dreams of is to envelope you with that unidentifiable emotion rioting in his chest, allowing it to seep into you, and consume you as it does him since you apparently relish his agony so much.

But then, his act starts faltering, revealing cracks in his poker face. You start noticing his small, unconscious gestures - the habitual gnawing at his lips until scarlet beads surfaced, his twitching fingers, hovering beside his body as if chained back from brushing against your skin. His facade crumbled under your perceptive gaze and he loathed it.

Because now, your fingers were tracing patterns on his cheek, your body snuggly nestled in his lap. Your probing questions ricocheted off the walls - asking him why he was hurting himself, why he was so distant.

The way you nestle so comfortably in his lap, the warm touch of your hands on his skin, the authenticity of the concern etched in your face—it all enrages him. He loathes how your eyes gleam with care, how they insistently see the goodness in him. Because if you truly cared, you'd understand. You'd see that his self-imposed distance was an act of preservation for you. You'd recognize his fears of inadequacy and accept his belief that he could never be deserving of you. Yet, your refusal to heed his warning deafens you to his protests.  Now, as you stroke your tender fingers across his bruised and battered lips—lips he yearns to hide behind his teeth each time your focus drifts elsewhere—his sanity seems to spin off its axis. As you untangle your fingers in his hair and scrutinize the dark circles under his eyes, you begin to blur his boundaries.

A pathetic, desperate fool, utterly bewitched by you - that's all he is - it's all he ever will be

He promised you he would stay, and that hint of bleakness in his soul, like an ever-growing eclipse, ebbed away slightly. It was almost perceptible, the lift of weight, his turbulent thoughts quieting their cacophony into a singular focus - you. It was you, his tether to being better, to striving for strength. This thought nestles within him, as the days start gifting some semblance of sunshine back. You press closer into his space, and he ceases to stiffen, loosening beneath your tender hold. Your words of his resilience echo around him, familiar sentiments, but this time they make him feel malleable under your fingertips, like butter in sunlight. Perhaps, just maybe, he could reclaim his peace.

Then Haibara dies and he can see your devastation mirroring his own grief, the way rage nestles into the corners of your grief-stricken eyes - a painful deja vu. The sparkle in your eyes - extinguished, they dilate in shock and agony. The presence of the once silenced voices make a comeback but he forcibly mutes them, endeavoring to console you. His touch mirrors yours, gently grazing your cheeks and rubbing comforting circles into your scalp.

His low tones try to envelop you in warmth. Yet you're fractured in his embrace, vacant - a husk unable to articulate your pain. Geto feels a rising nausea, painfully familiar with the territory of your anguish, a feeling of uselessness washing over him. He wasn't mighty enough to shield those he cherished, not a match for Satoru's immense strength, couldn't soothe you as your tears streaked your cheeks, he could barely move. he feels hollow - devoid of purpose, The familiar strain of uselessness sneaks up on him again - the throbbing confirmation that despite all his struggles, he falls short when it matters the most. He was useless.

____

He goes on a mission and never comes back.

And now you're side by side with Shoko, fixed on his form from across the cobblestone streets. The ambient sound is dampened as you occupy the wooden bench adjacent to his. All the rumors—the harrowing stories, the bone-chilling whispers—are confirmed to be true: all the lives he claimed in cold blood. As Shoko silently keys Gojo's digits into her phone, suddenly, you are utterly alone. A looming, guttural silence pervades.

Your heartbeat grows increasingly erratic, turning erratic beats into pure, numbing silence, as you truly focus on his face. The heavy under-eye bags that your fingertips have traced numerous times have vanished without a trace. His raven-black hair, now free-flowing, cascades down the curvature of his back. Your fingers have memorized its silkiness.

This time is different. You do not place yourself within the warm cradle of his lap to offer words of comfort, to tell him everything will be alright. You don't reassure him with the usual affirmation of comfort. You don't break the melancholic silence with a feather-light kiss. The unsettling truth simply presents itself in a disheartening silence - neither do you ask for his explanation nor does he offer. An understanding hangs between the both of you - the lacking and wanting, for what was once enough no longer held the same meaning. You weren't his completeness... and he fell short of being yours.

_____

let's say you met him after he started his cult he'd be an orangeish-reddish flag. He's not like he was in high school he's different........meaner

He does not second guess or wonder if he's up to the mark, harboring self-doubts or reservations. His focus isn't affixed on the cruel odds stacked against him; he doesn't hesitate but instead he takes what he wants. The ruthless and pitiless world doesn't soften, doesn't forgive... and he serves as a relentless reminder of that truth.

This might be why he prefers to keep you ensconced in his lap, constantly near him, within his protective clutch. When you shift, you can feel him. Hushed, almost seductive whispers slide into your ear, coaxing you to remain still, to be good.

When the gruesome curse is unveiled, wreathing a woman's shoulders... you see it, and it is grotesque, a pulsating mound of malicious intent that makes your blood freeze. Every cell in your body screams for escape.

However, you obey, rooted in your spot as he had commanded, his face nestling comfortably in the crook of your neck, his lips curving in a spine-chilling, uncanny grin. He'd reassured you not to let fear rule your heart, yet sometimes it's difficult not to. Observing him with bated breath, you watch as his hand reaches out, causing the repugnant curse to evaporate into nothingness, wailing pitifully.

As the relief sinks into your shoulder, his hand dances over your thigh... murmuring to you about the hazards lurking in the shadows of the world but promising vehemently to be your shield, your knight as long as you obey. His voice is a velvety promise, unyieldingly true, and a smoothly mature whisper carrying the strength to slake your worries.

You share his bed, his touch a regular presence on your skin. At times, his fingers feel cold as they dance up and down your spine, coaxing out pleas for him to make you feel good. At other times, he envelopes you in a comforting embrace, strands of his hair fanned out across the pillow, his murmurs recounting his past tales right next to your ear.

You soak up every word but you remain silent. The stories often center around his friend, the longing for his lost life... On such nights, he's notably softer. All he wishes are your reassurances, your tender touches, your peaceful kisses. But these are stories you dare not speak of in daylight. Whenever you do, the look in his eyes hardens slightly, his smile seems sunken and less warm.

And those are clear indications that you wouldn't be snuggling in the bed together that night. Instead, you'd find yourself at his feet, the rough texture of his callouses forcing you to raise your gaze, to look at him.

Yes, indeed, you're different from the others... Yes, he cares for you... Yes, he promises to protect you.... However, he did not reach his position by being nice, at times he must be cruel... This is why your hands rest on his thighs, with fingernails pressing into his flesh, saliva slathering your lips and untidily dribbling down your chin. He takes what he wants but when you're like this, particularly struggling to take what he gives...He can't help but just be a tad bit meaner.

#geto x reader #geto x you #geto x black reader #geto angst #geto fluff #geto headcanons #getou suguru x reader #geto imagines #jjk angst #jjk headcanons #jjk imagines #jjk geto

[sprout-fics]

Engravings (Chapter Three) (Finale)

(Makarov x F! Reader)

Engravings Masterlist

Word Count: 6.5k Rating: Mature Tags: Brainwashing, Emotional Manipulation, Kidnapping, False Romance, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Injury/Blood, Whump, Stockholm Syndrome, Winter Soldier AU, Psychological Abuse, Happy Ending, Some Fluff, Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Physical Abuse, Domestic Violence, Attempted Homicide, Physical descriptions of gore, Mind the tags (Read on Ao3) A/N: The final chapter of Marionette's escape

How do you kill the person you love?

You’ve bathed in the blood of dozens, possibly hundreds. The violence Makarov has wound into your veins is inherent to your soul. Poisoned, your heart is dyed in ink, pulsing in glinting obsidian. If there was anything pure in you before he turned you into what you are now, it’s been swallowed by the years spent under his control, in his arms, drinking in his breath as if it were your own. The lives you’ve taken for him are a mere chill compared to his searing warmth. It burns against your skin in the light of the truth, but the pain is a bittersweet addiction you can’t release.

You know a hundred ways to kill an enemy, but you know none to kill Makarov.

It’s getting hard to maintain this farce of yours, your tender, relieved smiles at his presence, your soft sighs into his shoulder. Every time he echoes the name he’s bestowed upon you “Marionette.” a vile, sour thing twists inside you with a scream of something wrong.

He knows.

He knows, he sees through your farce, but he pretends like nothing is wrong. He presses gentle kisses to your forehead and you don’t let him see the pinch of your expression with how it hurts- the way something inside you longs for him even now. There’s a distant temptation to sink to your knees before him, confess and plead for mercy. You’re his, you’ve always been his. He loves you. He’ll forgive you, even if it means you’ll never see your friends again. If he forgives you, at least you’ll still have him, and there’s a part of you that still thinks he’s all you ever needed.

Has he engraved that into you too?

You dance around each other in this vain, feckless game of yours. You whisper his name like it’s a prayer, and his velvet eyes soften in return. Accepting your docility, as if he doesn’t see your feral nature lurking just below the surface. He embraces you, holds you tight to his chest, and you feign willingness, knowing the fatalistic gaze of him as he gazes past you. He’s playing you just as you play him, both of you waiting for the other to crack and end this macabre waltz you revolve in just like the ever-changing axis of stars above.

You’re running out of time.

You try to imbue yourself in the memories of your allies that have surfaced inside you despite his control over your mind. You think of the curling smoke of Price’s cigar, the sly sparkle of Gaz’s eyes, the bark of Soap’s laughter, the curve of Simon’s smile in the rare moments without his mask. You think about the clink of glasses in a dimly lit pub, the boxes of takeout that litter the coffee table in the rec room. You think about the despair in their eyes when they saw the thing you are now, and the scrawl of Johnny’s handwriting in the letter you wish you still had to give you strength.

We’re coming. We’ll bring you home. We won’t stop until you’re away from him.

Be patient, stay alive.

Come back to us.

Please, hen.

You think you may be dead by the time they rescue you. You think they might die trying to free you.

and you think about how cold Makarov’s blood will feel on your hands.

Maybe you can catch him while you lay in his arms in the blue light of his bedroom. Maybe you can pilfer a weapon and conceal it. Maybe you can breathe in his final, shuddering gasp when you drive the blade between his ribs, whisper a useless apology for the sin of loving him.

Maybe he’ll kill you with a kiss before you can try.

“They’ll never take you from me.” He’d told you. You know he’ll never let you leave alive.

You need to go home, and once more something secret inside you whispers that you are home.

He wakes you on a cold March morning a week after your breakdown, and as you blink slowly up at him he smiles, that gentle, heart tugging gesture that used to be the light of your entire life. Now, it makes you want to burst into tears.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He coos ever so gently, and you manage to not shy away from his touch as he smooths a hand across your bare shoulder. “Get dressed, I have somewhere to send you.”

No.

You’re not ready. You don’t know what it is, but something inside you twists in sickening apprehension at his words. Even so, you offer him a complacent smile, murmur something about coming back to bed for just a few more minutes.

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Within the hour you are dressed in a dusk-colored coat and bundled into the back of a black van with two other men, both of them armed. Anxiety takes a foothold in your chest, and it takes effort to appear calm and composed even as the car pulls away and Makarov fades behind you.

They take you to a warehouse in a town just outside the city. It looks abandoned, but you know it’s merely a concealed location for something nefarious. Smuggling, storage, planning of logistics, a black site that doesn’t even exist on the map. You wonder if these are your executioners, if they’re taking you to a quiet, hidden spot to dispose of you. They won’t even dig you a grave, not with the ground frosted over by winter. The men at your back escort you inside, through empty corridors, down a set of stairs into a dark cellar. Every muscle inside you coils tight, ready to fight, claw your way to freedom through a path of blood.

Yet when the door to the cellar opens, all you see is a friend.

Alex.

He’s tied to a chair. Bruised, bloodied. There’s a welt above his left eye that you want to smooth over with a delicate touch, fall to your knees at his feet to undo the ropes that bind him. His head hangs on his chest, but when he looks up at you he startles, eyes wide before his expression falls into abrupt sadness. He calls your name and it takes all your strength to stand tall, to stay composed. Blank eyed, obedient. The puppet he wants you to be.

“What did he do to you?” He rasps, brow pinched in distress. He flexes his arms at the ropes, and they don’t budge. He calls your name again and it’s desperate. A sound of despair.

Movement beside you. A knife pressed into your palm.

“Do it.” Your handler murmurs in Russian. “Kill him.”

You tremble now, trying to keep your expression passive despite the looming panic rising up your chest and threatening to choke your air.

It’s a test. One you’re designed to fail.

You can kill him, watch the light from Alex’s eyes fade and his blood drain down your wrist. You could buy yourself just a little bit more time before Makarov decides to test you again, and again, until one day your usefulness to him expires and he tosses you aside.

You step closer, feel the phantom whisper of him in your ear, hands pressing your back into his front in a sinister embrace. His palms cover your eyes, blinding you.

“You don’t even have to look, darling.”

The knife shakes in your grip.

Alex turns his face to you, and the grief there makes something inside you splinter, crack and unspool in tormenting agony.

He’s your friend.

“It’s me.” He whispers sadly at your thousand-yard stare. “You know me. It’s Alex.”

“Do it.” The other handler snaps impatiently. “Prove yourself to our cause.”

“They’ll never take you from me.”

You won’t do this. Not anymore.

“No.” You whisper as something inside you finally changes along with the light of hope unfurling in Alex’s eyes. “I won’t.”

The two men behind you are silent for a moment, looking at each other, before one of them sighs.

You know the movement is coming before he lunges towards you, and easily you sidestep him, seize his arm and twist in a brutal grip. Something snaps. He screams.

The blade in your hand turns red with his blood.

As he gurgles a death moan on the ground, the other tries to raise his weapon at you. You force his hands up to the ceiling as he fires, and the bullet lodges itself in the damp wood. Two quick movements. A slash to the chest, under his bulletproof vest, and as he chokes a gasp you stab forward into the side of his neck, rip from one end to the other. Warm wetness coats your hands, and as the man slumps it drips from your fingers onto his stricken, frozen face.

You turn to Alex, and see in his eyes that he looks afraid. Afraid of your brutality, of your violence. Afraid of the weapon you’ve become. Afraid of the thing Makarov has made you.

The knife cuts away his bindings, and you drop it in favor of trying to touch him, reach and help him. You jolt when you realize how your skin has turned scarlet in the act of taking more lives. Yet Alex’s hands close over them, holding with a tight grip as if to anchor you from yourself.

“They, Price and the others, they sent me to find you.” He tells you hoarsely, rushing through his words. “They needed to know you were alive. That-”

He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to.

“Where are they?” You ask, gaze still bent to your hands. Soft, almost demure. Numb to the act of taking lives.

“A two-hour drive. We can make it before reinforcements come.” He declares, and suddenly you’re being pulled up the cellar stairs, past the empty corridors and into the overcast morning.

You gently pull your hand away from him. Alex looks at you, eyes stricken.

“No.” You whisper quietly, eyes full of hurt for what you are about to do. “I can’t.”

Alex blinks, and then he turns to grab at your shoulders, gripping you. “What are you talking about? This is your chance. You can escape!” He pauses, fingers clenching into your wool coat before he softly adds: “You can come home to us.” Your face pinches, you shake your head in a quick gesture that silences a growing sob.

“They’ll find us before we make it out of the city.” You tell him softly. “Makarov won’t let me go that easily.”

You feel that new, fragile thing inside you clench with the hurt of your words, how desperately you want to follow him. “I can’t get you killed for this. You- you go. I’ll distract them, make sure you get to safety.”

Alex’s grip softens, but his voice remains hard. “I’m not leaving you.” He declares with unwavering conviction. “We’ll find a way. I can’t just-”

“Go.” You gasp, cutting him off. “I need- I need to go back. I need to end this.”

You look at him then, eyes brimming with tears. The truth of what you need to do aches in your bones, a sorrow that grows tenfold at the devastation in your friend’s eyes.

“I need to kill him.”

Alex blinks, swallows.

“He’ll try to kill you.” He whispers.

You nod, and at last resignation settles into your soul with a sigh. “I know.”

Yet then you manage to smile past your tears, head tilting and eyes fond.

“I’ll follow you soon.” You tell him softly. “Don’t wait up.”

Alex holds you to his chest, red hands pressing your face to his shoulder. You can feel his rigid frame as he tries to contain his protests.

“Be safe, sister.” He tells you in Arabic. “Come back to us.”

“I will.” You promise, eyes closing and swallowing down a sob. “I will.”

---

As Alex makes his escape, you find yourself once more throwing yourself into the jaws of the lynx.

The drive back to Makarov’s safehouse is quiet, almost peaceful. The scant brightness of the winter sun glints off your dull-eyed gaze. The blood on your hands and clothes dries by the time you pull into the garage, hit the button to the beautiful, pristine apartment that overlooks St. Petersburg. You close your eyes, swallow down the howling voice inside you that screams in anguish at the sin you are about to commit against the man you once loved, and somehow have been taught to love still.

There’s no guards at Makarov’s door, and it makes you falter unexpectedly. Even so, you cautiously tread inside, the knife in your grip concealed in the sleeve of your blood splattered coat. The smell of food wafts from the kitchen, and as you step inside you see him at the stove, tending to something mouthwatering. It’s only then that you catch sight of the set table, the flowers in a vase, the fine silverware and white napkins set just so.

“Welcome back.” He tells you without looking at you, and you notice how nicely dressed he is, pressed shirt sleeves rolled neatly up to his elbows. “Go change. There is a dress for you in the bedroom.”

You don’t move, caught entirely off guard by this...this display of romanticism he never once has offered in the time you’ve known him. It’s sinisterly amorous, deceptively charming in a way designed to unsettle you. It finds its mark, because something inside you squirms with abject, growing discomfort, knowing something is wrong.

It’s then that you see the pistol laying beside him on the counter.

Soviet era, semi-automatic. Nine-millimeter.

“Dinner will be ready soon.” He tells you blankly, still not looking at you, as if he doesn’t even consider you a threat.

The water runs pink in the bathroom. You try to find a way to conceal your knife on your person, but the dress he’s set for you offers little excuse to hide your weapon. Red, the color he adores you in, and your hands fumble as they try to drag the zipper up your spine. When the bedroom door opens you can’t contain a flinch. Yet Makarov is silent as he crosses the room, bare hands sliding the zipper up your spine in a slow, suggestive gesture. When he’s finished, his arms snake around to hold your hips, nose descending to the exposed flesh of your shoulder and tracing along the skin. He breathes in your scent, and you can’t help but ease somewhat at the sinister seduction he offers to you.

“Come eat.” He whispers breathily. “You’ve had a long day.”

His grip on your shoulder is unrelenting as he escorts you to the immaculately set table, popping his chin on his hands as he sits across from you with slow blinking eyes.

You look down at the steak on the fine china. Your stomach clenches in disgust. Poisoned, your mind whispers.

“I’m not hungry.” You whisper, your voice sounding more fearful than you’d hoped.

Makarov huffs a little sound that sounds almost amused.

“Do you think I’d stoop so low as to poison you, Marionette?”

You freeze.

As you look up from the steak to Makarov, as horror dawns across your expression, you realize he knows.

Makarov tilts his head and observes you with a slow, cruel smile.

“My greatest prize.” He purrs. “Come to kill me? How ironic.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. The apartment around you seems to spin dangerously. Heartbeat hammering, you look quickly to the steak knife beside the plate. Yet Makarov follows your gaze, and before you can grab for it he reaches forward with a disappointed little sigh and takes it from your grasp.

“Please, Marionette.” He tells you with false sincerity. “We’re trying to have dinner.”

“Is that what this is?” You ask hoarsely, throat dry. “I could have sworn this is you taking your time to gloat before you kill me.”

“Kill you?” He laughs, eyes sparkling with cruel glee. “Why Marionette, you haven’t even heard my offer yet.”

That makes you pause. You look at him, shoulders rigid, and Makarov’s eyes glimmer like the stars above.

“I’ve known about this farce of yours for a while, beloved.” He tells you, and the low timbre of his voice makes your chest tighten with an aleatory mix of emotion. “I was willing to overlook it as long as you did your job correctly, performed as you were meant to. After all, I’m so very fond of you.”

You spit a curse at him in Russian, and Makarov doesn’t even flinch.

“Of course, now that your friends are getting close to finding us, it is time to look at different options.”

You stiffen impossibly further in your chair, sitting elegantly in your lovely red dress, blood still under your fingernails, staring at the man holding you prisoner with noxious dread.

The smile Makarov gives you is ominously affectionate.

“I’ll give you one last chance, Marionette.” He offers silkily. “I’ll let you live. I can promise no harm will come to you. I won’t make use of your skills, and I won’t force you to kill your allies. You can stay, and you will be safe.”

“Under what conditions?” You ask quietly.

Makarov observes you, unblinking like the lynx painting that hangs above your dreams.

“You will never leave my side again.”

Your heart cracks against your ribs.

Stay with him. Protected, not forced to murder anyone, beside him always.

It’s what you’ve always wanted.

To be at his side, to walk beside him, not two steps back like the weapon he’s made you as. To fall under the wing of his protection and be his, only ever his. To be not his puppet or his tool but as his. Perhaps...even to be loved by him in the way you’ve wanted since the moment he found you.

It doesn’t make any sense. Why spare you? Why keep you beside him when he knows you want to take his life? Why take the risk?

You blink, and suddenly his words make sense. Why else? To keep you only as a shield, as insurance against your allies hunting him down, trying to kill him. Not as his weapon, no, but as leverage. The second Price and the others step too close he’ll hoist a gun to your head, force them to lay down their arms for the cost of sparing you.

In your dream, Price and the others look upon you with despair beyond the sights of the pistol in your grip.

“Stay with me, Marionette.” He purrs, head tilted at you with fixated intent. “Give in, and I’ll keep you safe.”

You swallow, feeling sandpaper scrape at your throat. “As your hostage?” You ask, voice trembling.

Makarov smiles. It looks almost kind.

“As my beloved doll.” He returns sweetly. “Perfect and beautiful just the way you are meant to be.”

You can imagine it. Just as he says, you’d be nothing more than a prize sitting amongst his trophies of war. Clad in beautiful clothes, pristine, at his side as a display of his power over you. Nothing more than a puppet, a captive, his marionette. You’d sit like a lachrymose dove in his golden gilded cage, staring up at the stars and wanting desperately to fly. Wings clipped, you’ll slowly rot until you once more become an empty shell whose only purpose is to love him.

An empty, soulless existence. Worse than the one you’re living in.

Makarov is silent as he waits for your answer, and you look upon him, this man you had once existed for. You remember his passionate embraces, his claiming kisses and soft strokes along your bare body. You remember a time when all you had ever wanted was for him to confess his adoration for you, tell you how beloved you are to him.

You look upon him now, and you see the man who offers a beautiful cage.

“I’m leaving.” You tell him, voice trembling with the strength it takes to speak. “I’m going to leave you, Makarov, and when I do, I’m going to learn to live without you.”

The light of false kindness in his eyes slowly fades to a blank, detached apathy.

“Darling.” He whispers, words low with threat. “You’ll never leave me.”

He reaches for the pistol.

You react entirely on instinct, shove the entire table towards him so it hits him in the stomach. Makarov catches it, but not in time, and he grunts as his features morph into a scowl. You stand so the chair topples behind you, lunge for him just as his hand closes around the gun. You manage to hoist it high and away from you, eyes wild as every instinct inside you roars to life. The skills he’s carved into you, the lessons of the weapon he’s made you, now turn against him in a desperate bid for survival.

Makarov curses at you, and as you follow his motion he drags you across the table, knocks a leg so it falls. You find your footing anyways, use his imbalance to shove him against the too-large windows that overlook St. Petersburg. Makarov rams his head against yours, and it sends you reeling for a moment, grip loosening on his wrist. He shakes it loose, but before he can fire you yell, plant a strike to his arm to buckle it. A shot rings out, and it goes wild, shattering the vase of roses on the kitchen counter.

Makarov grapples for you, his hand closing around the lower half of your face as you pin his arm to the curtains. You bite down so blood fills your mouth, raise a leg between you so you can kick out one of his legs. Makarov falters, and as he does you twist, reaching for the gun once more. Yet Makarov anticipates your movement, and as he rapidly adjusts you manage to only knock the weapon from his hands. It slides across the tiled floor, well out of reach.

In your surprise he catches you off guard, and the world spins around you as he snarls, hoists you and throws you through the glass table.

The impact makes something crunch inside you, broken glass slicing your skin as you fall on your side, pain blossoming brightly in your ribs. It stuns you, the hurt fracturing outwards and robbing the breath from your lungs. The impact rattles you from head to toe, and even as you are winded you try to roll and push yourself up, to face him once more.

Makarov’s hands find you before you get the chance.

He forces you violently onto your back, chest heaving as he leans over you, hands snaking up to grip your neck in a strangulating hold. It takes a moment for your head to clear, but when it does you struggle, choking in pain at the suck of air that doesn’t reach your lungs. Makarov’s thumbs press into your airway as he straddles you, ignoring your flailing hands as they try to scratch at his face. He grabs at them with one hand, struggling for a moment before he hauls both far above your head. It gives you only a moment to breathe before the choking hold returns, starving you of air.

You trash, flail, but with every movement Makarov’s hands seem to press down harder. His eyes stare down above you, mouth a grim set line as he watches the horror and desperation transform your expression.

Black dots threaten your vision, and you feel your strength beginning to fade. The only thing left is the constellations in his eyes, glimmering darkness that you once had looked upon with adoration.

“Vlad...imir-” You wheeze, tears falling.

He blinks, expression faltering.

At your fingertips, a piece of glass.

You stab it into the meat of his palm, loosen his hold as he cries out in pain. He relaxes his grip on you, and without thinking you surge upwards so the killing edge finds its place in his throat.

Blood coats your hands.

Makarov reels backwards, grips at the wound where blood rushes forth. He falls off you, and as he does you suck in a desperate gasp of air, filling your lungs with oxygen and coughing at the crack of your ribs as they seize. Glass digs rips at your dress, embeds itself into your flesh, and even as you rise you cut yourself further still, whimpering until at last you brace beside Makarov’s form.

There’s a wet gush of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, the shard of glass dyed red as it does nothing to stem the flow of blood that stains his collar, puddles on the floor. His hands weakly try to stop it, but he too seems to realize it’s too late. It’s over.

His eyes find yours. Confused, for a moment, but then blinking in a distant realization you don’t understand. He’s weak as he reaches for you, and you expect him to try and grab at you in a last-ditch effort, to take your life so you both tumble down to the fires of hell together.

Instead, his hand strokes a gentle, scarlet path onto your cheek.

You blink down at him, horrified, and Makarov’s eyes blink at you once, twice...

A slow exhale. His hand drops to the floor.

and slowly, the constellations fade.

The divine stars turn dark.

-----

It’s dark when the truck pulls up to the cabin.

Gentle hands shake you awake, coaxing you out of dreams. Your head lolls in your fatigue, but it lifts at the careful encouragement spoken in soft Russian. You yield to it, allow yourself to gently be helped from the passenger seat and onto your feet. There’s a thick blanket tucked around your form, and as you steady yourself you hug it tighter to keep the frigid cold at bay. Your too-large clothes hang loose from your form, and as you take a step forward you sway unsteadily.

Nikolai’s hands land on your shoulders, and you sag into his safety with relief, eyes fluttering with exhaustion.

He keeps you pressed into his side as you’re escorted forward, murmuring in Russian.

“Careful, Солнышко. Easy, I’ve got you.”

You don’t say much, glassy eyes focused more on your socked feet than where you’re being led. You can feel the way Nikolai’s fingers grip you, know from his touch alone how much it pains him to see you as a mere shell of your former self. It hurts somewhere deep inside you, a distant pain hidden by the numbness of the thing you’ve done.

A few more steps, and a door bursts open. You lift your gaze to take in the brightness that spills from the cabin, but it’s overshadowed by the rapid motion of figures quickly moving towards you. There’s a shout, a cry of your name, and the next thing you know you’re being passed from one set of arms to another, pressed into a smothering embrace.

“Soap.” You hoarse.

“Thank God.” He rasps, voice muffled by the blanket surrounding you. “Steamin’ Jesus, hen. We thought, we thought-”

He tenses in alarm as you abruptly sag into him, the strength in your legs giving out. Yet then there’s a second set of arms, and you lift your face towards the scent of cloves and gunpowder.

“Gaz.”

Gaz bends so he can look at your half-lidded eyes. You think you see tears.

“That’s right doll, it’s me.” He tells you, and a hand strokes your face. “We’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Snow crunches under footsteps. A smoke-laden voice. “Get her inside.” Your captain murmurs softly, voice muted. Resigned.

“Price.” You try, twisting to look for him. You see him just off to your side, and his eyes are caught between bitterness and heartbreak, an anger and sadness that you wish you could comfort. You reach for him, but all you manage to do is put yourself off balance, the pain in your hip flaring as you stumble. Gaz yelps as you sink downwards.

A larger set of arms, skeletal gloves. Ghost’s hands scoop under your legs and haul you upwards. You whimper at the pain from the movement, and you feel him gentle at the sound.

“You’re alright, pet.” He offers softly, and you somehow find it in yourself to nod, relax into his hold.

There’s murmurs as you’re carried into the warmth of the cabin, and you hear Price ask something to Nikolai in a low, grave voice, to which Nik merely shakes his head in disbelief.

You’re set near the fire, and the flickering glow warms you though. Someone tucks another blanket around your shoulders, pushes a steaming mug of tea into your hands. You look down at it hazy-eyed, shell shocked and numb, trying once more to tell yourself you’re safe. You’re home.

At last, you look up at them.

“He’s dead.” You announce hoarsely. “I killed him.”

The group is silent. There’s no cheering or cries of triumph. It’s a victory, but it has come at a great cost. Instead, their eyes are sad, bitter, staring at you like looking at an empty, lost soul.

Soap crosses the room first, sits beside you and hauls you gently against his side. It’s a wordless gesture, and you know it’s because there’s nothing he can say. Instead, you lean into him, feel your throat clog with the emotion of finally being held by someone you trust.

“Is Alex safe?” You ask in a wavering voice.

Price nods. You swallow down a sob.

“He came back.” Gaz tells you softly, reaches forward to take the mug from your bandaged, shaking hands and sets it atop the woodstove. “He told us what you did, that you went back by yourself. We...we thought...” He trails off, and you see the pain in his eyes, the way they’re glassy with tears.

“I’m sorry.” Soap offers then, voice cracking, his hand on your shoulder bunching the blanket in his grip. “We should have tried harder, we should have never stopped looking for you, we-”

“It’s not your fault, Johnny.” You tell him gently, with a weariness that sits heavy on your soul. Johnny grows silent, but after a moment he sucks in a breath, rubs at his face vigorously to erase the tears there.

“Johnny’s right.” Ghost offers sorrowfully, and when you look up you see the full extent of his emotions play out across his bare face. “I should have grabbed you in Minsk. I shouldn’t have let them take you.”

The conviction in his voice makes you pause, and you want to tell him it’s not his fault either, that he was just trying to figure out a way where you both made it out unscathed.

“It doesn’t matter.” Price murmurs grimly, bent forward in his chair, staring down at his clasped hands. He looks defeated, head drooping towards the floor. There’s no declaration of triumph in his voice at killing the man they’ve been hunting for years. Not when you’ve come back to them like you are now. He stands, gently pads over to kneel at your feet. You feel something dull stifle your chest as he turns his heartbroken gaze to you. “What matters now is that you survived. You made it out, and you came home to us.”

Home.

Your real home.

It breaks the dam inside you, and you feel your face scrunch before you suck in a gasp, begin to cry with fat, hot tears rolling down your face. Price hushes you, drags you into his arms, and you fold into him with a gasping wail of relief, of grief, of emotions you’ve yet to name. Johnny tucks into you from behind, followed by Kyle, and soon you feel the added weight of Simon wrap around you as well. They hold you, your brothers, listen to you shudder and weep in their arms. You feel them cry with you, grateful and grieving for all that was lost, and the price it cost to return you to them.

You don’t know how long you cry. It feels as if you cry for every single day you were caged, weeping for the time you lost with them, and the things you were forced to do in the time you forgot them. You weep for the lives you took, for the bruises you earned, for the words you believed, and you weep for the thing inside you that will forever remain changed because of it all.

Exhaustion takes hold as you empty yourself of cries, and you’re gently carried to a bed further inside the cabin, where a body, then another, lay down beside you and let you curl into their warmth. You drift to sleep, safe in the arms of those who love you.

As you rest, Nik relays to the others the story you told him- of how you escaped.

You’d taken the pistol Makarov gave you, shot the guards that had come to his rescue, and had driven far out to the other end of the city. Injured, bloodied, in nothing but the dress Makarov had given you, you had run for the better part of a day before finding a way to contact Nikolai. He was the one who had found you collapsed in the dark bushes of a park, hidden amongst the branches like a nestling fawn. There, you’d collapsed into the snow, gripped the spent pistol Makarov had tried to use on you, allowed frostbite to take its hold, and prepared to die.

Instead Nik collected you into his arms and brought you to a safehouse. It was there that he tended to your wounds, to your broken ribs and injured hip from being thrown through the glass table. Bruises litter your right side, a circling of dark coloring around your neck, a welt across your forehead, all things you earned in your bid for freedom. He’d removed the shards still sticking from your skin, had cleaned and dressed your cuts and taken your dress to burn it in his stove. You’d stayed awake throughout, told Nik of the thing you had done. You cried into his arms as you confessed your sins, begged for a forgiveness he could not offer.

He’d held you, kept you safe, and he brought you home to them.

You don’t dream as you sleep in the arms of your brothers.

The rest of the story comes slowly over the next few days as you rest and recover. You’re never left alone, scarcely without someone to lean into, to be held by, and for this you are grateful. Grateful you are too, of the gentleness your friends give you as they care for you. Warm food, hot tea, a place by the fire, clean clothes, and tender hands that redress your wounds. They listen to you as you tell them the story from the beginning, from the day you woke up without a name to the day you earned it back. You tell them of the one named Marionette, the beautiful puppet held by his strings. You tell them of a life that was not yours to control, and of how you escaped.

Johnny sleeps by your side, soothes your restless slumber. Gaz pushes food into your hands and reminds you to eat, to earn your strength back. Ghost gently re-wraps your ribs, murmurs soft praises as you bite down on complaints. Price tucks you into him as you sit on the couch, listening to him read novels you don’t care to know the names of, until you fall asleep once more. You’re cared for, tended to, and the beloved touch of them slowly eases the wounds on your soul.

They cry for you, your friends. Soap weeps into your lap and sobs apologies for being unable to rescue you. Gaz holds you in his arms and cries for the things Makarov did to you, of the ways you were changed by his machinations. Simon looks upon you with tears when you forgive him, forgive all of them for not coming sooner.

When you cry into Price’s arms, finally confess to him that you once loved the man you killed, you feel his silent tears stain your shoulder. He’s quiet, angry, and you know it hurts because it wasn’t him that killed the man who took you from them.

In the days that follow you slowly regain your strength, and you know it will take many months to come before time gently washes away the things you can allow yourself to forget. Your family will stand beside you, protect you and shelter you as you find yourself again. They’ll hold you when the nightmares try to drown you, when you hear his voice in your thoughts and grasp desperately for them. They’ll stay with you as the pain slowly fades, as you learn how to smile again. They listen to the sound of your laughter and scarcely conceal their tears of joy.

It takes days to secure a safe path out of Russia with Nik’s help. In that time you hear how Makarov’s death has changed the world. Without their Copernicus, Russia’s ultra-nationalists flounder. Nik holds you with a soft smile when the others aren’t looking, and thanks you for doing the thing nobody else did. You think maybe you’ve earned an ounce of forgiveness with Makarov’s death.

You dream of him.

In the blue light of his bedroom, with the lynx painting, of soft words in Russian, of how his smile never reached his eyes. You dream of his final act- gently stroking your face, and of the hesitation in his gaze when you called his name in a breathless cry.

It’s a gentle dawn the day you leave Russia. You stand outside swaddled in the borrowed clothes of your friends, looking at the soft blue dawn that draws over the horizon. You think of that morning in St. Petersburg when you asked him how he would die.

“With glory. For Russia.”

You wonder if he loved you, at the very end.

There’s something inside you that remains a fragile, brittle thing. It’s changed by the time you spent with him, by the way he hollowed you out inside. Someday it will heal, will be filled once more by the beloved laughter of those you love, and the tender embraces of those who care for you.

You know that some things will forever remain the same, with the memories that you keep of him.

To the stars, you pray for the day to come soon when his engravings will finally fade.

Taglist:

@writeforfandoms @alicesfracturedmirror @soapskneebrace @badame0224 @mayhem-baby @emrzennn @papaver-decervicatus @warenai @ggeveryone99 @justmare @merkitty49 @darkstars-14 @lostagoodcigar @gazs-blue-hat @siilvan @bucca2 @franticallyfanning @danjo-ao3 @scatter-mind001 @lonesome-doves @thriving-n-jiving @bucketbunny @secretliteradite @anatweyen @imagineswritersblog @bucca2 @sae1kie @preciouslittlecreature @allbark-littlebite @theallpowerfulrosami

---

Thank you for reading Engravings.

#makarov x reader #makarov x you #makarov x f! reader #Makarov x y/n #cod x reader #darkfic tw #darkfic #dead dove do not eat #fic: engravings #mwIII #call of duty mwiii #cod mwiii #call of duty modern warfare 3 #x reader #reader insert #dddne #dead dove fic #dead dove

[thenationalmaxims]

I FEEL LIKE I AM AS FAR AS CAN GET FROM YOU

#distant axis #matt berninger #serpentine prison #lyrics

[macfrog]

all three dogs

Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love. andrew kane, how to be a dog

inspired by this gorgeous post (good idea to read it before you read this), and this gorgeous ask (thank you @iknowisoundcrazy). also shoutout to @mrsmando for being the queen of character study. i am not sure what this is, exactly? is it about joel miller, or is it about some dogs? i do not know. but it was fucking cathartic, so here, i guess. here's how i see joel at his worst.

summary: "dog metaphors are all about devotion, devotion to a person, a concept, a place etc, to be a dog is to be devoted."

warnings: little graphic i guess? blood and guts. violent joel. sarah dies and joel shoots up a hospital to save ellie. angst. i think that's it

word count: 1.3k

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets with notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🖤

he loves you, sarah says, fork digging into egg.

he’s dependent on me, joel quips, not the same.

i think it’s the same.

when the first dog is born, he gives his heavy head a shake, and his ears flick to life. his fur is still damp from the blood and fluid of his mother’s body. he still smells like her – looks like her, too. he is still connected in some way to where he has been; the umbilical cord coiled and dripping.

she licks and licks and licks until he is clean. watches contently as he pads off into some distant future, where he will lose that boisterous gleam in his eye, the gentle wag of his tail. but for now –

for now, he is brown-haired. brown-eyed to match. he has a daughter. he is bright, and alive, and he makes jokes when they bubble up to his tongue. he is good. he knows love like a first language, as if each swipe of his mother’s tongue on his coat melded it into his makeup.

he does not know the warmth of another man’s blood on his hands. he has not drawn the screams and howls of pain from another’s throat.

she is the sun – his daughter – the most radiant part of his life. his life, which spins on its axis around her. always looking for her, to her, at her. vitamin c, she tells him, and he accepts the glass of orange juice. she tells him to swear and he says, on my life. she tells him he’s lame and he says, i know.

he trots faithful and pliant at her heels. circles her legs and passes over her shadow, waiting to be told different. waiting to be shooed away.

only – when he is told, he doesn’t listen. he can’t. what is a planet with no sun to orbit? what becomes of day, when its light begins to drain?

she digs her nails into his skin. pushes and scratches and begs him with shallow gasps to take his hands off her stomach. to let her go. to go away.

i know, baby, i know i know i know i know –

he tells her she’s going to be okay. because what the fuck else does he know? he’s just a dog. he’s just her dog. all he knows is her.

the sun is being eclipsed. the world begins to darken.

i’m just gonna get her killed, joel weeps, i know it. i have to leave her.

when the second dog is pulled from his mother, he wails in a collapsed heap on the cold tile floor. the world is dim, colorless. the sun is gone. he does not know how he ended up here.

love is akin to violence. it speaks the same language, inflection and cadence blurring between words. he is only as strong as his fists are able to break bone. he has run out of road – a panting, ragged, old dog, tongue hanging lopsided and jumping. ears dented with the pieces of him lost to fighting.

something quakes within his chest, a deep, unstable movement. a shifting of the tectonic plates that make up his bones. he shakes violently, feeling for the thrash of his heart against his chest wall. something in the darkness commands him to act – to move, though it never reveals where to or what from. just fucking move.

and then – the eruption of his temper. like waves on rocks, breaching in violent and unpredictable bursts. spray of black ocean on the jagged cliff edge. i made this decision for your own good, he reasons, stood in the pink-papered bedroom. the snow flutters silently outside. his hackles slowly furl. she scoffs. she knows as well as he does: he’s as good a liar as he was a pet.

but for all his anger, for all the fear he misdiagnoses as weakness – there is a glimmer somewhere on his back. a pale light catching in the broken face of his watch; lighting the kinks of his dark coat. it begins to push him; to stir him like the tide.

something is controlling him again. pulling on his collar. someone is lighting the way.

where is she?

fuck you.

it takes as little time for the dog’s ears to prick as it did for his lungs to suck in a breath. his upper lip twists, canine glinting in the trembling fluorescent light. shining with saliva and the rusted tinge of blood. joel thinks it over less than once. his eyes flood black.

i don’t have time for this.

when the third dog rips his way into the world, he tears everything around him to shreds, too. his teeth are already bared; his claws are already swiping. his eyes are black as ink; he cannot remember that soft-footed pup he once was.

there is nothing left to hide. not anymore. he has existed in the darkness too long to try. his shirt and skin are stained with dirt and sweat and blood. his fur is matted; his fangs are brown and rotten. if she saw him, if her light cast its golden spill onto his bloodshot eyes and mottled coat – she would never know who he is. she would not recognize her own father.

but he was always this way, it seems: he has always loved catastrophically.

everything is red. saturated in threat; a screaming, nauseating red. it turns his stomach just to look, to peer down the chamber of his gun. the blinking of the alarm light. the maroon stains on his hands. the metallic smell seeping from the slumped vests. the thick pools he steps through, the footprints following him around every corner. they will catch up to him eventually. they always do.

his paws hurt. pads skinned raw from all the running. his lungs ache, now, too. his throat lurches for breath, closes in on itself and then sticks, choking him. he cannot remember the heat of the sun on his arms. he does not know when he last said her name.

he doesn’t remember when he last said anything. he speaks in growls and barks and bites. when his mouth opens, his lips curl by instinct. he swallows his drawl and replaces it with something sharper. something poisonous. there’s foam lining his gums.

all he has – of this he is sure – is his brute force and the quick snap of his bite. the shattering of bone, the mauling of flesh. the brawn and breadth of his body; the squeeze of a trigger with one thoughtless pull. all he knows how to do is swing.

and so, one heavy boot steps in front of the other. crunching over broken glass and scuffing over bullet shells. whereisshewhereisshewhereisshe. it loops through his head like it used to when he could see color and feel the wind in his ears. like chasing his tail. catchitcatchitcatchit.

where did she go – the moon? which cloud is she hiding behind? how many men do his maws have to tear apart to find her?

and what will she think when she sees him again? his collar missing and his claws dripping crimson. when she feels the rips in his ears, sees the scar on the side of his head. what will she do, when she runs her hand down his dirty coat, and in place of a loving lick or nuzzle of the nose, he sinks his teeth straight into her wrist?

swear to me. swear to me that everything you said about the fireflies is true.

the dog lowers his head obediently. his ears fall flat. tail curls between his back legs. the wind pushes hard against joel’s chest, threatening to take him with it. i swear, he says.

ellie’s gaze falls. she nods once. tightens her fist around the dog’s leash.

okay.

-

lots of inspo drawn from:

how to be a dog by andrew kane

grit by silas denver melvin

monster theory: reading culture by jeffrey jerome cohen [seven theses]

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #the last of us #tlou #i’m not sure what this is #i just wanted to write it #this one goes out to all the dog motif posts i see on the daily about roman roy #ouch

[thecameronchronicles]

Surfboard

TW: Smut. Language. 

JJ x Kook!Reader

Enemies to Lovers

SUMMARY: Your visit to The Chateau alters your and JJ's tolerance of each other. 

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

Surfboard

Even the way a Kook's tires sounded on the gravel leading to The Chateau made JJ's jaw clench in annoyance. With Sarah, he had learned to ignore it for the sake of his friendship with John B. But you were not an exception. You were even classified as the bane of his existence. But you also happened to be Sarah's best friend. That annoying best friend always showing up in half a swimsuit that left the other half of you exposed as a reminder to what he could never have. 

Not that he wanted you. At least that's what he told himself every time he saw you in his peripheral vision. Your curves teasing him always just out of reach. His mind cursed him with the proximity he didn't close. Hating you all because he wanted you and couldn't have you. 

"Sorry, princess, Sarah isn't here..." 

"Actually, I'm here to see you."

His eyes lifted from his surfboard spread out over the table before him. The wax stilled in his hand. 

"You don't have any of your Kook boyfriend's with nothing else better to do?" 

"They're all getting ready for the bonfire..." You pouted. 

"You mean to tell me," He paused yet again, for dramatic effect. His expression drawn in sincerity despite the mischievous humor in his eyes and threatening the corners of his mouth. 

"The world doesn't revolve around you? Huh..." He leaned across his board to reach you. The huff of his scoff felt against your lips. "Have you told you that?" 

"Just forget it..." You spat, disappointment filling every nerve as you loathed leaving the way you affected him. This game you two played of not crossing a specific line of distant torment was your favorite form of entertainment. A tango of sorts. Only you suddenly felt as if you no longer knew how to dance when you got too close to him. Which he had been. Those taunting lips a mere inch and that look on his eyes validating he knew this effect. 

"What did you want anyway?" He asked as you threw your hands in frustration. 

"To surf."

"Topper "shred the waves" Thornton couldn't reach you?"

"Look, I came here to ask you because...because Sarah said you were good. Maybe I should remind her just because she's fucking John B doesn't mean everything in his life has value...What should I expect with your name-" You narrowed, taking this win before JJ glared and moved after you. 

"You watch your mouth princess. You came here for a favor-"

"A momentary lapse of judgement." You took a step forward. 

"Don't you have to have an IQ to have a lapse? I think all your little perfumes and things have taken it from ya." 

"And what? You're Einstein?"

"Hardly..." He berated himself. "But even I know it would have been better to stay on your side of the island." He stood closer. Too close. Close enough to feel the fringes of his touch just beyond reach. 

"Where. You. Belong."

But he didn't budge now. His face remained well over yours as his eyes draped in the space between you. A greedy and undeserving gaze when having spoken in such former cruelty to you. 

"That's only because you couldn't handle me, Maybank." 

A single moment of stillness before Earth's axis would shift. The pogue and the princess in an imperfect collision as his eyes fasted to the door of The Chateau before pulling you away from sight. A single wrap of his unkind fingers to your wrist and you were taken towards the surfboard. That fine line between enemies and potential acquaintances severed and savored as he set your hands greedily at the board before you. 

"You are such a little fucking brat. Need someone to put you in your place-" Your skin illuminated from the inside out. His touch now a tease to your fingers as they were forced on the board. 

"I need to teach you to be a good girl...a favor to the outer banks..." He pushed your body into the edge of the table within this shed on the property of The Chateau. Anyone could find you. A thrill in knowing this. But you could only truly focus on the new order. 

"Keep your hands there." You felt his hands retract from the intertwine made over the board. A fresh grip made when you felt him tease your skin with his fingertips. Beginning at your wrists, a slow ascension that ended at your shoulders. 

"It's about balance. You have to be able to keep centered...no matter what's on the outside of that board...focus." What he demanded was completely lost on him. His breath at your neck, the touch taunting the exposed skin you hoped he'd notice had been revealed for him, and the way his chest climbed and escaped that curve of your back. All for you. As you were all for him. 

"If you could focus on anything but what shoes to wear for more than five minutes that is..." He smirked at his insult. 

"I hate shoe shopping."

"Liar. I've seen you go with Sarah and Kie...Just last week."

"To see you. Even for a second." You confessed as his thumbs brushed over your nipples, at attention beneath your bikini top. 

"You came here because you wanted me to make you come, princess?" You hesitated, but your head already bobbed. A grip to your hips turning you to face him. A blush across your cheeks unveiling some semblance of an existence behind otherwise siren eyes. 

"I'm going to do something to you nobody ever has..." He leaned closer, unbuttoning those jeans shorts. His fingers on the edge of your suit bottoms within. A mismatched suit that somehow fit with adjacent coloring. 

"I'm telling you no." He pushed you slightly into the surfboard, leaving you shocked as he began to move back to The Chateau, adjusting his seam, and wearing a grin of pride. 

"You're an asshole, JJ!" 

"Well now you're just flirting, sweetheart."

"You know what your problem is, JJ?' he stopped, "You can't stand Kook girls because you can't handle them. Because you can't last!" He suddenly charged back to you, your body placed back against the surfboard. His hand within your shorts and against your clit in perfect precision. 

"I can't stand you. So fucking annoying with these little swimsuits. Bringing your ass around here acting like you're better than me. Like I can't touch you." He slipped your suit to the side. Your naked sex at his fingertips. 

"The problem isn't that I can't. But once I have, you'll never be able to get off unless it is with me. Thinking about me while some other cock is inside of you..." His second hand lifted to your breast. Nipples twisted and pulled as his dominant hand accelerated in speed. 

"I was doing you a favor by not touching you. But since you think you know best. I've gotta teach you a lesson-" He pulled his fingers away for a second, only to remove the shorts. 

"You came here to be taught to surf...but I'm gonna teach you to fucking come." He bent you over the surfboard. His cock at the ready as a threat between your folds. 

"Shame...how you gonna explain this to your little friends? Can't keep your mouth shut? Hmm?"

"Ah..." You groaned as he ran his head through your sex. Teasing and taunting, threatening and massaging, until one single thrust bottomed out within. 

"That's right, princess, cry for it. God knows you need a good fuck..." He took hold of your hair, bending you without care of how the table dug into your hips. The piercing of his cock distracted you enough to ignore anything else. 

"You think you're better than me? Then why are you begging over my cock, huh?" He questioned as you weren't aware of the pleas you made with each thrust he made within you. 

"Because you're greedy. Because you want to be filled with my cum, fucked like a little slut, but go back and tell them I'm in love with you, right? You think everyone wants you? You think I can't help myself?" He flexed inside of you. 

"This isn't for you. This is for me." He withdrew himself and forced you to your knees. 

"This is for me. So show me you deserve this. And keep your mouth shut for five seconds."

"You'll only last that long?" You teased as he took his cock to your lips. 

"Suck, princess." You obeyed. This game with rules now blissfully blurred as you took him. Deeply. His deep breath pleasing you enough to bypass that gagging feeling. Those teary eyes favored by him as he clenched his jaw at the sight. 

"On your knees for a pogue...what would they think of you?" He pulled you deeper. 

"Crying over my cock? What would they think of that?" He questioned as you closed your eyes to savor him. His length, the weight, the fulfillment, missing it within. Your eyes fixated on that fantasy before you were suddenly pulled over the table, legs spread by his angered and ringed fingers, before he dove between you. His cock reinstated in your sex as he thrusted and stilled. 

"If you weren't such a brat, I'd make your eyes roll with what I could do on MY knees. But you came here to come. So fucking come." He was murderous in pounding into you. One after another, his cock and the weight following made you reliant solely on him. Your manicure ruined in his skin as you left lines of evidence to the words you couldn't say. 

He wasn't just good. He was outlandish. Hitting that inner spot with conviction without needing to source you for it. As if he knew. As if he was built exclusively to command and please you. 

"You want it, princess?"

"Yes! I'm so close!" He wrapped his hand over your mouth. 

"If I wanted everyone to know I was fucking you, I would have you in figure Eight, ass up, and one of your stupid little parties. These little sounds are just for me." He pulled you closer to him. A deep French kiss sending you outside of your body. The way he held you was harsh, his thrusts cruel, but that kiss was an apology to both. An apology that mounted that need and edge within. Your body rolling over itself as your nerves were set alight. 

"JJ!" You whined into his palm as his palm returned between the kisses. But your plea went unanswered as he set that hand to your neck and guided you flat upon the board. 

"I want you to come on this board. So fucking hard that I can't help but feel you when I'm surfing. In the same water your precious Topper wins his titles and you let all of em touch you...Now!" He withdrew himself, fingers at a murderous pace as he forced your legs wider. 

"Ahhh! JJ!! Fuuuuck!' his fingers bent and twisted, testing your strength until you came apart over him. Not just once. Twice. Spurts of not only an orgasm, but a squirt. Drenching your thighs and his board as requested. But he wasn't done. The fire in his eyes informed you of this. He took your hips and formed himself back inside of you. Resuming his pleasure. Now, building to a climb as he bent over you. 

"Make me come. Use that greedy little pussy, princess...." You obeyed. Your body wrapped around him until it was impossible to tell where one began and the other ended. Your body lifted and slid against the board in gluttonous repetition until you felt a second orgasm form. Your body was no longer your own as he scoffed. 

"Already? They really THAT impatient on your side or you just that fucking annoying they can't last?" 

"I'm that good..." You finally managed back as he groaned, pulling your legs over his shoulders and finishing in a few pumps in this position. 

"Goddamn..." He whined to himself, looking at the bliss across your face as you found a second release in the final thrusts of his first.

"Still want me to teach you to surf?"

"I got what I came for..." He cocked his jaw. 

But even if you managed to seduce him and "win" this victory, he was already formulating that next party. That next time you were alone. Maybe even in eye-shot or earshot of your precious friends. That even then, he could make you come. Again. Maybe even harder. Maybe not at all.

TAGLIST:

@rafesmoon @maybankslover @puzziepoppin @gillybear17 @onclouds999

@hopebaker @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @jjmaybanksangel @phildunphyisadilf 

@pankhoeforlife @pankowperfection @jjsprettybaby

MASTERLIST

JJ MAYBANK MASTERLIST

JJ MAYBANK 2ND MASTERLIST

JJ MAYBANK AND KOOK READER MASTERLIST

#jj maybank #jjmaybank smut #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank x kook!reader #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks smut #outerbanks #outerbanks smut #outerbanks fanfiction #obx #obx fanfiction #obx smut #rudy pankow

[botanicalsword]

Solar Return Synastry • situationship with her work crush (Part 1)

If you have someone in your mind,

the year they become important to you will have precise conjunctions between their natal chart and your solar return chart, as well as between your natal chart and their solar return chart.

1. Check the Synastry Chart between your Natal chart and their Solar return chart, focusing on the conjunctions to the axis and personal planets.

2. Check both of your Solar Return Charts, and cast a Synastry Chart between the two solar return charts.

>> How to cast the Synastry Chart for Solar Return Charts ***

➻✧ (Part 1) ✧ ⁀➷♥ They were distant friends introduced by a mutual acquaintance. After her difficult breakup, they ended up working together and grew closer. She developed feelings for him, but because of their work relationship, she was afraid to confess her emotions. She struggled with the desire for something more and the fear of making their situation worse.

⁀➷♥ The year (Solar Return) they became closer friends :

➻ His Solar Return (SR) in Her Natal (Extended interpretation - to be continued)

His SR Sun / Moon / Mercury / Venus conjunct her DSC

His SR Dsc conjunct her Mars / Moon

His SR Asc conjunct her Jupiter

His SR Juno conjunct her Moon

His SR Chiron conjunct her Sun

His SR Neptune conjunct her Mercury / Venus

His SR Jupiter conjunct her Mercury / Venus

Her Solar Return (SR) in his Natal (Extended interpretation- to be continued )

Her SR Venus conjunct his Lilith

Her SR Mars conjunct his Saturn

Her SR Venus / Mars / Saturn conjunct his MC

➻✧

His Solar Return (SR) to Her Solar Return (SR)

Sun / Venus / Mercury in 3H - he enjoys engaging in conversations with her and often takes the role of a lecturer, knowing that she has the ability to understand the deeper meanings behind his words

Mars in 11H - has introduced her to his social circle. He takes pleasure in seeing her build networks and socialize, which makes him want to spend more time with the group

Moon in 4H ; His Sun / Moon / Venus conjunct her IC - a sense of emotional security between them. He tends to pay attention to the topics she posts on social media, grasping their relevance, and knows how to connect with her on a deeper level through these small details

Vertex in 5H - he appreciates and admires her, feeling connected and fun being with her

Lilith in 12H - He tried to bring out her Lilith side. She struggled with exposing that part of her in their connection.

Saturn in 7H - he may bring a sense of stability and structure to their relationship but also struggling to form a intimate connection

Pluto in 6H - he has the ability to make changes in her lifestyle. He may have expertise or knowledge that helps her transform her routines and habits, for personal growth and healing

Jupiter / Neptune in 8H - she may have fantasies about being in a relationship with him, creating a sense of intimacy and connection

Uranus in 10H - a sudden change in their public image and the way they present themselves, she inclined to showcase their connection in a more formal manner and keep it professional

His Mars conjunct her Lilith - he draws her attention and she finds it difficult to take her eyes off him when they are in the same room - An intense magnetic attraction and a sense of fascination between them

➻✧

Her Solar Return (SR) to His Solar Return (SR)

Sun / Mercury in 8H - there are feelings between them, but they have never directly expressed them to each other. Both have been hiding a lot of things and have not been honest about their feelings

Moon / Jupiter / Neptune in 7H - she desires an intimate connection with him, but she tends to keep it in her mind and doesn't actively pursue it

Venus / Mars / Saturn in 6H - she often appears in his workplace, work related relationships

Pluto in 5H - a feeling of sexual tension between them, even though neither of them has spoken about it openly

Vertex in 4H / Her Vertex conjunct his IC - a deep bond and the potential for a home-like, family-oriented relationship. There is a sense of emotional security, and they feel comfortable and natural when they are together. But she is introverted and finds it challenging to openly share her feelings

Lilith in 10H - She adds tension to his goals in his work but she respects him so much or be highly captivated by him.

Uranus in 9H - she has a sudden travel and an escape trip with him to a foreign place, that can expand their minds and create unexpected and exciting experiences

➻✧ Part 2 - to be continued

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[lovingluxury]

「 sleep tight. 」

「 honkai: star rail. | scenario. 」

𒈔ٍ⃛ㅤ ㅤ it was lonely in the archives without you. Even more when you decided to no longer be part of the express.

𝜗𝜚

𒈔ٍ⃛ㅤ ㅤ Dan Heng x gn!reader | angst with light horror elements

𒈔ٍ⃛ㅤ ㅤ word count: 846

𒈔ٍ⃛ㅤ ㅤ warnings: nightmares.

He misses the time when was reminded to go to bed just before he almost pulled an all-nighter another time. He misses the time when food stood ready on his table in the archives, as he came back from the toilet, remembering he missed lunch once again.

But he had you. He had you to remember him every time. He had.

He had…

He misses the time you sat with him in the archives, idly reading a book on his bed. Your music coming so loud out of your headphones, he listened with you. Sometimes the sweet melody of a duet of the violin and the piano was to be heard, sometimes the soft tunes of an OST of the game you started recently, sometimes the hard bass of some underground band, only few people in the galaxy heard about when asked.

Dan Heng didn’t even have to look in the direction of his bed, he knew you were there. And now, every time he turns around to stand up, he is surprised to not see you there. Not sitting in his bed, frowning at the book.

He is surprised.

Surprised you’re not there.

Not there to keep him company.

His gaze did not move from the spot you should've been seated, but you're not. And he feels how a stone is resting on his heart, adding more weight to it. Like he doesn't have enough.

His eyes get smaller, now deeply in his thoughts. Would he have a chance to convince you to stay longer on the express? Would he had you longer by his side, if he dared to ask you?

His gaze falls on the wooden glock you gifted him when you came back from one of your trips with March. It remembered you of him, you said. Almost 2 AM. Again, he was on the best way to pull a one-nighter again. And after so long, he feels drained. He lays down on his rather uncomfortable bed and closes his eyes. He rolled over on his left side, then his right, and again on his left side, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. Eventually, he falls asleep. And the nightmares start to haunt him again, uglier than ever before.

It started slow, melancholic. You sat on one of the perfectly cleaned couches in the train’s lounge with a book in one hand, the weight of the hardcover resting in your hand. Slow jazz filled the room, coming from the gramophone. The scenery gave off an unfamiliar vibe.

He went in your direction and called out your name, but you didn’t seem to react. Your frowning expression was still fixated on the book in your hand. He stopped in front of you, only for you to disappear after he blinked.

He stepped back, batting his lashes a few more times to realise what just happened. You were gone. Not even the book left behind. He turned around his axis a few times, only to stop to look at you standing beside the stairs up to the engine compartment. Your face was turned away from him, him only seeing your back.

He walked towards you, reaching out to grab your shoulder. As soon as his hand touched you, you collapsed into a mushy matter. You slipped from his grasp yet again.

What was left of you disappeared behind him, brought him to turn around only to watch you materialise into something he couldn't identify. It was a tall, slender figure out of black material. This thing stared at him with its white eyes for a few seconds before it attacked him.

He winces and opens his eyes. The dark embraces him tightly, only getting interrupted by the dim light of the data bank. It is nothing new for Dan Heng. It should be nothing new for him. But it feels so foreign, so wrong, so distant. You changed him with your embrace when you were lying beside him with a leg and arm draped over him, making him sweat underneath the blanket like hell. But he didn’t complain. He never complained around you. Now it’s cold and even the small mattress feels too big now.

He could've been lying with you longer in bed.

He could've been a little longer with you a little longer under the blanket, sweating his ass off.

But he's not.

He's not with you any longer.

You’re not with him anymore.

Alone the thought that the only person who voluntarily came to him every single time without fail is now gone chokes him. The first person in his current reincarnation who truly loved him is now gone. It ripped every single bit of oxygen out of his lungs, not letting a little bit of escape.

And he knows, would you have been with him, you would have given him all of your oxygen straight out of your lungs.

Dan Heng should’ve stopped you from leaving the express. Or maybe he should have left with you. But he cannot run after you now. It’s already too late.

𒈔ٍ⃛ㅤ ㅤ lov’s monologe:

My entry for the personal memories (of the dearly beloved) event from @thexianzhoujade with the prompt viii. “it’s okay if you can’t catch your breath, you can take the oxygen straight out of my own chest.” | atlas: two. Although I used more of the first part of the song as inspiration.

My first time writing angst (especially in english). I have some failed attempts in the past, but I wasn’t happy with them. This time I also tried to put some horror elements in it, altogether it’s not really how I wanted it. Surely it’s not a 100% how I imagined it, but it's on the right path I think.

Did I accidentally posted it before it was done? Yes ✨.

any questions? feel free to ask! — ©lovingluxury 2024 — do not translate, re-upload without permission

#「 SYSTEM 𒈔ٍ⃛ UPDATE 」 #⟢ [ ⌕ HSR ] - archived #⊹ ࣪ ˖ personal memoires ⟢ #🎭 masked fools #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗ #dan heng x reader #hsr dan heng #dan heng #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader

[elysiansparadise]

Hello Ellysian! What an incredible name. My question is what shows secret or hidden admirers from the natal chart?

Hello love, thank you so much for the compliment. In my opinion some aspects or placements are the following ->

Having hidden admirers

🖤Leo in the big 6. Because of their charm, beauty, inner fire and their commanding and strong personality. 

🖤Scorpio  in the big 6. Because of their intensity and magnetism, people don’t dare to come out from the shadows because they can be easily intimidated by the native. 

🖤Capricorn  in the big 6. Because of their professionalism, power and the fact that other people think they are superior in some way. May attract people that don't want to disappoint them.

🖤Neptune or Pluto in the 5th/11th houses axis [or ruling those houses]. As you may know, I have a theory that consists in the 5th house showing how your admirers perceive you in the same way that the 11th house. 11th house shows how your fans are, in this case, the kings of mystery [Neptune and Pluto] can be great indicators of hidden fans. While the 5th house is the way that your fans perceive you, in this case, powerful and somehow distant, by that they keep themselves from being loud about their admiration in some cases. 

🖤Neptune in the/ruling 7th house. They easily attract people who are very drawn to them [almost dreaming and fantasizing about them], but usually keep it on the low. 

🖤Pluto in the/ruling 7th house. Similar to the previous point, these natives attract people that are very drawn at them but are more private about it. Sometimes those admirers can reach a certain degree of fixation or intense attraction. 

🖤Pluto in the 1st house. It is very usual in these natives, as they are seen as mysterious or unapproachable in some way. They intimidate and hypnotize you at the same time.

🖤Pluto in the 10th house. Their first impression is very strong, they catch your attention and somehow you don't want to screw things with them, so many don't go talk to them, they are able to make people shy easily.

🖤Venus in the 12th house. These are especially for romantic interests, they can attract many people without realizing it and they will choose to look at them from afar, they may be afraid to make a first move or ruin the chances with them.

🖤Neptune or Pluto in the 12th house. The 12th house shows people that we subconsciously attract, so the presence of these two planets [perfectly the protagonists of this post] tells us that they tend to attract people who give them a lot of importance in their lives, very into them but many times [or at least at the beginning of this "connection"] they prefer to keep it to themselves.

🖤Lilith in the 1st, 7th, 8th, 10th or 11th house.

🖤Venus/Moon inconjunct Pluto or Neptune [especially if Venus or Moon are in Air houses, 3rd, 7th or 11th].

🖤Any of the angles [1st, 4th, 7th, 10th] in Leo degrees -05°, 17°, 29°- or Scorpio degrees -08°, 20°-. The image of the native is something that easily fascinates other people, however it can also intimidate in a certain way, so it is usual to see many people drawn at them who prefer not to tell them anything.

🖤Midheaven-Pluto/Neptune aspects, especially tense ones like squares, oppositions or conjunctions.

🖤Sun-Pluto / Sun-Neptune tense aspects.

🖤Other indicators are stelliums in the 8th and/or 12th house.

🖤Being either a Neptune or a Pluto dominant may have a lot to do with this.

🖤Ruler of the 7th house in the 8th/12th house. Ruler of the 10th house in the 8th/12th house. Ruler of the 11th house in the 8th/12th house

#astrology #natal chart #astro note #astro observations #astro observation #birth chart

[nasa]

Why Do X-Ray Mirrors Look So Unusual?

Does the object in this image look like a mirror? Maybe not, but that’s exactly what it is! To be more precise, it’s a set of mirrors that will be used on an X-ray telescope. But why does it look nothing like the mirrors you’re familiar with? To answer that, let’s first take a step back. Let’s talk telescopes.

How does a telescope work?

The basic function of a telescope is to gather and focus light to amplify the light’s source. Astronomers have used telescopes for centuries, and there are a few different designs. Today, most telescopes use curved mirrors that magnify and focus light from distant objects onto your eye, a camera, or some other instrument. The mirrors can be made from a variety of materials, including glass or metal.

Space telescopes like the James Webb and Hubble Space Telescopes use large mirrors to focus light from some of the most distant objects in the sky. However, the mirrors must be tailored for the type and range of light the telescope is going to capture—and X-rays are especially hard to catch.

X-rays versus mirrors

X-rays tend to zip through most things. This is because X-rays have much smaller wavelengths than most other types of light. In fact, X-rays can be smaller than a single atom of almost every element. When an X-ray encounters some surfaces, it can pass right between the atoms!

Doctors use this property of X-rays to take pictures of what’s inside you. They use a beam of X-rays that mostly passes through skin and muscle but is largely blocked by denser materials, like bone. The shadow of what was blocked shows up on the film.

This tendency to pass through things includes most mirrors. If you shoot a beam of X-rays into a standard telescope, most of the light would go right through or be absorbed. The X-rays wouldn’t be focused by the mirror, and we wouldn’t be able to study them.

X-rays can bounce off a specially designed mirror, one turned on its side so that the incoming X-rays arrive almost parallel to the surface and glance off it. At this shallow angle, the space between atoms in the mirror's surface shrinks so much that X-rays can't sneak through. The light bounces off the mirror like a stone skipping on water. This type of mirror is called a grazing incidence mirror.

A metallic onion

Telescope mirrors curve so that all of the incoming light comes to the same place. Mirrors for most telescopes are based on the same 3D shape — a paraboloid. You might remember the parabola from your math classes as the cup-shaped curve. A paraboloid is a 3D version of that, spinning it around the axis, a little like the nose cone of a rocket. This turns out to be a great shape for focusing light at a point.

Mirrors for visible and infrared light and dishes for radio light use the “cup” portion of that paraboloid. For X-ray astronomy, we cut it a little differently to use the wall. Same shape, different piece. The mirrors for visible, infrared, ultraviolet, and radio telescopes look like a gently-curving cup. The X-ray mirror looks like a cylinder with very slightly angled walls.

The image below shows how different the mirrors look. On the left is one of the Chandra X-ray Observatory’s cylindrical mirrors. On the right you can see the gently curved round primary mirror for the Stratospheric Observatory for Infrared Astronomy telescope.

If we use just one grazing incidence mirror in an X-ray telescope, there would be a big hole, as shown above (left). We’d miss a lot of X-rays! Instead, our mirror makers fill in that cylinder with layers and layers of mirrors, like an onion. Then we can collect more of the X-rays that enter the telescope, giving us more light to study.

Nested mirrors like this have been used in many X-ray telescopes. Above is a close-up of the mirrors for an upcoming observatory called the X-ray Imaging and Spectroscopy Mission (XRISM, pronounced “crism”), which is a Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency (JAXA)-led international collaboration between JAXA, NASA, and the European Space Agency (ESA).

The XRISM mirror assembly uses thin, gold-coated mirrors to make them super reflective to X-rays. Each of the two assemblies has 1,624 of these layers packed in them. And each layer is so smooth that the roughest spots rise no more than one millionth of a millimeter.

Why go to all this trouble to collect this elusive light? X-rays are a great way to study the hottest and most energetic areas of the universe! For example, at the centers of certain galaxies, there are black holes that heat up gas, producing all kinds of light. The X-rays can show us light emitted by material just before it falls in.

Stay tuned to NASA Universe on Twitter and Facebook to keep up with the latest on XRISM and other X-ray observatories.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#NASA #spaceblr #astronomy #telescope #universe #astrophysics #XRISM #Chandra #x-ray vision #x-ray #space #technology #tech

[apod]

2023 December 29

Shakespeare in Space Image Credit: NASA, ESA, CSA, STScI

Explanation: In 1986, Voyager 2 became the only spacecraft to explore ice giant planet Uranus close up. Still, this newly released image from the NIRCam (Near-Infrared Camera) on the James Webb Space Telescope offers a detailed look at the distant world. The tilted outer planet rotates on its axis once in about 17 hours. Its north pole is presently pointed near our line of sight, offering direct views of its northern hemisphere and a faint but extensive system of rings. Of the giant planet's 27 known moons, 14 are annotated in the image. The brighter ones show hints of Webb's characteristic diffraction spikes. And though these worlds of the outer Solar System were unknown in Shakespearean times, all but two of the 27 Uranian moons are named for characters in the English Bard's plays.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap231229.html