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purpleyoonn · 8 days

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The Line Between Love and War 12

C H A P T E R 1 2: PTD D1 AND OVERSTIMULATION

“It is said that the night sky is made up of tiny wishes that humans were never able to fulfill. That the stars only became bright by the fulfillment of those wishes. In your eyes, the stars that shine never seemed real, your childhood wishes dark and dim as you grow. But now, now you understand the twinkle in their eyes as they look down at you.”

Summary: Your experiences told you that soulmates were something you would never have the pleasure of having; something not given to you because of who you are, despite the soulmark that resides on your inner left wrist. During your solo trip to Los Angeles, you find out that you are more than capable, that your soulmates had been waiting for you for a long time, and would not be letting you go anytime soon.

Genre: soulmate au, bts au, idol bts, polyamory relationship, eventual smut

Paring: Idol!BTS x autistic!mc

Status: Ongoing (randomly updated)

Warnings: mental illness, talk of disability, lots of angst, miscommunication, feelings of depression, feelings of isolation, polyamory bts, stalking, dangerous behavior, eventual smut,

Chapter Warnings: the concert, overstimulation, shut downs, not much, lots of feelings,

Taglist: @azazel-nyx @yuzon3 @hannahdinse8 @quirkybtsarmy @mageprincess7 @fluffy-canada-pancakes @suckerforv @chaoticthingpizza @drissteele @carolinexkpop @avadakadabra93 @lachimolala22019 @justaweird0 @singukieee @welcometomyworld13 @toughbook @kimana122 @kpopmultistantrashsstuff @0funsite0 @joyless-living @sinceritythatcouldntbedelivered @elliott-calls @psychosupernatural

Masterlist // Chapter 11 // Chapter 13

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Previously on The Line Between Love and War:

“Alright then. We well let Sejin and Seungho know. For now, I would appreciate if I could have some pre-concert kisses from my littlest mate.” Namjoon reached his arms out, pouting his lip a little knowing it would cause you to laugh at him.

You struggle to get yourself out of Hobi and Taehyung’s embrace, who noticeably tightened their grip once Namjoon opened his arms.

“Heyyyy, not nice!” You whine, finally pulling yourself away and falling into Namjoon’s arms.

“But we want pre-concert kisses too!” Taehyung whined back, making you laugh again, hiding your face in Namjoon’s neck.

You could already hear Army beginning to enter the arena, voices and screams echoing as the pre-concert videos started to play on the big screens. Taehyung was sitting with you, having finished getting ready first. He was in the middle of making sure you were okay being in the security gates in front of everyone else. He knew how loud noises made you feel.

“Don’t worry Tae! I’ve got the headphones that Yoongi gave me.” You smiled wide at him, hoping that would reassure your stressed-looking mate. It didn’t reassure him at all though. He opened his mouth to say something else but was cut off by Seungho.

“Come on, Y/n. We need to get you to your seat before the boys start.” Seungho gives Taehyung an apologetic glance and nod before he starts to lead you out of the room. But before you can leave, you turn around and quickly give each of the boys a hug, not wanting to kiss them in case it ruins the make up the make-up artists spent so long on.

“Good luck! I’m so excited!” You tell the last part to Seungho as you hold your hands up to your chest, your fists shaking in excitement.

You went from traveling about a week early to experience Los Angeles by yourself because you couldn’t get any tickets to now having seven soulmates and being able to attend not just one, but all four of the PTD La concerts. Your entire life literally changed at the blink of any eye, or well, more like running into a wall.

“This is your first concert, correct?” Seungho asked you, not remembering if you’ve attended anything before.

“Yes!” You exclaimed back, your fists still shaking as you make it to the stairs that will get you to the ground floor and into the security gates in front of the stage. There was a good maybe ten feet between the security gates for the floor seats and the stage where the boys would be performing.

Hobi explained it to you that you would have a seat in the section right in front of the edge of the stage, and that it wouldn’t be close to the floor seats where Army is seated.

They were worried to say the least. While they loved Army, and trusted them with you, they also knew there were some “fans” who were not happy that they found their last soulmate, and that it wasn’t any of them. They wanted you to be safe, which was why they wanted you up with their family in the box. Obviously, due to your fear of heights, they had to figure something else out, wanting you to experience their concert like an Army.

Seungho escorts you to the seat set aside but you don’t sit down, to excited and pumped up. You stood watching the stage, taking everything in. It seemed way different than it did earlier before sound check. The entire atmosphere was different. You could feel the energy and excitement of every single Army coming in and finding their seats. Some even running down to the 100’s section.

What caught your eye though was the people who had soundcheck coming back down to the floor section, all running towards you. You startled, Seungho moving directly in front of you once he caught the movement of the crowd. You held onto his arm before letting go just as quickly, not knowing if he was comfortable with your touch.

Despite your aversion to touch, you felt safe with him; you just didn’t know if he also had an aversion to touch and you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

However, a single, subtle nod from him let you know your actions were okay, holding onto his arm again as you try to peak over or around his broad shoulders to see the group of Armies still running your way. You didn’t know if it was because you were directly in front of the stage or what, but seeing a group of men and women running towards you scared the crap out of you.

Now you understand how celebrities feel when fans spot them out and about, without security with them.

“Stay behind me please, Y/n.” Seungho told you, feeling you trying to peek around him. He had a feeling they were rushing for you, trying to get close to the barrier in front of you. He had been watching your social media, following the discussions and posts about you. You were well liked by a lot of people, and also not so liked by some. He didn’t know which it was coming for you tonight, and he didn’t like it.

You could hear your name being called; pictures being taken of you. It was weird and seemed a bit unreal, just like earlier when you did the Instagram live. You could feel some other members of the boys’ security team moving to help Seungho.

“Seungho, I think they are just excited. I don’t think they’ll hurt me. I have you to help protect me. Plus, there is about five feet between my seat and the barrier.” You were not going to lie, you were freaking out. But you didn’t want Seungho or the boys to have to worry about you the entire time, and if Seungho continued to try and hide you from Army, you knew that would happen.

He looked back at you, and seeing how serious you were, only moved a couple inches to the left, still in front of you but not necessarily hiding you. Taking a deep breath, and trying to hide your nervous stimming, you looked at Army.

“Hi guys! Please enjoy the concert! The boys have worked super hard and are so excited to see you guys again.” You spoke loudly, not wanting to yell in Seungho’s ears as he still stood close.

“Y/n! What song are you excited for?”

“Y/n! Have you completed the bond yet?”

“Who is your bias?”

You ignored the second question, and the others like it that were being yelled your way, instead, you tried to answer some of the questions, but didn’t want to make the night about yourself. This night was about the boys, not you.

“Please guys, the concert is about to start!” You decided to move back to your seat and not stand in front of the barrier anymore.

You were now actively stimming, your body trying to help you feel more comfortable with the attention and new experiences. Your fists were clenched in front of you, shaking fast back and forth. It was a stim you’ve been doing since you were a kid, something you did when you got really excited or happy. You tried not to, despite how much you needed to, because you always felt embarrassed when doing that particular stim. You had been made fun of before for doing it, so instead you rocked your body forwards and backwards slowly.

It took a couple more minutes before you could hear the intro starting, music slowly becoming louder until the boys came on stage from below. It also took the same amount of time for you to become completely overwhelmed and overstimulated. Despite your headphones, the music was loud and seemed to be louder than the screams behind you. The lights were flashing and the movement of the boys on stage had you practically shutting down. The stares you could feel on your back didn’t help, either.

You tried hard not to though, even though you know you needed it. Your boys needed this more. This was the first concert for them since the pandemic started and the went into the army. You knew they were happy being back on stage after so long and didn’t want to ruin anything for them. You wanted them to see you happy and not having any issues. You didn’t want them to worry.

You could feel the sting from your nails digging into your palm as you clenched your hands. Your voice gone as you tried to show some kind of emotion resembling happiness or awe on your face. You didn’t need Seungho trying to bring you back into the dressing room and alerting everyone that something was wrong.

So, you spent the rest of the concert rocking back and forth and mouthing along to all the songs the boys sang. Your nails were practically stuck in your palm and you were stuck in your head. You could tell the cord connecting your mouth and brain wasn’t connected anymore and didn’t know when it would again.

You just wanted Jungkook to hold you and rub your back again but figured you probably wouldn’t get that tonight. They would probably be too pumped up with adrenal after the concert to do anything other than want to celebrate with army like normal.

You could probably get away with cuddling up to Yoongi’s sweatshirt again as you laid in your shared bed. You didn’t want to bother them when they shared this excitement and happiness with army after so long. The last thing you wanted was to be a burden.

-*-*-

Despite being completely overstimulated, you thought the concert was amazing. You don’t think you would go to one again, but you could see why so many people always praised your soulmates’ concerts and performance skills.

You waited in the dressing room as the last notes of the last song play out throughout the stadium speakers. Seungho had thought it a safety issue to exit with the rest of army to try and make it backstage. So, he had taken you back during the second to last song.

You still haven’t spoken a word, and Seungho could tell something was wrong. Your facial expression was vacant and it seemed as though your eyes were glazed over as you stared down at the small table in front of you. He was worried.

You almost didn’t notice the arrival of your soulmates, mind gone to the stimulation you felt.

“Hey baby! Did you have fun?” Jin came up and sat next to you on the loveseat, securing the spot next to you before anyone else. It was a couple of hours until his birthday and he was feeling the excitement of having his birthday with his finally complete soulbond group.

But once he saw you, zoned out and not even registering their entrance, he had a feeling of what was going on. He was reminded of the closet incidence, your wide eyes glazed and unable to track what was going on. He moved in front of you, kneeling down so he could catch your eye.

“Baby?” Jin tried, but you were gone. He now had the attention of the others, and Taehyung and Yoongi made it over first.

“What should we do? Should we hold her like last time?” Taehyung asked, remembering how Jungkook held you in his arms and how the physical contact helped bring you back.

“Here, let me try something.” Namjoon took control, switching places with Jin who now sat back next to you. Their movement didn’t phase you, your eyes still glazed over.

Namjoon moved slowly, just in case you came back to, and moved so his palm was cupping your cheek. At his touch, your eyes became focused again and he could see how truly tired you were.

“Hi baby girl. Are you okay?” He knew you weren’t but he still needed to know if something was physically wrong, and you seemed to know his intention as you shook your head no. At this response, they all knew you were nonverbal; Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung all watching from the back as their hyungs take over the situation.

“How about we go back to the hotel, and have a relaxing night, hmm?” Namjoon asks but stops as you shake your head, grabbing tightly to his forearm. His face scrunched up in concern, wondering what was going on through your head.

You swallow your spit, trying your hardest to push words through your lips, only for them to keep getting caught in the back of your throat. Finally, you manage to push through one word, hoping they understand what you mean.

“Celebrate.” You word is raspy, as if you had a bad cold recently.

They had just gotten back from the military only months ago, managed to plan two weekends worth of content and concerts for Army, and as only a fan could know, they usually celebrated the concert afterwards with a live. You didn’t want that taken away from Army, and you didn’t want the boys to break a tradition just because you got overstimulated. It didn’t seem fair in any way.

You would be fine; you always were before. Yeah, it might take time, but you would be fine.

Army needed the boys more than you right now.

“What do you mean baby?” Jimin asked from behind Hobi, eyes narrowed in confusion as he watches your expression.

You knew you couldn’t push out another word, so you grabbed Namjoon’s palm from your cheek and held it flat in front of you, using your pointer finger you traced the word Army on his palm, hoping he would get it. You even trace it in Hangul when he didn’t get it in English.

“You want us to celebrate with Army?” Namjoon finally realizes what you were trying to say, nodding his head as it clicks.

You nod your head in response but stop once you see the look on your soulmates faces. You could tell they didn’t understand why you were asking them that. Why you wanted them to celebrate with army even when you weren’t doing good.

So, you pull out the big guns, something Jimin taught you when Jin kept telling you no more ice cream. Jimin said it would bring out an immediate ‘yes’ from the hyungs every time, so you tried it.

You pulled out the puppy dog eyes and the lip pout.

An immediate round of groans sounded throughout the room, every single one of your soulmates looked away from you, trying not to be drawn in by your expression.

To seal the deal, you brought your hands together, folded in a way that everyone usually added with pleading words, but you couldn’t speak right now, so you held your clenched hands up close to your face.

Eventually, Jin was the one who folded.

“Alright baby! But we have some conditions.” He raised an eyebrow at you as you turned to face him.

“We’ll do the live as long as you are there with us, so we can see you and make sure you’re okay. You’re going to drink some water, and let one of us hold you until the live, because that helped you a lot last time.” You knew they were talking about the last time you got too overstimulated, so you agreed.

Maybe selfishly, though, you agreed to the terms. You kind of just wanted to be cocooned in like a little safety nest as you watched the boys do their live, maybe covered in one of their shirts or sweaters again. They always made you feel safe and comfortable and were slowly becoming a part of your collection of safe clothing.

“Okay, boys, lets grab our things so we can get back to the hotel. Namjoon, why don’t you grab out little soulmate and go get into the car, we’ll grab your things.” Jin clapped his hands together after moving the night along, wanting to get back to the hotel.

It didn’t take but a couple seconds for Namjoon to pick you up, his hands moving under your thighs and holding you to him so you were chest to chest.

“Come here baby. Let’s go.” You looked around for your backpack, only to see Seungho handing it off to Jungkook who had deemed your backpack his responsibility. You can’t fight him for carrying you this time, exhaustion finally hitting you as you tuck your head into the curve of your soulmate’s neck.

It was a good thing too, as you didn’t realize some fans had figured out where the boys’ vans were and had been waiting outside for you all to leave, phones at the ready to take pictures and videos. This also meant that it would take longer to get back to the hotel, as some fans loved trying to follow the boys to figure out where you all were staying.

One of Namjoon’s hands moved from your holding your thigh to covering your face, protecting you in what he considers a vulnerable moment. He walked faster, Sejin moving with him so he could open the door for you both before having a word with one of the drivers.

Even as you get into the car, and Namjoon’s sits down, he still holds you on his lap, crossing his arms behind your back so you were practically glued to his chest. He moved his left hand lower, almost touching your butt as he moves his hand under your shirt, making contact with your back and begins rubbing his hand up and down your back. He knew this helped you last time and it was one of the only things he had to go on right now as far as helping you out of your shut down.

You both wait patiently for your other soulmates, time passing slowly as you turn your head and watch fans take pictures of the van. You knew they couldn’t get pictures of you through the tinted windows, but you still felt a little vulnerable. You were unable to protect yourself in anyway, nonverbal and in the middle of a shutdown, and it was a little daunting.

You turned your head back into Namjoon’s neck, your head resting against his chest as you watch the boys all begin to make their way quickly to the vans. Jungkook, Hobi, and Yoongi made their way into your van, while the others went into the first one.

“Okay, so Sejin is going to separate our vans, each going a separate way to make it back to the hotel so we aren’t followed. We also have three deco vans waiting to draw confusion.” Yoongi’s voice was raspy and slow from the concert and his own emotions.

He, along with the others were feeling a lot of emotions from finally being able to perform at a concert for Army, but also watching you shut down from the very same concert. It was a lot.

“How is she?” Jungkook asks quietly.

Out of all your soulmates, Jungkook seems to have taken on most of the responsibility for your care and well-being on himself. He finally has a soulmate younger than him, that can rely on him and that he can provide for. So, for him, he has put the responsibility on his own shoulders, something his soulmates have already talked to him about.

“I’m okay.”

You were. You had just been relishing in Namjoon’s touch and had felt the connection build again between your brain and mouth. You still weren’t used to being taken care of, to mean something to other people, and you knew it would take a while but you loved the way they worried about you, the way they cared for you.

It was the same way you cared for them.

-*-*-

It had taken you over an hour to make it back to the hotel. There had been several vehicles trying to follow you, the final car getting lost at a traffic light about fifteen minutes ago. To be safe, the driver kept driving around.

Your van had been the last to make it back to the hotel, and when you go to the room, a small bundle of blankets and pillows, along with some of the boys’ sweaters had been made into a little nest for you by the far wall close to the kitchen. You were in perfect view of the boys as the couches and chairs had been rearranged so they could all be in view of the camera.

When Namjoon let you down, a bundle of clothes had been shoved into your hand as Jimin led you to your shared room with Yoongi and Jin to change. Jimin walked into the bathroom while you changed into a pair of your comfy leggings and one of Taehyung’s shirts.

After doing your skincare for you, wanting you to feel nice and clean while you waited for them to be finished, Jimin helped you back into the living room and into your small nest, bundling Jin and Jungkook’s sweater around you while you watched the boys set up snacks and drinks on the coffee table.

“Okay, now, don’t move.” Jimin pointed his finger at you, his face scrunching playfully as he tries to make you smile. And it works, a small giggle making its way out of your mouth catching the attention of your soulmates.

“Here,” he pulls your phone out of his back pocket, pulling up the live on it before handing it to you. “Keep an eye out for questions you think we should answer, okay baby?” He asks you, wanting you to still be involved in their tradition with Army. While he would rather you be seated with them on the couch, he knows it’s not what you need right now.

“I will, Minnie.” You nod and smile tiredly at his request. He smiles back, kissing you softly before pulling back entirely, Jungkook taking his place with a bottle of water for you. He stays quiet, kissing your forehead before moving to sit with Hobi and Joon on the couch.

You watch them as the live starts, hundreds of questions showing up on the screen as thousands of viewers turn into millions. At first a lot of the questions are about you, why Namjoon was seen carrying you out of the venue and some were even asking why you stayed seated the entire concert.

The boys said a simple response to questions about you. They agreed that they wanted to stop the rumors of any health issues or problems while they could, especially after Namjoon was seen carrying you out.

“Y/n is doing okay and is resting here with us after a long and overstimulating day. She had a lot of new experiences and is in the middle of processing them.” Namjoon spoke in his leader voice, glancing at you for a few seconds as he speaks.

The questions and comments continue, but this time mainly about the boys and the concerts and their upcoming plans. You even commented a few things, trying to remember what it felt like to be Army, commenting “I love you” and hoping they would see it.

You did that the entire time, finding cute little comments and even yelling out “Yoongi Marry Me” every time you saw it which did not amuse your cute soulmate who only looked your way while the others laughed every time. You also drank your entire bottled water, knowing that was one of the promises you made to Jin.

And in the end, once the live was finished, he was the first to go to you, picking you up out of your little nest and into his arms. You were feeling a lot better, no longer overstimulated due to your soulmates care.

“How are you feeling, baby?” You could hear the concern in his voice.

“I’m doing a lot better! You all always seem to know what to do.” You hug him tightly, kissing his jaw in a show of thanks.

“Well, I bought tickets for an amusement park for tonight for us. Do you think you might be up for it?” Jin couldn’t even finish his question before you were squealing in his ear, jumping from his hold and rushing to your shared room.

“I guess that is a yes.” He told Yoongi and Taehyung who were staring at Jin, seeing the entire thing before walking off to the room.

Jimin and Jungkook were already in the room, helping you pick out a matching outfit with Jin, who was going in a pair of his overalls and a white shirt. He wanted you all to match, but you and Jimin were the only ones who currently had a pair of overalls to wear.

You were excited, jumping in your seat as you waited for everyone else to get ready to go. You loved the rides and playing the games but you think your favorite was the food. You never really went to the fair often, which was as close to an amusement park as you had gotten, your mother thinking going to a big field full of people of all walks of life below her standing.

But you loved it and couldn’t wait to experience it with your soulmates.

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m1ckeyb3rry · 1 month

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── THE GLASS PRINCESS // ELEVEN

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: Your evening with Lee is cut short by the arrival of a strange boy with hooked swords. Instead, you go to the fountain and reveal your greatest secret to the Blue Spirit.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.0k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: i hope you guys don’t think i’m insane for how often i’m updating

Something amazing had just happened to you, and there was no one you wanted to tell more than Kuei. Your brother, who you loved more than anything. You could envision his pride already, the way his face would glow when he saw it, the way he’d pick you up and spin you around and tell you how happy he was.

It was as you ran down the carpeted hallway towards his chambers that you heard hushed voices coming from the room where your brother’s council of advisors met. He was still young, of course, a child as you were, and so the daily goings-on of the kingdom were managed by these advisors, who were all specialists in their field and had advised your father before Kuei.

Always more interested than your brother in this type of affair, you rested your back against the wall by the door, holding your breath so that you did not alert the men to your presence. They were speaking quietly, but they had left the door ajar by mistake, and so it was not very difficult for you to listen in.

“That boy is no king,” the first said. “Do you think his father would let Long Feng walk over him like that?”

“He is still a child,” the second said. “We cannot expect much from him.”

“Even as a child, he has no interest in learning statecraft, nor the history of his kingdom. He’s far too busy playing with his sister and drawing pictures of bears in his lesson book to absorb anything of use. I fear his reign will lead to the end of the kingdom as we know it,” the first argued. At this, the second sighed.

“You’re right about that much, to be sure. He does not have the power to back up the few proclamations he makes. What kind of general obeys a king like that?” the second said.

You swallowed, for these were words you knew to be treasonous. They were speaking ill of your brother, of the King Kuei, and they ought to lose their stations for it. There was nothing you could do, though; even if Kuei would believe you, who else would? Who would discharge two premier advisors on the words of a little girl?

“If only he were born an Earthbender,” the first said. “Then he could be trained. Then there would be a way that he could eventually gain the respect of the rest of the council.”

“There hasn’t been an Earth King who could Earthbend in many decades now,” the second said. “At this point, I’d even take a queen, if she could just do that much.”

“What do you mean by that?” the first said. The second huffed.

“You know. That sister of his,” he said. “If she shows some promise…if she can lift even a pebble…then we will do what we must in order for the kingdom to have a strong ruler.”

“You’d kill the king in favor of a queen?” the first said.

“If she can Earthbend, then I’ll kill anyone for her to rule,” the second said bluntly. “It’s about time that the world was reminded of why Shan’s line is so feared.”

“You are more daring than I thought, old friend!” the first said. “Let’s vow to keep an eye on the young princess. The moment she gives us a hint that she can Earthbend, we will strike.”

“And if she doesn’t?” the second said.

“Then we’ve lost nothing but a few spare moments spent caring for our dear king’s heir,” the first said. “It’ll only make us look better in the eyes of the royals. We really cannot lose in this scenario.”

“You’re right,” the second said.

You didn’t stay to hear the rest of it. Staring at your palms in horror, those very palms which might lead to your brother’s death, you ran back to your room as fast as you could, pressing your hands over your ears as you chanted the same thing to yourself under your breath, over and over like it was a mantra.

“I am not an Earthbender. I am not an Earthbender. I am not an Earthbender.”

“You know, I had a lot of fun with you,” you said, pulling on the end of Lee’s sleeve to get his attention. “Lee, I really am being serious. I enjoyed it.”

The two of you had spent the rest of the afternoon doing random things around Ba Sing Se. You had bought lunch for you both, and Lee had argued with the vendor until he agreed to give you the food for half-price, after which you had sat by the fountain and eaten together. It was surprisingly nice, even though neither of you had spoken much. Oddly, you didn’t mind silence with him. It was alright. It was nice, even.

“Yeah, whatever,” Lee said. “I guess you could say I had fun, too.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to admit that you like spending time with me,” you said.

“It might,” he said.

“Oh, save it. At the minimum, won’t you say that it was better than working the afternoon shift?” you said.

“That much is true,” he allowed. “But it’s back to work for me now. It’s just about time for the evening round to start.”

“For shame,” you said. “Let this not be the last time we do something like this together.”

“Okay,” he said gamely. You were actually taken aback, not expecting him to agree so readily. Lee was one of those particularly contrary people, the type to refuse on principle, even if he harbored no real misgivings, so for him to just say yes was out of character. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Did you like your lunch that much?” you said.

“Huh?” he said.

“It’s just that I wasn’t expecting you to acquiesce so quickly. Normally, you would’ve pretended to deliberate over it for at least a minute or two,” you said.

“You told me a good story,” he said. “Do you blame me for wanting to hear more?”

“Ah, so I’m your new theology lecturer,” you said. “You should’ve said so from the start.”

“Not exactly,” he said, staring at his feet as he walked. “You’re something else.”

“Something else! And may I be privy to what that might be?” you said.

“No,” he said. “It’s for me to know, not you!”

By his tone alone, you could understand what that something else could represent, but you did not force him to explain further. He always gave you these considerations, never made you talk more than you offered, never demanded you elaborate, so you did the same for him, only humming a song your brother used to sing to you as you entered the tea house.

“This is where we must part, then,” you said when you and he reached the counter. Lee pulled his apron down from its hook and tied it back on miserably, already dimming, though you had not noticed until it was vanished that he had been close to happiness the entire time the two of you had been together.

“Lee, Y/N! You’re back!” Mushi said as he exited the kitchen. “How was it?”

You arched a brow at Lee, jerking your head towards Mushi, indicating that he had to respond in his own words. It was not just because it was polite; you wanted to hear it, too. What would he tell his uncle about the outing? What had he thought of it?

He finished tying the apron behind his back in a neat bow and rolled his sleeves up again, revealing his sinewy forearms. It was something you had always taken note of: he was far more well-built than you would’ve expected of an ordinary citizen. It was closer to the lithe musculature of the higher-ranked soldiers, but you had never come up with a satisfactory explanation for why he was like that.

“We had a good time,” he said shortly. “Am I serving or washing this time?”

“That is great to hear,” Mushi said. “I told you you would! And I think they want you serving tonight.”

He said something under his breath that you could not quite catch, but then he nodded, ducking beneath the counter to produce a tray. And though it meant that you would be late to the lighting of the fountain lamps, where you might meet the Blue Spirit, you found yourself lingering, trying to squeeze out every bit of time you could spend with Lee until you had to go for good.

You weren’t sure why you wanted to. It was a realization you were on the brink of arriving at, but you hadn’t quite reached yet. It just remained that that was how it was, that you preferred arguing with him to speaking fondly with anyone else, that you’d rather sit in silence with him than have an avid discussion with another person.

“Hey,” Lee said, pausing before you with the empty tray in his hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“What a turn of events,” you said. “The very boy who tried to ban me from the shop is now inviting me back.”

“And the very girl who was once illiterate is now telling stories of her own,” he said with a wry half-grin. “Things change.”

The door slammed open, almost bursting off of its hinges, and you all but leapt out of your skin as a boy brandished a pair of hooked swords at you and Lee, a piece of grass sticking out of his mouth, incongruous with the rest of his regalia.

“That’s enough!” he shouted. “I’ve had enough of all of you! Since no one believes me, I’ll prove it myself!”

“What are you talking about?” one of the low-level militia members who frequented the shop said. “You have about ten seconds to drop those swords, boy.”

“That boy and the old man are Firebenders!” the boy shouted. “Judging by the girl’s closeness to them, she’s in on it, too! I bet she’s a Firebender as well!”

You thought it was ironic that he was accusing his own kingdom’s princess of being from another nation, but considering no one knew who you were, you could not share the humor you derived from the ridiculous declaration. Glancing at Lee, you saw that his mouth had set into a firm line.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about! You must be confused,” Mushi said.

“I saw you warming tea!” the boy said. Almost collectively, everyone in the shop rolled their eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, speaking for the entire crowd when you did so. “He’s a tea-maker. They do tend to do that.”

“That’s not the point! How about this?” he said, jabbing his swords at the poor, defenseless Mushi, who backed away in concern. “I’ll just make you Firebend! If you do it in front of everyone, then there’s no way it can be denied any longer!”

As the boy rushed towards you, Mushi, and Lee, the militia man stood in your defense. Before he could do anything, though, Lee was taking the swords of the man’s back and pointing them at the boy.

“If it’s a show you want, then it’s a show you’ll get,” he said. You gasped as the two of them began to battle. Mushi took you by the arm, pulling you out of the way as Lee and the boy leapt atop the tables, slashing at one another with blows that were not meant to solely maim.

“What is happening?” you said as the clash made its way outside. “Since when can Lee use broadswords?”

“He’s a boy of many talents!” Mushi said as you followed the crowd outside. You hid behind him, peeping over his shoulder and clutching the back of his shirt when Lee sacrificed one of his swords so that the other boy would lose one of his.

“Will he be alright?” you said. You couldn’t understand the extent of your nerves, only that you were nervous. You didn’t want Lee to die, of course, but that was a natural reaction which any person might have. What was strange was that every time the boy’s hook whistled near Lee’s face, every time its wicked tip nearly caught on Lee’s arm, your heart leapt into your throat.

“He’s skilled, but this poor boy is confused. Someone, please help him!” Mushi said. “Oh, thank goodness.”

You weren’t sure why he was so relieved, but then you saw those familiar uniforms and squeaked before crouching behind Mushi. It was two Dai Li agents, come to take the other boy away — two Dai Li agents who, if they had turned their heads even a moment earlier, would’ve seen you and known that you had escaped the palace right under Long Feng’s nose.

“Are they gone?” you said as the crowd began to disperse. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yes, it’s all clear,” Mushi said. You looked around his legs, but he seemed to be telling the truth, so, straightening, you brushed yourself off.

“Thank Quynh,” you said with a shudder. “That was so frightening. Lee, are you fine?”

“It was nothing,” Lee said, wiping the sweat from his brow as he handed the militia man his swords back. His expression was still dark as he took off his apron and tossed it at his uncle. “I’m taking the rest of the day off, uncle.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you said, reaching out and placing your hand on his shoulder to stop him before he could stalk back into the tea shop. He whirled around, and you preemptively cringed back, already feeling sorry for asking, but it was too late.

“I said I’m fine!” he said. Upon noticing how you had already shrank away, though, his eyes widened. “Just…it’s fine. You should go, Y/N.”

“Right,” you said. “I’ll, um, see you around.”

He nodded, and then, before Mushi could convince you otherwise, before anyone could tell you to stop, you were running towards the fountain, the only place where you might find some solace, even if said solace had not come in so long.

Finding that familiar bench, you collapsed atop it, the stress of everything compounding until you were close to tears. What if Lee had really been injured? What if the Dai Li had not come in time and the boy had bested him? What if he ended up in the same state as some of the people you had seen in the Lower Ring? If he lost his arm or his leg, if another scar was sliced into his face, then what?

You had not been crying for very long when there were those same footsteps in front of you, the soft, light ones that you had all but memorized from how frequently you imagined them. Though you did not take your hands away from your face, you opened your fingers, peering through watery eyes at the figure squatting before you.

He tapped your wrists, and you let him pull your hands down, even though you were more than a little embarrassed to be found in such a state by the Blue Spirit, who always seemed so collected. Using your neckline to blot away your tears, you ignored your rational mind’s warning and threw your arms around his shoulders, resting your face against the crook of his neck.

“Things are so terrible, Blue Spirit,” you said, holding onto him as if he were an anchor. He was hesitant in reciprocating, but eventually, his own arms settled around your waist, keeping you in place if not pulling you closer. “My — my friend, have I told you about him? My friend, his name is Lee…I’d never say it to his face, but he’s someone I really admire. He’s so certain of himself and his opinions, and he’s not like Kuei or the servants at all — he’s really very witty, he can actually keep up with me and argue his own points when we speak instead of constantly bowing to my whims or dismissing them in turn! He’s my friend, my only friend, except you, but today he was attacked. Attacked! In my own city, he was attacked!”

The Blue Spirit patted you on the back. It was a little too rough to really be considered comforting, but you understand the intention and found that the effect was not lessened despite his ineptitude.

“I was so worried he might’ve been hurt,” you said. “What would have I done then? Who would I have if not him? You might not believe it, or maybe you might find it depressing, but I’ve really grown attached to him in the short time we’ve known one another. Besides you, he’s the only person who’s treated me normally, without reverence. I’m not her royal highness the princess when I’m with him. I’m just the frustrating Y/N who likes books and distracts him from his work.”

The Blue Spirit pulled away and shook his head at you. You laughed, though it was a thin, brittle sound.

“You don’t know the half of it,” you said. “It’s a wonder he gets anything done at all when I’m there. A testament to his character, maybe. Anyways, I think I’ve upset him.”

The Blue Spirit shook his head once more, but you could only stroke the cheek of his cool mask.

“Thank you for that, but I really have. It’s alright; I will apologize to him tomorrow. I was in the wrong for bothering him when he had been in such peril only seconds previously,” you said. “I’m sorry to you, as well, for burdening you with my troubles. It’s only that I hadn’t realized the truth of Ba Sing Se until now. I was told that the city was more dangerous than I expected before I came here, but until I experienced it myself, I didn’t quite appreciate what it entailed.”

The Blue Spirit nodded, using his gloved hand to swipe away the tear tracks which had dried on your face. You caught his hand and squeezed it.

“I want to show you something,” you said. “It’s a secret that I haven’t told anyone else in all my years of living, but since you’ve saved me twice already, I think that it’s alright if you know.”

He cocked his head as you trotted over to the fountain, fishing around in the water, pulling out one of the little glass lanterns that floated along the surface in the night, when the turtleducks had gone away to wherever they slept. Blowing out the candle, you smashed it against the ground, careful not to cut yourself on the twinkling shards.

“You see, the reason why I’ve been kept in the palace is because I’m a nonbender like my brother, like my father, like most of my family, in fact. It’s because I’m defenseless — or at least, because I’m thought to be,” you said. “But it’s not entirely like that. Er, the second thing is true, sadly. I am defenseless, or nearly so, but as for the rest of it…”

Gathering the pieces of glass in your palm, you concentrated on them, or, specifically, the tiny particles of earth which they were made of. It was not a feat of strength but of precision, and though you held no claim to the former, the latter was something you could proudly call yours.

Shielded by the Blue Spirit’s body on one side and the fountain on the other, the jagged edges of the glass smoothed and curled on your palm, melding together until they formed the shape you wanted them to: a sparkling lily, which you presented to the man.

“That’s the extent of it, I’m afraid,” you said as he held it up to the firelight. “Glass flowers and other such sculptures. I’m not particularly strong, you see, or if I am, then I’ve never been able to cultivate that strength. Bending exercises, repeated forms…I could not practice things like that for fear of what would become of Kuei if I did.”

He was obviously confused; you did not blame him. It was a confusing statement without the context behind it, so, staring at the rushing waters of the fountain, you began to explain.

“I was fairly young when I discovered that I could Earthbend,” you said. “I ran to tell my brother, but on the way there, I overheard a pair of his advisors saying that if I turned out to be an Earthbender, they’d kill my brother so I could take the throne. That was something I could not allow — he is my brother, you know. My only family. I could not let him die, too, so I swore off bending forever.

“I was not entirely successful. Bending is something that those of us who have it must perform frequently in order to be fulfilled, so my compromise was making things like that flower. Little artworks, which were innocuous enough that no one was ever suspicious as to their true origin. I didn’t have a traditional teacher, but Quynh — yes, the bear spirit, the patron of the Earth Kingdom, the great mother, that Quynh. I’m the princess, aren’t I? It only makes sense that she guided me. Anyways, she taught me that, if I could not train my power, then I had to refine my senses, so that I was sufficiently challenged without making my prowess obvious.

“At first, I only bent crystals, which are harder than pure earth but easier than glass to work with. Eventually, though, I grew bored of making small pieces of jewelry for Quynh, no matter how lovely she looked draped in diamonds and rubies. After that, I graduated to glass, and that’s what I do when I’m bored of reading and studying — I practice.

“I suppose you could call me the world’s only Glassbender,” you finished. “Not the first, but the only remaining, as Quynh was the only remaining bear. It’s not a very practical element, but it’s not like I’ll ever need to use it for anything but aesthetics, so for my own purposes, it’s suitable.”

The Blue Spirit admired the glass lily, and you laughed as he turned it over in his hands — a real laugh this time, not a despairing one. He was like a child, filled with such delight at the simple toy you had fashioned. For a while, he played with it, tracing each edge and crevice with his slender fingers, caressing each individual petal, and then finally, reluctantly, he offered it back to you.

“No, it’s a gift,” you said. “You can keep it. It’s not difficult for me to make more, and no matter how pretty it is, it’s really only glass. It’s not in rare supply by any means.”

He did not think twice, carefully tucking the flower away in the folds of his clothing. You smiled at him before raising your finger to your lips.

“It’s a secret, remember? No one can know I’m an Earthbender. No one can realize the truth, lest they depose Kuei and install me in his place,” you said.

The Blue Spirit offered you his hand, and for a moment you stared at it unsurely. It was a strange form of agreement, but then you understood — it was not his hand he was offering but his pinky finger. You interlocked your own with it, so that the deal was made, the secret sworn, and then you let go.

“Imagine how the civilians would laugh,” you said, sitting on the marble edge of the fountain and dipping your fingers in the water. “If they knew the truth. That name they call me is more apt than they realize, isn’t it? The Glass Princess. I really am one.”

He sat beside you, though he did not dip his own hand into the water. He only observed you, and though it might’ve been intense, uncomfortable, awkward, were it anyone else, it felt reasonable with him. Like that was what he was meant to be doing.

“Can I see your hand?” you said. He gave it to you readily, and you cradled it in yours, arranging it so that the palm was facing upwards, before pausing. “Is it alright if I take the glove off?”

You waited. For a moment, the night was utterly still as he thought about the request, and in that time, you came to notice things about the world which you had thus far been blind to.

The precise shade of his mask, which was a deep blue like sapphire-paint. It was something that you could never erase from your mind, the visage of your savior, the color which had stood between you and your death — but it was also the color that had unmasked the truth of your city to you. If it were not for the Blue Spirit, wouldn’t you still live in that same ignorance? You could not yet say you understood anything, but now you knew that there was something there which needed to be understood in the first place. Before, you were not even aware of that much.

The exact scent clinging to him, which was the delicate fragrance of the honey that some used as sweetener in place of sugar. It was not overwhelming nor heady; it was a soft, warm aroma, as gentle and inviting as candlelight.

The shushing rhythm of the fountain in the background, which was melodic in its sameness. It was another one of those sounds, the type that easily faded away when it was not on your mind but which was omnipotent when you paid attention. The steady flow of the water lulled you into another state — not sleep, because you could not sleep when you were so close to the Blue Spirit, but the opposite, a heightened awareness of both yourself and of him.

That was why time passed both agonizingly slowly and yet dizzyingly quickly, up until the moment that he nodded in agreement and whatever trance you had been in was broken.

Anticipation rushed through you as you took your free hand, the one not supporting his, and tugged on the end of the glove. It came off with a swift motion, and for the first time, there was the sensation of your skin touching his own.

“They say you can tell someone’s future by these marks,” you said, dancing your fingers along the creases of his palm. “It’s an ancient art. Very esoteric. I never learned much about it, but now, I wish I had.”

You wished you could read his future, untangle those winding ways into something comprehensible. The roadmap of the Blue Spirit’s life. You wished you could read it, could know if that destiny was one that included you in its course, but you did not say anything along those lines. You didn’t know what that desire meant yourself, and you didn’t want to frighten him, either, in case it sounded like something it was not.

Though his hands were surprisingly soft, there were calluses formed in the places where he gripped his swords. They were incredibly warm, too, though it was in a pacifying way, not with the sickly sense of fever. They were the hands of a warrior, but also the hands of vanity, and it relieved you to see that even the perfect, infallible Blue Spirit was prone to this fault.

“If only I were more like you,” you said. “Ba Sing Se is in such a state of disrepair, and I can do nothing but offer coins to those I come across, in the hopes that I might alleviate their personal struggles. That’s not hardly enough, though. For every one person I can help, tens of others do not get the same chance. Tens of others continue to suffer from a problem that I cannot identify. What princess does not even know why her subjects are in such pain? What princess can do so little about it?”

The love for your kingdom or the love for your brother? If you were the queen, would things be any different? Would Ba Sing Se be in a better position, or would it all be the same? Well, it was a moot point now. You were not an Earthbender in any way that mattered. The advisors had longed to instate you so that you could remind the world of the power of Shan’s line, but as it was, you would only make a mockery of your famed ancestor. The man who had established the entire Earth Kingdom, left with a great-to-the-nth-degree granddaughter who could only bend glass. That was his lineage. That was his legacy.

“My forefathers must be so ashamed of me,” you said. “What have I ever done with my life? What is there that I can still do? I am the Glass Princess, and that’s all I will be remembered as. King Kuei’s sister who would’ve watched Ba Sing Se fall if it meant she could keep her pretty jewels and fancy dresses.”

Taking another lantern, removing its candle, you twisted the glass into a miniature replica of the Earth Palace. It was meticulous and perfect; such was the training Quynh had given you, after all. Form over function. Accuracy over mass. Mental fortitude over physical fortification.

“That’s where I am,” you said, tapping the minuscule window. “All of the time, unless I am with you or in the tea shop. That’s the extent of my world.”

Two finger lengths long. That was your existence in summary. You put the Blue Spirit’s glove back on and gave him the model of the palace.

“In case you ever visit,” you said. “So you don’t get lost. Come see me if you do, won’t you?”

He didn’t offer you his pinky this time, but you figured that when he nodded his head in acceptance, he still meant it as a promise.

taglist (comment/send an ask/dm to be added): @rinisfruity14 @c4ttheart @blacky-rose @shizko @marsbars09 @happyplaidpersonfestival @catborglar @camilleverreault @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @lovialy @heart4hees @stefnarda @ioonatv

#zuko x reader #zuko x y/n #zuko x you #zuko #avatar the last airbender #atla #reader insert #canon au #the glass princess #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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lychgate · 4 months

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Echo brain comic?? My beloved?

this one's pretty new and id like to in the least get some segments drawn up if i can

i went balls deep in depth about my personal ideas of Echo's structure and how it works, it has much more writing rn then art lemme get some snippets:

tech and echo begin digging around in his wiring as echo's health has lately began to decline rapidly. Blood transfusions are becoming daily, exhaustion occurs much quicker, and newest to the issues are these seemingly random seizures. They've attempted many outside options at remedying the problem but it was becoming urgently clear that the only way to get answers would be to open up his system and understand exactly how his body operates from the inside out. Echo is mostly on edge because he fears finding the answer that is he's just doomed to die soon, and that his body was in no way sustainable outside of that fridge. He fears the idea of dying so much that he has manic considerations of being put back in some sort of stasis chamber. Death, which he never feared prior to the citadel, but now he's come to be you know uhhh quite traumatized from it. But he also hates the idea of that fridge!! caught between two terrible options, wowie here ill add some more breakdown of that in a read more if anyone is interested in paragraphs of bullshit:

as for a brief descriptor on the shit on his head and body, from this paragraph:

Tech: these rivets across your skull are not simple ports one can just plug into. They're a very unique structure, containing an extremely delicate, but long system of thin metallic fibers wiring throughout your brain. These 'rivets' then act as anchors to those metal fibers, which then respond to very specific electric signals that we can access at the nodes on the surface here. If the signals sent are not exact. Well. Echo: yeah I get it I get it.

and some write up on how Tech begins to diagnose the problem:

Eventually Tech will find his way into deeper functions of the brain, finding shortcuts that were already developed by the Techno Union scientists for the sake of their own equipment likely. Categorized sections for monitoring all sorts of chemicals and levels within Echo's body, most of which were left on an automatic function to regulate.

Tech begins to understand that the key issue is that this program, and these automatic functions, were fitted for exactly the stasis chamber Echo had been put in, and if they want to begin fixing Echos phsyical body, he would have to start going in and coding line for line, functions that pertain to the body on a sustainability outside that fridge. Some functions were completely turned off, being that Echo was getting fed certain synthesized chemicals thru the machine, his brain had to be telling itself NOT to produce said things naturally.

But it's all very finicky work that requires continuous maintenance and updates, not much unlike a patch update to any other computer program, except this is Echo's life. It's an impossible amount of code to do in any short time frame, and so Tech will begin splicing lines of code from similar organic droids with systems of similar complexity.

They handle these sessions once per week, giving time for Echo's body to catch up and adjust. At first he begins feeling some nausea, his heart rate starts rising, but he insists something feels good about it and urges Tech to keep going. Echo begins to feel warmth back in his body, his mood increases, after about a month hair begins to grow again, muscle mass fills in what once was skeletal limbs, nail beds regain a lively shine. Besides a few errors in updates like over producing a chemical or small bouts of insomnia, everything seems On Course.

and then:

So now we get into the meat of the drama, which is a lot of Echo mania and identity issues:

By this point Tech has outfitted much easier screw on parts so they can go in and out of this program faster (the set up previously was hours of work) so pulling that up he theorizes that he will have to do more then just reverse programs that the Techno Union set up. Tech now believes he'll have to create NEW systems, as the old program appears to be getting corrupted from all of Tech's editing. The seizures are, at this point to their best guess, coming from this. That parts of his brain are literally crashing, and soon he's going to start having more serious issues like bro is gonna just have a massive stroke at some point. Tech points that out all regular voice and Echo is just 'great im back in the mental swamp' Now that Echo's learned that he has corrupted files eating away at his brain, and that the chance of having a massive stroke is like inevitable, he's back to feeling like anxious shit. It doesn't help that this will take Tech a lot of time to figure out. Truthfully he's putting as much effort as he can into it, but this is when Echo begins to get Really mentally unwell. He's both worrying and also trying NOT to worry out of fear that it's going to complicate the program even more. Echo begins to have identity issues, coming to rely more on the mechanics then the organics that make him. He doesn't feel like a human with robot parts anymore, he feels like a robot with human parts.

and it keeps going like there's parts where echo is begging Tech to up programs on dopamine generation and Tech has to turn him down cause that would just be creating an addiction problem, situations where Echo starts trying to mess with his own brain, situations where he tries to kill Tech, its a lot of rambling but im not a writer, like i can't write for shit and I'd like to try and draw it instead

#my art #tbb #tbb echo

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drawlody · 13 days

Text

My list of Adam ships♡ n my opinion bout them (also fics rec :D)

Adam x Luicfer (Adamsapple/Duitarduck) 10/10

Need i say more:)))??!?! started out as a "haha funny slip-up ship" to "hey they got really good angst potential". The friends/lovers to enemies to lovers is STRONG with this one n i am eating up everything i could found on ao3. Smth bout this macho-ass man finally getting to stay back n not take charge for once feel nice, also princess Adam supermacy wooooo. Whoever came up with the ship name i applaud u cause that's like a 3 layers name(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

It's not an Adamsapple fic without Adam having at least 1 mental breakdown n Lucifer have his guilt eating him alive:)))

Very fucked up torture but i swear it worth the pain:D The dove is so dead it start to rot so plz read the tags properly (plz check out the AngeliaDark other works too they got good shit)

This one have a splits so check out both the fics (beware the author have a skrewed sense of what is considered wholesome:))))

I didnt think a smut scene could be this sad

Adam x Lute (Guitarspear/Guardrock) 10/10

Litteraly my first Hazbin ship, assholes in love is an underrated dynamic we desperately need more off:))) That with a dash of evil dude x loyal subordinate (which i havent seen since the Deathglare days) n opposite attract (look they have one main thing in common is that their extreme bloodthirst, other than that she's stricter than ur mom n he's lazier than the Sloth ring itself but that the beauty of it no? He convince her to chill tf out n not to burst a blood vessel, she keep him on track n make sure Sera dont come on their asses)

They're just being silly enabling each other terrible behaviour n i love that for them (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) Litteral besties i tell ya

Heavy non-con shit involving Val but Lute will revenge our boi i promised u that

Cool idea n they r just made for each other damn

First hazbin fic i read which is a really cool smut:D

Adam x Micheal (we need a ship name people ) (update: it's Songbird/Guitarhero) 10/10

I like how we dont even got a proper comfirmation of Micheal design/personality yet the ship is here already ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ( im using the Nakariiale's design as a base here love their design)

Hit me with that rebound love x "u look like my ex so im using u as a replacement but ill fall for the real u eventually" x co-workers in heaven. I'm thinking smth along the line of "after Lucifer fucked off with Lilith, Micheal became Adam guardian angel n they just hang out" ya feel me here? (✿◕‿◕✿)

Shout out to Bloog_b for dragging me into this ship:DDD also im on the Adam x the archangels ship as a "gotcha" to Lucifer of sort. Like bitch u stole my wives imma steal your brotherS

Look it's Adamsapple endgame but trust me u will be feed well on this ( u know how good u gotta be for people to ditch the main ship?)

I'm giving yall 4 fics here cause i can only found 4 rn(._. )

this one is uhh non-con so beware

Micheal is indeed Adam guardian angel in this one:D

Adam x Eve (Flowertunes) 8/10

I dont care what yall said they love each other throughout Eden n Earth , might have a falling out in heaven but that doesnt change the fact that they were once IN LOVE. Honestly why cant we just have a couple that have the same bright-eyed innocence like one another.I refuse to believe Eve like willingly cheat on Adam with malicious intent n all, simply she was indeed ''tricked'' or just not fully understand the sistuation, n Adam love her way too much to think that she would do that to him like Lilith. Hell the dude was heartbroken after L left , starting the abandonment issues, so he would have cling to Eve, doing everything so that he aint alone again, even if that mean leaving Eden

Honestly it pisses me off that the Adam/Eve tag on ao3 most of the time is just 1 dialouge between them back when Eve bit the apple n thats it no elaboration on the couple whatsoever >:(((

Lots of switcharoos

sinner eve woooo

look its hard trynna find a fic focusing on them ok?

Adam x St. Peter (Guitargreeter (bet ya didnt see that coming:))) 7/10

Base on this fanfic alone Joe my dude u r on the path of becoming THE Adam crack-ship writer n i am here for this:)))) just so u wait this dude gonna whip out a AdamxNifty , AdamxHusk fic later on ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

From within the fic itself the ship its 2 bros in love with homophobia standing in the way >:( also when did we have a name?!?!?!?

I just like Adam x anyone in heaven alright:D like bro famous n he got that ancient rizz, u telling mr he cant bag a hottie or 2-100+ hmm?

Adam x Alastor (Angelicradio) 8/10

I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT ABOUT THEM THAT I SHIP I JUST DO φ(゜▽゜*)♪ i blame YOU honestly rn this ship is either Adam found Al after the fight n they make a deal or they're in heaven n they chillin this ship is confusing:D

They're angels on heaven

Adam gone back into eden n do shit differently

This is both Adam/Eve n Adam/Alastor kinda

Adam x Alastor x Lucifer (Angelicradioapple/ Charlie's dads (only me call them that lol)) 9/10

''Hey Charlie u know how u r sad that your mother left? Wellllllll i got you 2 new dads suprise:DDDD''

Look 3 miserable men who hate each other + hell's greatest dad + my love for Dadam = Messy ass old men yaoi :DDDD n it work perfectly with Alastor Asexuality too!!! Like Adam n Lucifer could fuck each other brains out before Al joining in for the cuddles lol

Chaos ensue

Not exactly a love triangle but a love corner but hey we barely got food here :D

I cant believe how hot this shit is lol

Adam x Eve x Lilith x Lucifer (Eden poly/ applecore?) 8/10

They could have been all married to each other(╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ But as much as i go "OooOooo Poly yay'' i just cant vibe with EvexLucifer, like the cheating vibes is wayyyyyyyyy too much i just cant man . I mean with the interpetation that Lucifer came to Eden to hang out with the humans they all know eachother, they're a throuple yes but BUT when Eve came into the picture it was only with Adam n him only so the other 2 is ehhhh. Im fine with EvexLilith cause im seeing it happening later, not hidden from Adam while LuciferxEve got that deception going on .So uhhh in this ship they're more like bestie than lovers to me¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also AdamxLilith is an underrated pairing like everytime i saw this applecore thing going on these 2 r at most tolerate each other like cmonnnnn we already twist this to hell n back, why cant we make it so their arguement was a petty non-malicious one n they still cares for each other hmm???

They're one happy family

IDK what to tell u bittersweet reunion n loving family is the only typa fic u get with this ship

Not that im complaining i need this wholesomeness

Adam x Mammon (Adammon/Madam/Greedyguitar/ 1st chirstmas.... hasnt had an offical name yet) 10/10

They r litteraly same person different font idk what to tell u. More insults thrown around than Guitarspear but they're pretty similar. Adam is just " sinners suck ass but this dude is the worst in the best way". Also they're both big bois (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧ , they love towering over others

I'm sorry but there r barely BARELY

any fics of them :(

The art side is more plentiful tho :D

Adam x Angel Dust (Holydust/guitardust) 5/10

THEY ARE BESTIES YOUR HONOUR n that the exact reason why i cant see them be together as a couple 100%, like the shit-talking bff vibes r wayyyy too strong XD Angel finally got someone who have the same vulgar humour as him n if Adam got married in hell Angel would 100% be his best bitch of honour (≧∀≦)ゞq(≧▽≦q)

They're best friends who have casual no-string attached sex that is ACTUALLY no-string attached:)))

I came to ship them due to those "What if they're co-workers under Val' scenarios ive been seeing on Tumblr

I got like 1 fic on ao3 i mean if u r looking for just platonic friendship between them then rest asure most Adam's redemption fics have that

I got 1 fic on tumblr

Adam x Charlie (Charadam/Guitarprincess) 5/10

U know this ship give me a pretty bad first impression since a good chunk of the fics r either heavy non-con shit or lean wayyyyy to much into the daddy kink, ya know how Charlie got suppose daddy issues n all that jazz?:))) yeah that... that

But after seeing the art side of this ship im chillin with them now, since the art r pretty wholesome, usually having them decked out in punk-rock clothings hanging out. It's a big "Fuck you" to Lucifer n i live for these mf argueing ╰(*°▽°*)╯

So uhhh stay away from the fics if ya want an actual functional couple instead of wtv messed up shit we got there:))) But here's a fic anyway, the only one where it feel bearable n actual trynna go into said messed up relationship i already warn you

We got cracks like Guitarmaid (AdamxNifty), Valadam (AdamxVal) which i dont have enough materials to decied, Classicalrock (AdamxSera) sound interesting but also havent found anything , Guitarhalo (AdamxEmily) is an unexpected find, find i deem them to be more familial than romantic so we'll see if there's a fic good enough to convince me

Edit:i forgot to add Blitzo like Mammon already there why did i forgot

Adam x Blitzo (i dont think anyone even ship this but me:)) 7/10

I cant find a single fic where they has anything more than a 1 nightstand n 1 interaction where they hit it off , i live off imagination alone (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`) but like fr fr they would match so well, like their bloodlust n general jerkiness would make them the 3rd asshole x asshole ship on this list :DDDD

Tho as much as i wanna see them go further i feel like an on-n-off relationship/friends with benefits fit em more ya know ( *^-^)ρ(*╯^╰) If ya have any fic but the 2 here that have them interact lemme know cause a bitch need food :)

This is a lot of tag(._. )

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jazeswhbhaven · 3 months

Note

Let's have some angst

MC suddenly doesn't remember who everyone is and they're confused about where they are

You can tell they have dementia (?)

How do you think the kings react to this shock (maybe with Sitri too)?

Oh snap, we've got angst in the house! (thank you for your patience on this)

So because dementia is more than just memory loss, and involves eventually being able to do basic functions and other everyday things it would affect MC's mood/etc. I will just base this off of general memory loss if that's okay, mostly because dementia is something I only know a basis of, and I could very much get something wrong in my response and I wouldn't want to upset anyone who has a loved one dealing with this illness. Sitri: He realizes right off the bat something isn't right from the first day MC started showing symptoms of memory loss. He gets a second opinion from Morax, who confirms that MC is suffering from this symptom due to being in Hell. It's not reversible once it's started, and Sitri prepares by writing little notes for MC and sticking them in various places. He will also text them updates or things to remember to do once they wake up. Sitri does get upset sometimes when they don't remember him, but he has gotten used to it by now. At least the silver lining is that when he calls them Solomon they respond to it as normal instead of correcting him often. Satan: He at first thinks MC is just airheaded, and doesn't take it seriously until one day they have a major freak out and truly don't remember him at all. They were in bed sleeping with him and woke up screaming and kicking and crying and then when Satan realized it was serious. He knows what to do without consulting anyone and he keeps MC around him 24/7 at this point to make sure they don't get lost or hurt. He tells them various stories each day to jog their memory and it seems to work on most days, there are also days when he has to restrain them because they'll go ballistic on him and ask where Minhyeok is (they seem to only remember his name and not Satan). Mammon: Truly a devil of denial when he starts seeing MC forgetting small things, as he doesn't pay attention until one day Bimet complains that MC struck him because they thought he was a stranger. Mammon jumps into action having a specific room set with Ai bots to help MC's memory by providing puzzles, mental exercises, and whatever they need to help stave off the symptoms. He gets upset often when MC doesn't remember him and he does sit alone in his room and wonders if it's better to just let MC return home so their life can be easier. He feels if MC went home then maybe their memory would return. But he belongs to MC, he can't bear to do it...so he tries his best to hide the hurt, and tend to their needs in any way he can. Beelzebub: He doesn't remember things often as well so he can tell immediately what's wrong with MC when it starts happening. He instructs Bael to keep an eye on them from time to time and just let things go with the flow. At the same time, he begins to worry when MC starts wandering off on their own thinking that they ended up in the palace by accident, searching for their "home". Beel decides to take MC with him on his travels instead of keeping them in Avisos, where he knows the devils there would take advantage of the situation when he's not around. Though sometimes he does forget that MC is having memory laps, he is very protective and attentive to them. Though, he doesn't necessarily like it that MC doesn't remember him some days at all no matter how many times he tries to make it stick. Maybe...someday...

Leviathan: This is something he ignores at first because he thinks it's just MC playing around with him and causing trouble. It isn't until MC truly doesn't acknowledge him and ignores him and his nobles because they think they've wandered around somewhere and got lost is when Levi makes it a point to jump in. He finds it bittersweet that MC doesn't remember him, that every morning it seems that MC forgets everything from the day before. It exhausts Levi to go through the same routine, knowing he's done this for days now with them and nothing seems to stick or fix it. He's close to giving up, perhaps sending MC off to stay at the local hospital or having a healer/doctor come to Hades to provide all-around care for MC. He just can't do it...know that those eyes that used to look at him so fondly now only stare at him in confusion and fear. Lucifer: When he notices right away, he immediately gets Morax, Marbas, and Buer to tend to MC while he handles his duties as normal. He doesn't seem to mind that MC doesn't remember him but he is concerned about them not knowing their own name and forgetting things that they've done even minutes ago. He doesn't find it safe for them to be outside the palace so he has each of his nobles rotate shifts watching over MC. When he has the time he spends it with them, telling stories of what he did that day, and giving MC small context words to see if they stick for the next day. He does this from now on, accepting that this is life with MC now. He spends most of his time with them, hiding his true feelings of impending loneliness, knowing that eventually, he will have to let MC go back home so that their memory may return normally.

#whb #what in hell is bad #jwhbasks❓#whb kings👑#whb requests and headcanons #memory loss tw #memory loss au

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beifongnation · 1 month

Text

The Push & Pull: An Excerpt

Description: I received a question a couple days ago on my other blog about my HC for Lin and Tenzin getting together and realized I hadn't ever gotten around to publishing that part of P&P and then I realized I haven't updated P&P in almost 8 (?) years. So consider this little excerpt my way of starting to make amends for that.

I'll update P&P eventually I swear lol

Excerpt:

Lin’s thumb absently brushed the condensation from the glass in her left hand. She swiped it once, then twice, before she chanced a look at the dance floor. A slow, romantic tune was winding down and she hardly managed to contain the roll of her eyes at some of the couples hanging on one another like idiots.

She took a sip, catching Tenzin’s eye over the edge of her glass as she did. He was looking at her with ill-disguised adoration and just a dose of apprehension. It was a sweet expression, a mix of emotions only Tenzin could wear with some measure of dignity. A smile escaped her when she thought of him, but she gave it to the empty dance floor, reluctant to meet his eyes again. She wasn’t quite sure where her own reluctance stemmed from, only that it was growing old- even to her mind.

The band struck up a new tune- languid and romantic, bowing horns that released infatuated sighs.

Tenzin caught her eye again.

“I like this song,” he commented, looking out toward the floor.

“It’s nice,” Lin agreed, following his line of sight, hoping to avoid any direct eye contact. She could feel her skin flush, a rush of nerves that she could only relate to the feeling of looking over the edge of a cliff before diving into the waters far below. Her ears warmed when they picked up the sound of Tenzin clearing his throat.

“Do you...” he began, motioning toward the dance floor, “I mean, would you like to dance?”

Lin swallowed, looking back at their families just one table away, before turning back to him. The acerbic comment wouldn’t come. She nearly choked on his guileless expression- studying his anxious eyes as they sparkled in the low light, scanning hers for a response.

Without a word she put her hand in his own and after a brief moment of shock, his long fingers closed around hers. They stood together, making their way to the edge of the floor.

They both moved into the leading position, laughing nervously as they readjusted themselves. Tenzin’s hand found the curve of her waist, guiding her sway gently.

Standing together like this, Lin could just barely see over his shoulder. She regretting looking in that direction immediately as she met her mother’s sightless eyes and suddenly felt very self-conscious. They turned again and she breathed out a careful release of breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Tenzin looked down at her, “You okay?”

She thought he’d never looked more adorable than from this angle, with his narrow nose pointing like an arrow to full lips she desired to kiss. She swallowed, “I’m fine. You?”

As soon as she volleyed his question, she knew he would answer her honestly and she fought the cringe that threatened to overtake her face.

“Actually....” he began, “I, um, I was thinking...” he took a deep breath, “I was thinking we should talk about us, you know? What we’re doing...”

He waited for her to respond, “or not.”

“Tenzin,” Lin sighed, leaning her head against his chest, “we’re together. What is there to talk about?”

And that was it- the words she couldn’t bring herself to say all this time; the vulnerability she’d been running from, the acceptance of the most wonderfully unavoidable feeling she’d been lying to herself about since she was twelve years old- a euphoric bandage, torn right off. Her admission was outside her body, resting on his chest.

“When you say together....?” Tenzin wondered tentatively. She could feel his heart hammering away inside his ribs and she smiled at the sensation before looking up.

“If you want to be,” she led.

“Of course I do. Do you?”

“Yes, I just said so,” Lin insisted quickly.

“Well, okay then,” Tenzin agreed.

“Okay,” Lin confirmed.

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, before Lin’s head found its way to his shoulder once again. They swayed back and forth, moving with the music before she felt him rest his cheek lightly on her head.

They danced in silence as the band continued their sentimental waltz. She felt Tenzin take a breath, “Lin?”

“Hmm?”

“I wish our parents weren’t over there staring at us.”

#the push and pull #linzin #lin beifong #tenzin

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starrygetou · 6 months

Text

clingy!stsg hcs

bc they make me so severely weak and mentally ill

wc: 590

contents: disgusting amounts of fluff, cockwarming (literally one bullet point), marking (hickies mentioned once)

clingy!suguru loves to carry satoru around their home. even when satoru insists he can walk even after narrowly missed stubbing his toe (he turned on his infinity w/o thinking). he loves to hold him on his hip like a toddler while he cooks them dinner, letting satoru clean the spoons and whatnot as they go.

clingy!satoru loves to wake suguru up with a million kisses all over his face and shoulders. even though suguru sometimes hates it bc satoru is naturally colder, so sometimes his cold hands holding his cheeks wakes him up instantaneously.

clingy!stsg loves gifting gag gifts. suguru isn’t sure how much “i love my boyfriend” merch he has in his closet..probably enough to make a full fit (satoru definitely got him slides w his face on them). they definitely have boxers with each others faces on them and satoru unironically wears his all the time and calls them his lucky boxers

clingy!stsg loves sending each other texts throughout their solo missions. the other always gets nervous when they take a little too long to reply (mainly sugu bc he knows satoru is always deals w curses quickly, so smth HAS to be up).

clingy!satoru definitely loves leaving cute v-mails for sugu. telling him how much he loves him and every detail he loves abt him.

clingy!stsg never get off the phone. they’ll facetime for hours after their away missions, usually falling asleep otp and waking up together.

clingy!satoru loves to sit on sugu’s cock while sugu works on reports. he always tries to get sugu to break but he’s very good abt finishing smth he started (unless they haven’t seen one another in a while).

clingy!stsg on the days they weren’t feeling talkative they just sat on the phone in silence, enjoying the others presence.

clingy!stsg made a mini “rule” where if they both went on away missions, they’d have to go on a date once they got back home. even if it was smth small like coffee the morning after or going out to dinner.

clingy!sugu loves to send sporadic dick pics to satoru. usually in some nice hotel satoru insisted on paying for. satoru always admired how good sugu looked after a shower and how good he was at taking mirror selfies (both in and out of clothes).

clingy!stsg after HI (everything’s okay au) they made sure to check on each other when they started getting sent on more solo missions. always texting status updates, which eventually turned into phone calls/facetimes that started out as a debrief and just turned into one of the calls where they talk about any and everything.

clingy!stsg loves to do everything together at school. they train their students together, make sure their class schedules are planned accordingly so that way they have a little time to themselves. they usually just walk the school grounds or satoru warps them back home for a quickie. the kids are so tired of them sometimes bc they’ll see them go off and do their own thing mid training session.

clingy!satoru loves to show the world his boyfriend. whether that being an arm wrapped around sugu’s bicep in public or leaving a hickey just above his uniform collar line.

clingy!satoru prides himself on being the “independent” one in the relationship, meanwhile when sugu decides to split the errands up when they’re out, suddenly satoru doesn’t know where anything is just so sugu can stay by his side.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk fanfic #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x geto #satosugu #sugusato #jjk drabbles #jjk hcs #jjk fluff #starrygetou drabbles

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azriel-scum · 8 months

Text

It wasn’t supposed to be this way - Chapter 1

My first ACOTAR fanfic!

Original character with eventual inner circle interactions

Most recent update: 1/22/23

Warnings for the series: domestic abuse

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

Elara Haverstrom was a highly respected member of the night court. Officially, her title was the Governess of Velaris; a keeper of sorts, her main responsibilities were overseeing the city of starlight and being the last line of defense for the sacred city. Warrior in nature and Illyrian trained, there were very few enemies who would even fathom the thought of breaching the borders with her at the helm.

Despite tales of her on the battlefield, of what she was willing and capable of doing, the people of Velaris never feared her; fondly giving her the nickname Lady Starlight. Elara was far too humble to ever accept the title, knowing if anyone was to be called Lady Starlight, it would be the high lady of the court herself.

Elara never relished in her abilities to cut enemies limb from limb. In her heart she was sensitive, caring, and protective, but she’d stop at nothing to defend her people, even if it meant doing things that made her sick to her stomach and sent her spiraling into a storm of questions about her own existence and morals.

While she wouldn’t consider herself part of the inner circle, she was well acquainted and truly could not imagine working with anyone else. She directly reported to Feyre and Rhysand, but found herself frequently seeking consult from the rest of the group.

As governess over the city, she had nearly an entire wing of the house of wind to herself, although she rarely chose to take up residence there. she lived with her partner in an apartment near the river; the rest of her family, her mother and siblings lived in a townhouse in the heart of the city. Her official office and work space was there as well, but she much more preferred to be out on the streets when possible, conversing with her people and seeing the state of the city firsthand.

Her mother was somewhat of a legend among Illyrian females. Laurel Haverstrom had three children and upon the birth of her youngest son, Endor, she escaped out of the Illyrian camps, fleeing the oppressive laws against females and her own husband’s abuse and cruelty. Upon their arrival in Velaris, Rhysand had welcomed them in, well aware of what the family had suffered at the hands of Elara’s father. Her and her younger siblings, Elvira and Endor, had trained their entire childhood, Laurel trying her best to stamp out the hopelessness and fear they had learned in their home.

Elvira and especially Endor were too young to have truly been affected by their father’s tyranny. Remnants of what he had done stuck around in their brains, but they were much better adjusted than Elara ever hoped to be. After hundreds of years she had surely expected to be able to leave the past in the past, but she feared there was something truly wrong with the very make up of her body, of her mind. She had been forever altered by the horrors she saw in the Illyrian camps and she was still dealing with the consequences of it to this day.

Laurel Haverstrom, while she had once been as close to immortal as she possibly could be, had been given a death sentence. She was slowly dying and had been for the last 100 years. While her family had never been able to uncover the specifics of their mother’s mysterious illness, they had suspicions their father was involved. The best Madja had been able to ascertain was that there was a poison flowing through Laurel’s veins with no known cure and while it was working through her body slowly, her siblings felt the weight of passing time everyday, fearing they had already borrowed too much.

And then there was Merikh. Elara’s partner. They were not married nor mated and to be quite honest she really wasn’t sure what they were or what they were doing. She had once been in love and perhaps he had been too, but they had spiraled into something that was cruel, twisted, and ugly.

Merikh had once been a fierce protector of her siblings and a gentle caretaker for her mother, but resentment and restlessness had filled his brain and fueled his decisions. Elara had sought counsel from Cassian and Rhysand to see if there had been a role for Merikh, something to release the tension and untempered energy. Cassian had appointed him as an emissary to the Illyrian camps. It was a job very few people wanted to do and it allowed Cassian to focus his efforts elsewhere. On the bad nights, Elara feared that sending her partner into the Illyrian camps where he was exposed to their ideas and practices regarding females might one day be her downfall.

Tonight could definitely be considered as one of those bad nights. After returning from a long day of walking through the north and eastern sections of the city, Elara unknowingly returned home to a war zone. As she walked through the door of their apartment, all she wanted to do was eat dinner, take a warm bath, avoid Merikh as much as possible, and lay in her bed.

Merikh clearly had other plans.

“Have you thought at all about what to do with your mother?” He asked it casually, but there was an edge to his voice. One that meant he knew he was testing his partner, that he knew he would be starting a fight.

He was asking as if she was a burden, a task to be dealt with, an inconvenience to be handled.

This was a recurring argument between the two of them and had sparked many a fight in the past. Merikh wanted to send her mother to an elderly home. A place where they would have no ideas how to handle her mother’s illness, who had no history or context of the poison flowing through her veins, where she would be lonely and isolated, away from her family. He thought that Elara was spending too much money to have nurses with her mother 24/7 and resented the amount of time she spent at the townhouse with her and her siblings. The first time he had broached the topic, she had refused outright. Merikh hadn’t appreciated being told no with such finality and authority. The fallout from that fight had been devastating to Elara, the first time he had truly been violent with her.

Before responding, Elara ran through her mental checklist; steeling her mental shields, checking her discipline and self control, relaxing the feelings of rage that rushed through her veins. She would not feed into his clear desire to have a fight this evening. She would eat dinner, ensure Merikh left the house to go do whatever it was he did around Velaris at night and she could have some sense of peace and go to bed without incident.

She took a deep breath and responded “My mother is staying at the townhouse, where Madja can visit her easily and where she is comfortable and close to her family.”

“I can’t imagine having children and then expecting them to serve at your every beck and call.” he had responded with venom in his voice.

Elara stopped in her tracks. Her eyes glazed over, her hearing went out. All she saw was red. All she heard was rage.

“My mother gave us a life of freedom and happiness. My mother gave me everything I have. Might I remind you that neither of us would have anything if it weren’t for her?”

In a second, she was slammed against the wall. His hands were around her neck, his hot breath in her face.

“I don’t know where the fuck you get off speaking to me like that, but you’re lucky your leash is as long as it is. You need to watch yourself Elara.”

Before she had the chance to react or respond, he had dropped her from the chokehold and watched her crumple to the ground. Gasping for breath. He stood there for a beat, considering her. In a flash, he had pulled out his knife and savagely swiped at her crumpled form. The slashes were clumsy and haphazard, but hit their mark all the same.

Blood flowed out of her wings and pool around her. She was gasping for air as hot tears painfully spilled down her face. It was the most devastatingly pathetic situation she had ever found herself in. A brief ghost of regret flashed across Merikh’s face. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone and so was he.

There was no way to tell how long she had been laying on the floor. A few moments or a few hours she had no idea. Her head was spinning, she was dizzy and nauseous. Confusion swirled through her brain and muddled her thoughts. She tried to stand but any movement of her muscles, of her wings especially, resulted in a searing pain. Eventually, she drug herself to their shared bed and laid on her stomach, praying to the mother that Merikh would stay away for the night.

Could she have tried speaking through her mind to Feyre or Rhysand? Probably. Could she have fought back against Merikh? Absolutely. He had less than half the training and discipline that Elara possessed. Could she have drug herself down the hall to the neighbors? Less likely but she might would’ve managed. But she didn’t do any of that and couldn’t even pinpoint the reason why.

The hours after nightfall came and went. Midnight, one, two, three in the morning. As the clock neared four, Elara convinced herself she would leave. She would take all of her stuff to the house of wind. She would seek out Feyre and Rhysand and tell them what happened. She would make things right. Start to really live and be free, but by the time the sun rose, she had talked herself out of it and couldn’t for the life of her figure out why.

As the sun rose, she finally got out of bed, careful to avoid grazing her wings.High fae healed quickly, but there was something about being hurt by someone you once loved, someone you had once committed your life to, that severely slowed the healing. As if the wrongness of it lingered in her bones; the fabric of the world had been wrinkled and altered. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Normally, she’d fly up to the training rings to start her morning, but even if she could get over the insurmountable task of using her wings to get up there, she’d never survive a round of training in this state. Instead, she used her time to try and mask her injuries and emotions the best she could. Delicately, she dressed herself in casual clothes. A set of blue flowing pants and a loose white shirt. Her original plan was to walk the streets of the city, making her usual rounds, but the thought of anyone accidentally seeing her bruises or tense movements made her sick. A moment of conflict went back and forth through her brain. If she couldn’t fly, she couldn’t get to the house of wind without help, but she was clearly in no state to see her people around the city today.

The only option was to take the day off - which honestly made her equally as sick. She could spend the day with her mother and siblings in the heart of the city; they were much less aware of what she did on a daily basis and could easily play off her injuries as a result of training or a mission she had been asked to go on.

Wrenching open the defenses around her mind, Elara opened just a sliver of space to call out into the void.

Good morning high lady

After just a moment a response shot down into her mind.

Good morning Elara Starlight, is everything okay?

Elara’s heart clenched at the sweetness and concern in her voice, at the endearing nickname she used. But she quickly stifled that bit of emotion, lest Feyre sense her fragility.

Everything’s alright but I wanted to let you know I’m taking the day off. I need to speak with my mother’s nurses and check in to make sure everything’s going okay. I’ll be available for emergencies though if anything comes up.

With no hesitation Feyre shot a response into her mind.

Finally, the governess takes a well deserved day of time off. Elara can sense Feyre’s smile and genuine care. Take the day and don’t worry about us. Rhys and I send Laurel our best wishes

Thank you. She hoped Feyre could sense your genuine gratitude.

And with that, she was off. Normally she would’ve just flown to her family’s townhouse, but that just wasn’t an option. Walking would have to do.

As she walked through the city, taking less travelled paths to run into as few people as possible, two things became abundantly clear.

1. Merikh was not the love of her life and everything about them had been destined to fail - even from the beginning. At some level she had always known this, but what she hadn’t realized was that her heart was never truly open for anyone, least all of all someone as revolting as Merikh. His cruelty and twisted ugliness had made her forget the true loves of her life. This city, the place that had given her true purpose in life, her family, most of all her siblings, and the people she was sworn to serve and protect. Her heart belonged wholeheartedly to all these things and whoever she found one day to love and settle down with had to be just as taken with those things as she was.

2. She had to leave. She wasn’t exactly sure how or what the aftermath would look like, but things could not go on this way.

As she winded through the city toward the townhouse her mind created a spiraling of thoughts that wound deeper and deeper into her soul. Each thought was more painful than the next, but she needed the pain. She needed the sharp prick of realization, the shock of knowing undoubtedly she had to act. Had to stand up and do something. With each painful thought she neared closer to the reality of leaving him and with each painful step she neared closer to her mother’s house.

#acotar #innercircle #rhysand #azriel #cassian #acotar imagines #a court of thorns and roses #cassian x reader #azriel x reader #rhysand x reader #feyre

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thatdeadaquarius · 1 year

Note

OP your addtion about the Harbinger's reaction? Sent me wheezing to the moon 🤣🤣💀

I dont have any additions to Teyvat language yet (other anons have a more in depth explanations while mine is just shitposts wheEZE--) but I did have an idea for a Genshin AU.

I'm pretty sure everybody has heard about the blue alien people Avatar. Tribal people from another planet. (Also I just stumbled upon the forests of Sumeru while going through Chasm quests. The one that has giant mushrooms).

Imagine Genshin in the Avatar Au. Sumeru can be based on the first movie (It fits cause from what I can explore of Sumeru reminds me of the time I watched Avatar of the first time. Pure awe and wonder..) While the Water nation can be based on the 2nd movie, Hoyoverse hasnt released the name of the Water Country yet so we're just waiting. Mondstadt can be based on the upcoming 3rd (4th or 5th? Idk they had it lined up) movie that involves being high above the clouds. Kind of like the Jade palace or the Floating Abode in the serenitea pot.

Its all I could base for now since the other movies dont have that much info yet to be paired with Genshin's countries.

Bonus idea that randomnly popped into my head:

Still going with this Au but its sagau themed. Creator!Reader arrives to Teyvat and is considered as Eywa

NOW THIS

THIS IS AN ✨️IDEA✨️

I just want u to know i feel b l e s s e d that u put this in MY ask box , when this coulda been a whole post of ur own 💖💖🙏🙏

WARNING: So i havent seen the new movie, just the og Avatar one, and i totally loved that concept about Eywa and how their world works so ill refresh myself but if theres any new lore from the 2nd movie i aint got it yet 💁 srry babs

🎵 FROM THE DAY WE ARRIVED ON THE PLANEETTT

AND STEPPED OUT BLINKING INTO THE SUN

AND THE SUN ROSE HIGH IN A SAPPHIRE SKY

ITS THE CIRRRRCCCLLLEEE OF LIFFFFEEEE 🎵

^ except ur like the life itself bc ur god now

Thats why i put that there

This AU radiates that energy

♤

BRO I TOTALLY FORGOT ABT U MENTIONIMG THE COOL CHASM STUFF AND PICKED THAT GIF ALL ON MY OWN

BC I THOUGHT IF ANYTHING LOOKS LIKE EYWA TREE IN GENSHIN ITS THAT BEAUTIFUL MUSHROOM GOD

ANYWAYS-

So I accidentally posted this too early so keep refreshing or coming back bc if theres no "♡the beloveds♡" im still updating this then LMAO

SRRY GUYS

So anon's a genius and i could listen to u talk about this all day

I fucking love combining world building or lore together

Esp like making one the AU or just the setting like u said with Avatar worlds as settings and same characters-

EEEEEE U ARE EYWA- YESSSSS YESSSSSS I AM YOUR GOD BITCHES!!! SUCK ON MY BIG FAT MAN TIDDIES BITCHES RAHHHHH /REF

♧

So they deffo use "Eywa" as a term for you instead of your name

Honestly, before when u were a mysterious af planet creature thing (lets say u get isekaied there i mean)

Nobody rlly knew if u even could take a mortal form or even thought of that as a concept

I feel like the younger generations immortals and Teyvat's current countries kinda think of you Eywa as more of a passive entity life force thing

Rather than the older immortals and creatures that had seen thru eons or over the course of a couple thousand years

That u were very aware and intelligent

Not that ur energy or aura didnt tell them that alone

◇

So a little deeper into the Teyvat lore here but i dont see anybody else talking about it so I will

Originally, it was the Seven Sovriegns and you, and eventually Phanes and their Four Shades,

And they literally all quickly came to realize u literally made this planet and began to start the first traditions of worshipping you!

Like putting gifts or hand made goods at the base

(Ppl have also gotten a tradition from Morax/Rex Lapis and Guizhong and other adepti to leave birthday letters to offer you, which ties into what i say below⬇️)

Ya know,

Eywa the tree could even be a sort of source to the eyes of Teyvat of what you look like while u were playing the game

Like how Eywa's little jellyfish reach ppl in the forest and shit? I think?

So like i would imagine that whatever u make certain vessels or acolytes do most often, is what they think they should offer u :0

◇

Claymore users give u gemstones and ores

Bow users give u hunted game like fowl, or the treasure from puzzles that required arrows (like those bursting blue balloons?)

Catalysts and Polearms give u all kinda of crazy shit lmao

Bc they can be used for a vareity of things

◇

Bc of ur player status and abilities, people of Teyvat attribute a gain in power or talents or whatnot to you, Eywa

So say u actually physically there now, and u just wake up under the coolest sickest tree youve ever seen in ur life

Omg could u imagine????

Seeing Teyvat irl? But AVATAR WORLD IRL???!!!

You would stand there lookin around like a drunk fuck for like 20 minutes, maybe longer lmao

Its just so ✨️pretty✨️ here

Also the tree itself just feels like, the equivalent to ur bedroom basically but like specifically if it was hella comfy and like just the way u want it (all the decor is up, the floor is clean, u got like hot choco on ur desk, theres a candle burning, etc.)

♤

Oh so since ur like weirdly connected to the land, like u know how theres a voice line abt walking in that glowing aranara part of Sumeru and ur steps light up?

I saw that too in the OG avatar movie

So i feel like u would have a map with ALLLLL the peoples on it and little icons

U can focus on just vision users or bosses or big nature things like Dragonspine

◇

Oh so Eywa can control all animals and whatnot and so u as a mortal person can too

So anytime theres a threat u can deadass just become a pokemon trainer LMAO

Ok but think how badass it would be to just like,

Get the Primo Geovishap or Giant Bird Jadeplume Terror thingy to just leave their territory and wipeout some mfs

(coughunknowngodasomodaycough)

It would be fucking amazing

♧

Unrelated to above bc im just spitting out ideas srry guys

but like

I feel like if u were a lifeforce sort of ancient eldritch god for the entire goddamn continent of Teyvat let alone the whole planet-

You would have to maintain said continent/planet

Like, make sure the Irminsul is growing okay, protect from mfs like Dottore,

Stop diasters if ur Eywa too, esp bc u can hear prayers now, and would hear ppl crying out to help them geez

while the prayers of the many kinda just glob together to form the major "feeling" of the prayer for most creatures,

Vision users, gods, ancient creatures u can get their exact sentences

Basically more magic = better heard to connect with u

◇

Oh u know, i could even see it being even more manual or personal labor bc ur not like a tree connected to ur roots thruout the world technically

Like if volcanoes erupt in Natlan, the archon and gods there help and u r also wanted/needed in person for it to work

U would still be powerful, but yeah like say the tree was u just playing genshin before,

The game automatically regulated diasters and stuff other than what was supposed to happen in game

◇

So kinda bouncing off that I read smwhere that the Na'vi dont actually view Eywa as like omnipotent or omniscient

(like the God™️ from the Christian bible for a example of what your not)

And also! Dont blame/attribute natural diasters, plagues, or other bad stuff on Eywa

So good for you whew 💦

Ur actually supposed to kinda just be the collective lifeforce or Teyvat/world and nature, and a defender and guide of life :0

Which kinda fits with the whole "upgrading characters" thing actually

◇

Okay but I saw somewhere in SAGAU tag someone did another name instead of Creator to spice it up and its "All-Mother"

And interestingly, Eywa in Avatar is also called that and "Great Mother"!!

How fun :0

Also, the reason Eywa still got people with free-will is bc they kinda described the relationship to Eywa being something like a mother or parent

Maybe where name/titles came from ig?

Either way, ppl be calling u all types of nicknames u aint heard before lmao

I mean ur sacred, they dont just say ur name,

Nobody knows ur real name or what u call yourself

Just what they call u

Bc they couldnt communicate with u super well before, (the bday letters were the closest they got verbally, and even then they had to be addressed somewhat to ur first vessel the traveler to get thru/be seen)

Otherwise yeah u operating them lets say before on Earth you rlly felt like an eldritch nature deity 💀

Cause u guide them in battles, strengthen their talents and skills and bodies, and feed them food

If they were in battle like needing healing food, u help them heal by consuming it for them so they dont have to take a snack break in battle and

Let me tell u, these denizens of Teyvat who have to constantly deal with magic and monsters and abyss stuff, so a stroll outside ur house gets u in a fight...

...They are very grateful for that needless to say.

Plus i like to think u make fighting easier on them bc ur "guiding" their bodies

◇

Anyway thats a long winded way to say, help me think of all the names Teyvat's given you lmao:

Eywa

All-Mother / Great Mother

All-Father / Great Father

All-Parent? / Great Parent

Creator

Their Grace

Great Puppeteer

The Puppeteer

Soul of Teyvat

Greatest Soul

☆

She aint long bc im not that creative and this idea has sm potential too😔

I would love to be Eywa sounds fun and powerful af and i dont get expected to be Jesus and they know i dont cause the natural diasters, like that sounds nice

Aight im no genius and this writing feels like im just rambling like a drunk guy sittin on the sidewalk mumbling to myself, i had to stop writing 💀

Like that energy specifically-

So lmk if yall got any other cool titles or names :0

I couldn't think of anymore :/

Also srry about the updating this post and making u check back in if u already read this before i put the taglist

(Me putting the taglist means im done editing/writing this dw if u seein this)

Cheers,

🌒🌧🌊Aquarius♒️🌌🌘

♡my beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist

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your-dearest-sunshine · 2 years

Text

Emmet's Child Gets Sent to Hisui Alone

it is time for more angst hehehe >:) if you haven’t seen the ingo version of this, it can be found here! sorry this took so long, but this is super long and it’s worth the wait i promise

cw: Mentioned death by illness, grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms

wc: ~7.4k

Emmet ▽

Your father was a regular challenger on the double line. He was an experienced trainer who collected all eight gym badges in the Hoenn region as a teenager, but never ended up challenging the Elite Four. So, when he moved to Nimbasa as soon as he was a legal adult, he found himself battling regularly on the Battle Subway.

His skills and knowledgeable team of Pokémon allowed him to battle Emmet almost on the daily. They were incredibly even battlers. The winner depended on luck.

Your father and Emmet became great friends. They would have long conversations after every battle, just talking about whatever came to mind.

Emmet remembers your father coming down the line one day, blabbing about this date he went on with this girl the night prior.

“Emmet, I know you probably won’t believe me, but she’s the one. I just feel it in my gut, man, I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with her.”

“I am Emmet, and you are right! I don’t believe you. Now, let us battle!”

Well, Emmet was wrong. That girl your father went on that date with? That was your mother.

Nearly every day, Emmet heard from your father about his relationship with your mother. He was so excited for your father–who seemed to be in the happiest state of his life.

Emmet recalls how giddy your father came into the car one day, around two years after that first date, and said that he had proposed to your mother and that she had said yes.

The Subway Boss didn’t cry at that, he didn’t cry when your father asked that he be a groomsman, but he may have shed a tear or two at the actual wedding…he didn’t tell your father that, however.

Even after marriage, your father would challenge the line. It was part of his routine now and it’s when he saw Emmet, how could he not?

Sometimes your mother would come in and watch the battles, cheering on her husband. Emmet thought she was an incredible woman, perfectly suited for your father. He could not be more happy that his good friend had found someone so lovely.

Well, actually, Emmet was happier when your father announced that your mother was pregnant.

Emmet couldn’t believe it. He was going to be an uncle! Not a biological one, but still an uncle!

Would your father bring you to the station? Would he bring you to battles in a baby bjorn? How long would it take you to start battling yourself? What is going to be your first Pokémon?

Your father said all those questions would be answered eventually, but they would just have to wait and see.

“I mean, Emmet, what if they don’t even like Pokémon?”

“That is a non-issue. I am Emmet, and will make my future nibling loves Pokémon!”

Safe to say that Emmet was very excited to meet you.

Emmet was sad, however, when your father announced that he would be starting paternity leave around a month before you were due and three-to-four months after you were born. How was he to survive without his favorite challenger?

Luckily, the Subway Boss still got calls and updates about how you and your mother were doing.

Every once and awhile, Emmet would stop by and pick up your father’s Pokémon for some training. They loved Emmet as much as your parents did.

And then you were born.

Emmet was sent some pictures of when you were only a few days old.

How could a person be so tiny? How could you be so cute?

But then, around two months later, the calls and messages stopped.

Emmet could only wait so long for a response. He wasn’t a patient man.

His questions were answered after a week of silence when he received a phone call from Castelia City West-Central Hospital.

Sometimes Emmet wishes he was never curious at all, because maybe then he wouldn’t have to come to the agonizing realization of what had happened.

It was Swinub-Flu season, and this year’s strain was particularly strong. Both your mother and father had contracted the illness.

Turns out your father had a condition that caused him to be immunocompromised, and your mother’s immune system was still very weak after having a baby.

They had to be transported to Castelia City due to how fast the flu was deteriorating their bodies, but even the best of medicine couldn’t save your parents. They had died mere hours apart.

And then there was you.

Emmet knows that your mother was estranged from her family, and he knows that your father left his family in Hoenn for a good reason. So, you had nowhere to go.

How is Emmet supposed to stand by and watch the child he thought he would be an uncle to be sent into foster care? How could he watch the child of two of his, now deceased, closest friends be sent away?

And so, instead of becoming an uncle, Emmet became a father.

You’re barely two months old, still just an infant. He doesn’t know what he is getting into, he doesn't know how to take care of a child so young.

It’s hard at first. Emmet is in love with his job. It brought him so much joy and he spends so much time at Gear Station that he doesn’t know how he’s going to give you enough attention.

Luckily enough, Ingo, who is taking his responsibilities as a new uncle very seriously, covers for Emmet while he goes on paternity leave. He is forced to leave his post, but every glance he steals of your small face reminds him he is doing this for you, not for him, and Emmet would never shirk his duties as your father.

At first, Emmet wants to bring you into the station, but Ingo advises him that you are much too young to do that. Even while he’s on leave, Emmet does a lot of paperwork from home. He wants to be helpful in some way, and this is all he could do at the moment.

But you have to know that the second you are old enough, Emmet starts to sling you in a baby bjorn all around the station.

The people of Nimbasa are surprised to see that Emmet suddenly has a child, but Emmet dismisses all the commotion in the name of your privacy. The world isn’t entitled to know the circumstances behind your existence, they don’t have to know the tragedy that brought you into Emmet’s care.

But Emmet learns very quickly how your birth parents’ presence remains in your lives.

Obviously, Emmet grieves. He grieves your birth parents with a sadness he didn’t know was possible. He cares for them both. They were two of his closest friends who had so much love for each other and now they were gone.

You were born into their overwhelming love, and it still walked beside you every moment.

Emmet took in your birth father’s team of Pokémon after his passing. They are incredibly strong, full of years of training and adventures. But now, instead of choosing to continue down the path of battling, their only goal now is to watch over you.

The Pokémon start to linger around you very early on in your life. Emmet doesn’t instruct them to do that. And, frankly, Emmet doesn’t instruct them to do anything. They don’t listen to him like that because he isn’t their trainer. They aren’t his Pokémon.

They are yours.

Breloom is full of gentle kindness, despite her fighting type. Breloom holds your hand when walking to and from school, swinging her tail back and forth in time with your steps. She is like an older sister, keeping you safe and pointing you in the right direction of things. Her no-nonsense outlook towards you means that she got along great with Emmet, but obviously she loves you more than she loves the Subway Boss.

Crawdaunt is a little demon. As a species, Crawdaunt are difficult to raise and train. They are rebellious, violent, and extremely territorial. Your birth father’s Crawdaunt never abides by what Emmet wants, instead acting like a misbehaved Herdier. He doesn’t like anyone other than the fellow Pokémon in the house, no human is good enough for his good-graces. Except you, of course. Crawdaunt is putty in your palms. He yearns for your attention like a whining toddler, begging to be scratched and soothed by you and you alone.

Ninjask is a clingy bug Pokémon. He likes to snag himself on your back like a backpack or simply rest on your head like an oversized hat. Despite his immense speed, Ninjask has a tendency to laze on you or near you. If you ever leave his sight for so long, Ninjask puts his speed to use and darts around to find you. He’s a spoiled mess, crying loudly until you hold him like a swaddled baby. He is also a very jealous Pokémon, refusing to share your attention when he’s in need of it. The steady buzz of his wings and soft hum of his voice indicate how happy he is to be in your presence.

And finally Dusclops, your birth father’s partner, is your guardian. It is an eerily silent companion, stalking around the world beside you like a warden. Dusclops is a very kind Pokémon, helping those near you who need it, but Dusclops is always yours first and foremost. It never wavers in its task of watching over you, never needing to sleep, never needing to eat, never needing to leave. Your Dusclops is the shadow in every room, the passing flash on every street corner, the dreary echo in the night. Dusclops will watch over you until its spirit drifts from its hollow body. It already lost your parents, it will not lose you.

It is nearly impossible to live in an apartment with Emmet, his Pokémon, Ingo, his Pokémon, you, and all of your birth father’s Pokémon, so Emmet moves into a tall townhouse in a good neighborhood in the center of the city to have more room for you and your team to grow up.

Ingo doesn’t move out of the apartment, and Emmet’s new home is only a short walk away. Emmet isn’t completely separated from his brother, which is a terrifying concept to him, but he now has enough space for you–the newest and most important addition to his life.

Once you are old enough, it’s hard for Emmet to think about tackling the issue of you being adopted. Emmet honestly wants Ingo to tell you, but Ingo smacks Emmet on the back of the head and tells him to suck it up. Emmet is your dad, not Ingo, and it’s his prerogative to have the conversation.

“Little Buddy, we need to talk.”

At the call of your father, you pause mid-swing. You rock Ninjask in your arms, the Pokémon buzzing softly after noticing that you halt your movements.

Emmet’s smile turns into a straight line, an unexpected seriousness splays across his features.

Full of worry, you listen carefully with wide eyes. Those words never mean anything good.

“I’m sorry I did not tell you this before. I truly regret it. I am not your real father.”

You laugh in his face and go back to swinging Ninjask in circles. Emmet blinks heavily at your response.

“What’re you talking about, Papa? Of course you’re my real father!”

Emmet sighs wistfully, not knowing where to take the conversation from here.

“I did not create you. You are not biologically my own. You are adopted.”

Never one to dance around the subject, Emmet rips the bandaid off with the grace of a Tauros in a porcelain shop.

“Well yeah, obviously. I knew that a long time ago.”

How could you know? Nobody’s had this conversation with you, and Emmet never gave any hints to you about your true genetic heritage.

“How did you know? When did you learn? Ingo did not tell you, did he?”

You shake your head. Okay, you must’ve figured it out on your own then, right?

You don’t look like him or Ingo, you look like your dad, you look like you. You are fundamentally different from Emmet in the way children usually aren’t from their biological parents.

“I’ve known since pretty much forever. Dusclops told me a while ago.”

Ninjask tries to reach up his little claws and wipe his teary eyes. With the conversation now on the topic of his original trainer, the bug type Pokémon flies off to hide—gone in the blink of an eye.

You don’t elaborate on your statement, and Emmet is too surprised to ask, but it’s true that Dusclops has conversations with you.

It talks to you a lot about the past. It tells you stories about your birth parents, stories about its travels across Hoenn with your birth father, stories about meeting the other Pokémon and becoming family with them, stories about your birth father moving to Unova and meeting your birth mother, stories about how they treated you and how much they loved you, stories about their passing and how much it destroyed the other Pokémon emotionally, and stories about how amazing Emmet is and how happy the Pokémon are to have him come into your life.

Emmet is your father, and you are his kid. Through and through.

“But I don’t know why that means you’re not my dad. You’re very much my real dad, Papa.”

Emmet ignores the tears in his eyes as he scoops you up in his arms and squeezes you with a strength he didn’t know he had.

His smile beams throughout your home, salty water pouring down his cheeks.

“Yes! Yes, you are right! I’m sorry! I’ve always been your real dad, even if I didn’t make you. Yes yes! I am Emmet and I am your Papa and you are my child!”

So, if you are truly his child, then why couldn’t he expect this to happen?

If he was truly your father, why couldn’t he tell something was wrong faster?

Emmet chases you through the house with a dusty mop, laughing loudly. In your attempt to escape his attack, you sprint out the front door and down the steps.

Your giggles echo through the downpour of the rain outside. Emmet runs onto the porch, soles stopped on the welcome mat to avoid getting wet.

A shadow that isn’t yours follows your steps along the concrete.

Emmet’s eyes watch you take off down the sidewalk, spinning water droplets off your back. It's a little dark outside, the street lights are on but it isn't late at night yet, but he can still see you a bit before the canopy of water hides you completely.

Your father calls out your name, staying under the awning to avoid getting wet (Ingo would be mad if his brother ruined another pair of socks). The mop dangles from Emmet’s hands, chest heaving from the exercise of having chased you.

The rain is loud, and the sky seems to open up wider to pour down a stronger storm.

A minute or so passes before Emmet realizes he can no longer hear your familiar laugh through the rain.

His arms sag down while his smile wavers. He feels puzzled, looking out to the abandoned streets of Nimbasa.

Suddenly, Emmet has an incredibly strong stomach ache. It feels like getting punched in the gut while paralyzed, unable to prepare for the hit.

His voice feels unsure in his throat.

“Hey! This is verrrry unfunny, kiddo! We still have cleaning to do!”

Emmet calls out again when you don't respond. He’s overwhelmed by an emotion he can’t name. He doesn’t know why he feels this way.

You should be right there. Why aren’t you saying anything?

This time, all he says is your name.

You don’t reply.

Emmet takes a deep, shuddering breath. His lungs ache like he is drowning in the rain, full of suffering and fear.

This time, when Emmet speaks, it comes out softer than a whisper. It is barely a breath off his lips.

“...Dusclops?”

And the ghost type responds with a bellowing, agonizing, haunting sob that reverberates through the storm.

Goosebumps rise on Emmet's skin at the noise, and your father drops the mop and sprints down the street.

When he finds Dusclops, Emmet observes the Pokémon’s catatonic state. The rain shimmers an inch or two off of Dusclops’ bandages, as if an invisible cloak of the afterlife coats the ghost type’s surface.

You are still nowhere to be seen.

Dusclops stands unnervingly still, its sole red eye staring into someplace far away from these rain-soaked streets of Nimbasa.

From the way it’s acting, Emmet doesn’t need to say a word to figure out what happened.

If Dusclops doesn’t know where you were, nobody would.

You're gone.

The preliminary investigation is unsuccessful; so is every subsequent investigation after that.

The Nimbasa Police sweep the area far more times than is necessary. Nearly 24 hours later, as Emmet watches detectives investigate the home, Ingo comes bursting in through the front door.

Ingo is frantic. His voice booms across the living room as he rushes over to his younger brother. Ingo came the second he could, but he had to wait until the station slowed down after rush-hour to come see his brother.

Emmet was no-call-no-show at the station this morning and hadn’t answered a single call or text. Ingo tried to call you as backup, but your phone came up with “caller does not exist” and the texts immediately went to “undelivered.” Full of worry, Ingo ran towards the townhouse as fast as he could.

Can you imagine what he felt when he saw the countless police cars outside?

“Emmet! Where have you been? Why haven’t you been answering your phone? Why are the police—”

Ingo’s hands shoot out and grip Emmet’s shoulders tightly, his voice loud and bleeding with concern.

“Do not worry, brother! They just went out for a bit. They will be back later.”

“What are you talking about? Who went out? Why are there so many police officers? Who’s coming back?”

Before Ingo can ask another question, he looks and takes in his younger twin’s condition.

Emmet’s eyes are bloodshot and his mouth wobbles in a phony smile. His legs shake where he stood, exhaustion creeping up on him. Dark circles dance under his eyes as his fingers grab at Ingo’s black coat like a lifeline.

Your father answers your uncle’s questions with nothing but the simple statement of your name. Ingo, bewildered, still doesn’t yet understand.

“...are they not here…?”

Emmet suddenly collapses, knees unlocking and grasp sealing on his twin in front of him. Ingo catches Emmet and forces his younger brother’s head into the crook of his neck to hold him.

Ingo silently cries hearing Emmet’s raucous sobs, unable to hold it together seeing his own brother fall apart in his arms. He’s never seen Emmet this distraught.

Things don’t improve from there.

There is no progress on the investigation. Despite the pleads of your father and uncle, there’s nothing anyone can do. The police try all that they can, but it just doesn’t feel like enough.

The brothers enlist Elesa and other friends of theirs to help spread the word and images of you; but, it's no surprise that nothing comes from that either.

Your father then hires a private investigator or four. They’re good, sharp-witted, and renowned in their field.

None of them find anything. You vanished into thin air, it seems. Despite all of their years of work and experience, your missing persons case is an anomaly.

After a few weeks of no progress, Emmet seems to just…return to normal.

Emmet goes back to the subway like clockwork, helping around the station and following his tasks without wavering. He wears his usual smile all the same, not a bump nor waver in his lips.

Those of Nimbasa who know or care about your disappearance are incredibly perplexed by Emmet’s behavior. After throwing everything that he is into the search for you, Emmet seemingly moves on.

It’s almost unsettling how Emmet acts as if nothing is wrong.

“They just needed some time away. Everyone does. They’re coming back eventually. Am I worried? I am Emmet. I am not worried. They are fine.”

His visage gives no hints towards continuous long nights, no signs of puffy eyes from crying, no remnants of exhaustion or sadness. There’s no clues that point to these things happening because they’re not.

The lack of emotional instability is concerning, but the actions Emmet takes are even more so.

He removes the pictures of you from the wall in his office and hides the trinkets you’ve given him from his desk. His lockscreen becomes a picture of him and Ingo rather than the three of you. Your Pokémon aren’t seen by his side at the station anymore, and Emmet stops talking about you.

It’s as if Emmet is trying to scrub your existence from his life, like he’s trying to detangle your being from his.

When other people bring you up, Emmet simply acts semi-aloof. He pretends to not pick up on the subtle cues they throw, trying to get him to speak about you and the situation.

Anyone who has any sort of perception or basic understanding of trauma responses knows that this is Emmet’s way of coping.

Four of the stages of grief—anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance—are all preceded by denial.

In an odd twist of fate, alongside denying the incident that took you away from him, your father denies your life as a whole.

Ingo, understandably, is enraged at his younger twin for the way he acts.

“How dare you, Emmet.”

“I am Emmet, and you are Ingo. I do not know why you are so mad at me.”

“Just look at what you’re doing!”

Ingo gestures to the box of things Emmet is in the middle of packing. He’s taking out some of the things you left in their shared office.

Books you read, half annotated and covered in sticky notes, are buried under hoodies you forgot and topped by a pair of earbuds you used. There’s a loose art class sculpture in there as well, stuck beside a reusable water bottle covered in stickers.

“I do not see a problem in this.”

Ingo’s face flushes red, hands twisted into trembling fists at his sides.

“How could you do this to your own child?!”

At that, Emmet stands up straight and tall, as if his spine is replaced by a metal rod. With the feeling of all his muscles going taught, Emmet faces his older brother.

“Ingo–”

“You’re abandoning them, Emmet! How dare you abandon someone you said you loved so much!”

Emmet simply shakes his head.

“Brother, you are wrong. I love them. I haven’t stopped. I will love them until they come back.”

As soon as Emmet finishes his sentence, Ingo lunges forth and grips Emmet by the lapels of his white jacket.

“They aren’t here for you to love, Emmet! They’re gone! Missing! And here you are trying to erase everything that they left behind!”

Ingo is screaming, voice bellowing out from the depths of his lungs.

“They’re just away–”

Ingo yells in frustration, gripping Emmet tighter and gritting his teeth.

“Why don’t you get it, Emmet?! They’re not here! And now it seems like you’re trying to get rid of the rest of them too. How can you do this? How can you abandon the memory of your child? What kind of father are you–”

Emmet’s hands lock onto Ingo’s wrists like iron, throwing his brother off with all of his strength. The older twin is sent tumbling back, but remains on his feet.

Both of the Subway Bosses are heaving for air, staring at each other with a foreign animosity.

A beat or two passes, and neither brother makes a move to apologize or reconcile.

The silence is suffocating.

“I…I am—I am-!”

Emmet can’t finish his sentence before landing harshly on his knees, head in his palms as his forehead presses to the linoleum tile.

He screams in frustration, voice tearing with the emotion filling his soul.

Grief is a monster. It is love with no vessel to pour into.

It consumes him, filling his chest like water, like rain. Emmet is drowning in his love for you, but it has nowhere to go. It chokes him.

You’re not here. You’re not here. You’re not here.

Despite the concerns from his brother, Emmet doesn’t change.

Emmet finds it easier to not acknowledge your disappearance at all. It’s easier to not keep track of the days, weeks, months you’ve been missing and instead live life by the minute.

Then, he can pretend like he hasn’t read every fact that tells him that you’re statistically dead.

If he doesn’t have to think about you, doesn’t have to accept the fact you’re going to be gone forever, then he can still hold onto that dim flicker of hope buried deep in his heart.

A year passes, and despite his efforts, Emmet still can’t break the habits and routines that he embedded in himself as a father.

Every Saturday he still makes pancakes with that fruity cereal you and your team loved. Though, this time, he makes servings for one less than normal.

Sometimes on his afternoon break, when he’s disassociating more than usual, Emmet wanders out of the station and along the path he took to get to your school. You’re never there, never walking besides the other hundreds of children when they’re let out for the day.

On the 15th of every month, Emmet still walks into your room and replaces the air freshener he had set up next to your nightstand.

There’s a lot of things that have changed since you’ve been gone.

Your Pokémon don’t interact with Emmet very much anymore.

And, in all honesty, Emmet doesn’t really mind. All he can think about when he looks at them is you, and he rather not think about that.

Ninjask screeches at Emmet any time he enters a room. The bug type refuses to be in your father’s presence. He skitters outside more often than not, escaping through an open window and not returning for days at a time. Emmet wonders if the Pokémon is looking for you. Sometimes Emmet can hear Ninjask solemnly singing in the night. The haunting tune keeps him up for hours on end.

Breloom practically lives in the backyard. She cultivates the small strip of land Emmet owns behind the townhouse. What was once a barren flat section of green is now a wild garden, overflowing with plants, mushrooms, and your favorite flowers. Breloom’s happy disposition is now replaced by seriousness and sadness. Every once and awhile, the Pokémon approaches someone on Emmet’s team for a hug. Usually Eelektross is the one who provides comfort. Breloom never asks Emmet for anything. Emmet doesn’t know if he has it within himself to give the Pokémon the happiness it deserves.

Crawdaunt all but monopolizes your room from Emmet. As a species, Crawdaunt are extremely territorial. The water Pokémon refuses to allow anyone into your space except the other Pokémon that were in your care. He snaps his claws if Emmet so much as touches the doorknob. The only exception is the 15th of every month; but, even then, the Pokémon doesn’t let your father linger. Emmet never wants to, anyway.

Dusclops confines itself to the four walls of your bedroom. The ghost Pokémon never leaves, never wavers, never moves. It tries to linger in the place overflowing with your influence, as if trying to grasp onto the last remaining wisps of you. Emmet swears he can feel Dusclops watching him from the shadows around the house, but the Pokémon has made it quite clear that it does not care about Emmet’s condition in the slightest. At this point in its long, incessant, never-ending life, Dusclops feels nothing. It lost you. What’s the point of continuing this second life if you’re not here?

Despite all that Emmet does to ignore you, he can’t seem to move from the townhouse. He’s done so much to try and keep your memory from tormenting him, but he thinks moving homes would sever the tie from him to you forever.

Emmet’s mental state doesn’t improve from the constant denial of your absence.

Sure, in the first few months, not thinking about you allowed him to suppress the initial pain. It was his body’s immediate defense mechanism to protect itself from harm.

But, after a long time, the denial doesn’t work anymore.

A year and a half later, the sanity in Emmet's continued denial starts to slip. While the public’s forgotten about you, they catch on to the decay of your father’s wellbeing.

Emmet throws himself into work like never before.

His overtime hours pile up, flying through the roof. Despite earning salary pay, he gets awarded a bonus he didn’t know existed for his extra work.

He works through breaks, battles more trainers, directs more passengers, comes in early, stays in late, picks up extra paperwork, and pulls the slack left behind by some depot workers. Emmet does everything and more.

Ingo knows what’s happening to Emmet more than anyone else.

He can see his younger brother’s pallid skin and sunken cheeks, eyes catching on the looser fit of his clothes. Ingo watches from across his desk as his brother’s head sways and how his eyelids droop.

Ingo can see that Emmet isn’t sleeping right, that Emmet isn’t eating right. Ingo knows that Emmet is overworking himself.

The more time he spends thinking about work, the less time Emmet spends thinking about you. The less he sleeps, the fewer nightmares he has. The less he eats, the less he imagines you sitting across from him eating the same thing.

Ingo knows Emmet is a stubborn man. No amount of petty arguments will change Emmet’s views.

But, when Emmet’s legs give in and he nearly passes out onto the tracks mid-shift, Ingo knows enough is enough.

A week or so after passing out, Emmet goes to work like any other. But, even in a diminished mental state, Emmet can tell something’s going on.

Depot agents that usually didn’t approach him greet him as he walks by. Some of them go out of their way to give him a smile and wave before going back to work diligently.

Despite their kindness, Emmet feels odd about it.

He eventually reaches his and Ingo’s private office. It’s in one of the best locations in the subway. Here it’s quiet, secluded, and safe.

Opening the door, Emmet makes eye contact with both Elesa and Ingo. While he doesn’t expect Ingo to be smiling, Elesa’s lack of a grin rubs Emmet the wrong way.

“I am Emmet, and you are Elesa. What are you doing here? I am surprised you are not busy.”

Emmet’s question sounds happy. He has a grin on his face seeing that one of his good friends has made time for a surprise visit, but they’re not smiling back at him.

“I just really wanted to talk with you, Emmet. Can you shut the office door and come sit down over here?”

From that, Emmet goes on edge.

He obliges, but it’s obvious to see that Emmet is tense. He moves to sit in front of his brother and Elesa, but he moves far too stiffly to be feeling comfortable.

Emmet takes a seat in his desk chair that’s been pushed back from his actual desk. Ingo and Elesa are leaning against it, not sitting and staring downwards at Emmet.

Ingo clears his throat, but can’t seem to speak. He glances at Elesa for help. She nods and speaks plainly.

“We need to talk about them, Emmet.”

The air seemingly fills with static, your father’s hair standing on end. He can feel his heart jumpstart and speed up.

“Who are you talking about? Who’s them?”

Ingo feels like Emmet knows the answer already, but responds with your name anyway.

Emmet doesn’t react at all. Not shifting, not moving, not speaking, just…nothing.

“We’re really, really concerned about the way you’re processing their…absence.”

Elesa speaks gently, dancing around the subject. This conversation is uncomfortable for both sides, but it is necessary.

“You’re unhealthy, Emmet. You aren’t taking care of yourself and your body is reaping the consequences of your lack of self-care.”

“I am Emmet and I am fine.”

Emmet’s voice is tight and sharp. He doesn’t like where this conversation is going.

“You’re going to get yourself hurt if you keep acting like this. You haven’t truly grieved them, Emmet, and look what that’s doing to you.”

“Who am I supposed to grieve? Nobody I know is dead.”

Elesa’s face twists into something mournful, a few rogue tears prickling in her eyes.

“Emmet…you can’t keep doing this…”

Ingo’s voice cuts in where Elesa fails.

“It’s been two years. Acting this way does no good for anyone, and you know they would be incredibly unhappy if they knew you were acting this way.”

Emmet forcefully shoves himself up and out of the chair, brows furrowed and fists shaking at his sides.

“You are both being verrrrry mean right now.”

“It’s because we care, Emmet! We care about you so much and we want to see you happy again.”

Elesa moves to grab Emmet’s sleeve, but he yanks his arm away from her grasp before she can touch him.

“I am leaving now.”

As Emmet turns to the door, he sees Ingo’s Haxorus standing there blocking the exit.

The Pokémon is physically imposing, but it looks down at Emmet with overwhelming sadness, shaking its head as Emmet attempts to maneuver around it.

“You can’t keep running away from this, Emmet. You can’t keep denying what happened.”

“Be quiet, Ingo!”

Ingo’s taking a more direct approach while Elesa treads the unstable waters carefully. She doesn’t want to upset Emmet even more, but Ingo is desperate for his brother to get better to the point he will say whatever Emmet needs to hear, even if he doesn’t want to hear it.

“We’re just trying to help you. We all wish they were here right now, you’re not alone in that.”

“I don’t need your help! There is nothing wrong with me!”

Elesa takes a step back, rubbing her teary eyes. She misses you greatly, and watching one of her closest friends self-destruct hurts her even more.

“We all miss them, Emmet, it’s okay.”

Emmet scrubs at his eyes, voice growing rocky and legs feeling unsteady.

He pulls down his hands and looks straight at his brother and friend, smiling pulling unnaturally wide in an attempt to feign indifference.

“There is nobody for me to miss, Elesa—”

“They’re gone, Emmet! They’re gone and they’re not coming back!

Emmet gasps at Ingo’s words as if his brother had punched him in the gut.

He can feel it, the rain filling his lungs and the world closing around him.

“Don’t say that! They will! I know they will!”

Seeing Emmet acknowledge you, Elesa steps forward with Ingo.

“They’re gone, Emmet.”

She repeats Ingo’s words in a calmer voice, but Emmet seems to become all the more erratic.

“No…no t-they can’t be…they can’t…”

Emmet’s heaving for air, fist gripping the clothes right above his heart with all of his strength. He’s now staring at the floor, not being able to look Ingo or Elesa in the eyes.

“Emmet–”

“STOP IT! STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!”

Emmet bursts into sobs, and Ingo is close enough to lunge forward and catch his younger brother before he hits the floor.

Ingo and Emmet curl into each other’s hold on the ground of their office, Emmet’s emotions leaving him unable to stand.

Elesa joins them, wrapping her arms around both of the brothers and slowly rubbing her hands up and down their backs to calm them.

This time, Ingo doesn’t cry. This isn’t about him. It’s about Emmet. It’s about you.

Eventually, Emmet’s cries turn into whispers, then whimpers, and then into nothing.

He feels the comfort of Ingo’s hand rubbing over his head, keeping him safely held against his older brother’s shoulder.

The silence is broken by Emmet’s shuddering inhale.

“I am Emmet and my child is dead.”

And so, after two years without you, Emmet finally starts the grieving process.

The years of denying your absence had torn him apart. Multiple of Emmet’s relationships soured and he didn’t care. But now, he was in a better place to try and fix them.

Slowly, but surely, Emmet starts to follow the stages of grief with his friends and family at his side.

After denial comes anger.

Emmet’s angry at himself. He’s angry that he wasn’t able to stop you from disappearing dying, he’s angry he wasn’t able to find you, and he’s angry that he tried to remove your memory from his.

But most of all, he’s angry that something took you away from him.

Emmet doesn’t understand why he hasn’t realized this sooner, how he didn’t hyperfixate on this fact earlier.

Something or someone had stolen you from his life, ripped you out of his grasp to take for themselves. How dare they.

Emmet is irate. His rage fuels him like coal in an engine, heart and mind barreling down the tracks to a destination unknown. What’s at the end of it? Closure? Revenge? You?

There are never enough answers.

However angry Emmet becomes, Ingo and Elesa are there to pull him away from an all-consuming frenzy. They calm him down, help him process his emotions, help him understand that this anger is helpful to no one.

Two and a half years after you went missing died, Emmet finds himself in the bargaining stage of grief.

This is when Emmet notices that he has so much left to do, so much left to learn.

He’s trying to get his act straight, as if that would somehow make up for all the time he spent being awful after your disappearance death.

Regret is something he feels on the daily now. The shame and anxiety of it all leaves your father struggling to get out of bed some days, but he rises all the same.

And suddenly, while simultaneously begging to Arceus to acknowledge your life, Emmet becomes stronger.

He uses the negative emotions as fuel, feeling the bad and turning it into something positive.

Emmet is alert, on top of his game, on top of his life after what’s been a long, long, two and half years.

In a refreshed state of mind, Emmet is quick to realize that something is off about the storm going on outside.

It’s more than simple thunder and lighting, it’s spiraling, all-consuming, and alive.

Standing inside the station above ground, even through the torrential rain, Emmet can hear something in the atmosphere rip and tear in two.

The clouds turn from their murky grays and become something violet, indigo, and aegean.

Citizens of Nimbasa flood past the doors of Gear Station like the tide, drenched, screaming, and scared. Emmet stands in the middle of it all, the coastline withstanding the waves.

“Something came out of the sky!”

“It’s coming for us!”

“This is Arceus punishing us for all our sins!”

In the midst of everything, a middle-aged woman grips Emmet by his arm.

He can feel her shaking through his coat, quivering in fear. Her hair is soaked and sticking to her face.

“Subway Boss Emmet! Please, you have to protect us, you’re one of the strongest trainers in Nimbasa and this thing, whatever it is, is going to hurt us! I’ve heard about the beasts in Alola, please don’t let this be the same!”

The lady runs off before Emmet can reply.

From the outside streets, people come rushing past Emmet and flee into the tunnels underground and away from the downpour.

Suddenly, Emmet is the only one in Gear Station.

Like a statue or a talisman of strength and protection, Emmet stands tall with his partner’s Pokéball in hand. Eelektross’ capsule almost hums with energy in his palm.

The tearing noise of the odd distortion stirs again, and then all the misplaced color is gone from the sky and the sound is no more. However, the weather still rages.

A figure walks forward through the open doors of Gear Station.

“Hello there, passenger! Everyone entering must follow the safety checks. You are scaring the other passengers. Everyone must feel safe before the train can depart!”

And there it is, the thing the people said came from the sky. It walks with heavy, strong strides, a silhouette shrouded in mystery.

By now, Emmet can tell that it's the shape of a person.

The lightning outside strikes fervently, without remorse, as if trying to light the city on fire. Thunder booms across the open and empty lobby, blending in with Emmet’s voice.

Then, the mask of darkness is finally lifted.

Drenched in rain, backlit by the storm, you walk into the mouth of Gear Station two and a half years later.

Your clothing clings to your skin. It looks as if it was made for you, the garbs of blue and white. A sole red scarf dangles from your neck, torn and battered by a land that is far away in distance and time from here.

From rain you left and in rain you did return.

Eelektross’ ball hits the tile because Emmet is already running straight for you, body unfaltering and determined.

Emmet’s voice is stolen from his throat. He tries to call your name, tries to say anything, but it all comes out in a pathetic croak. After all this time, what is there to say?

Had his praises to Arceus been heard? Had the creator of all things decided that he had suffered enough? Whatever the reason is, Emmet would kneel and express his thanks for centuries.

If you recognize him, you shake the doubtful thoughts from your head, dislodging a few tears in the process, and start running.

“Papa…!”

When you finally collide, centuries of distance are forgotten in an instant. All that remains is longing, runion, and love.

Emmet all but tackles you to the ground, grasping you in his arms and holding you so very tightly. It’s as if he’s trying to absorb your very being into his, trying to make up for all the lost time and filling the nothingness that you left.

You allow yourself to be held, wrapping your arms around your father just as fervently. You can’t imagine ever wanting to let go again, ever wanting to remain out of his sight.

He pushes his face into your hair and weeps. Emmet never thought he’d hear your voice again, never thought he'd see you again, never thought he’d hold you again.

You’re alive, and that is more than Emmet ever thought could be possible.

“I am Emmet and I am your Papa and I have missed you!”

If you don’t recognize him, you steal yourself and take a deep breath, staring ahead as Emmet runs towards you.

Just like Beni taught you, you use Emmet’s momentum against him, twisting his grasp off of you and throwing him to the ground.

Emmet rolls across the tile roughly, breath getting knocked out of his lungs in the process. He scrambles to get up, but you’re already backing away from him.

“I wouldn’t think about trying that again, stranger.”

You threaten him, voice cold and impersonal. There is nothing warm about you, nothing happy, nothing loving.

Emmet watches as you slowly shuffle away, and at the sight, he can’t even bring his legs to stand.

Your eyes are soulless and your words like poison. You stare at him like an abused Pokémon trapped in a corner, not a trusting nor forgiving ounce left in your body.

Emmet scrambles in your direction, hand reaching out desperately to any part of you that might still remember him.

“What? I don’t understand! I am Emmet and I am not a stranger—wait…! No! Please don’t leave me again!”

ty for 100+ follower btw!! not deserved but whatevs i'll take what i can get hehe reposts, likes, and comments all appreciated, i rlly do love hearing all of your guys' thoughts!!

#pokemon x reader #pokémon #dad emmet #ingo #x reader #submas #pokemon imagines #subway boss emmet #pokemon ingo #pokemon emmet #angst #dad ingo #uncle ingo #pla #legends arceus #pokemon legends arceus #emmet #emmet x reader

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purpleyoonn · 9 months

Text

the line between love and war 11

C H A P T E R 11: PTD D1 Soundcheck

Genre: soulmate au, bts au, idol bts, polyamory relationship, eventual smut

Paring: Idol!BTS x autistic!mc

Status: Ongoing (randomly updated)

Warnings: mental illness, talk of disability, lots of angst, miscommunication, feelings of depression, feelings of isolation, polyamory bts, stalking, dangerous behavior, eventual smut,

Chapter Warnings: mc has a fear of heights, mc insta live, protective bangtan, not that much going on, more of a filler chapter,

Permanent Taglist: @m1sss1mp @yourleftsock @skyys-universe @cryingpages @strxwbloody @drissteele @dustyinkpages @iamkookiesforyou @crushedblackroses @fluffy-canada-pancakes @blaaiissee @iiitsmaria @carolinexkpop @azazel-nyx @strawberry-moonpies @g-h-o-s-t-b-a-b-i @knjkitten @kleirielk @foreverweareyoung7 @lachimolala22019 @namuficxs @94z-93 @kimgmzmc @thenaverse @dahliasbouqet @black-rose-29 @tinyoonsblog @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @stellauniverse @stupendouscookiehumanmug @tinyoonsblog @veronawrites @tatyhend @singukieee @m0v3m3ntsblog @sidthesloth1305 @exfolitae @butterymin @queen-in-the-shadows

Masterlist // Chapter 10 // Chapter 12

————————————————–

Previously on The Line Between Love and War:

“I need pictures with my daughter to show my friends.” Was her excuse for extra pictures, making you grin back at her. You didn’t mind, even posting some pictures on your Instagram afterwards, putting a small heart over her face to keep her anonymity like Hobi wanted.

You ended up spending the entire day with them, getting frozen yogurt and buying a couple of things that Jiwoo picked out for you, saying you would look beautiful in them. They were even cotton like you wanted.

It was an amazing day with family.

Today was the first day of the concerts the boys would be giving, and you had all left early to SoFi stadium for soundcheck and any last-minute things the boys would need to be aware of. You had arrived somewhere between eight and nine that morning, coffees in hand.

You had planned the night before that you would be going with them early, your backpack already packed with snacks and whatever else you and Jungkook decided to pack.

Jungkook has deemed it his job to make sure your backpack was always ready for you, filled with what his instincts told him you would need. So, he insisted on helping you pack, practically pushing you out of the way to make sure you had everything you needed.

You could see how nervous and stressed everyone was, so you decided you would try and stay out of the way of everyone, not wanting to add to the already busy day. So, once you were introduced to the staff, you had kissed the boys goodbye, ignoring their confused stares, and left their dressing room to explore the stadium.

You had your backpack with you, probably making you gain a couple of weird looks, but you ignored it with the thought of exploring. You would never have had this opportunity before, and your curiosity always won out, unfortunately. Your eloping had caused a lot of problems growing up, and you tried your hardest to ignore your instincts, but sometimes they won out.

You moved through backstage first, lanyard and badge worn around your neck so the crew knew who you were. It also helped that Seungho walked a few paces behind you, glaring at everyone that even looked your way. He had been very protective since the incident at the mall. You tried to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, but he didn’t seem to agree.

You tried to make him smile again by showing him a picture on Amazon of a backpack that had a leash, telling him that you would use it if he wanted. He laughed out loud before shaking his head no. Jin liked the idea though, saying he would have the company make BT21 versions and use the RJ one. Namjoon just shook his head.

You looked at everything you could, from the lights being adjusted to going on the stage where the boys would perform. The gates for soundcheck wouldn’t be opened until three, but you could already hear fans lining up outside the arena, screaming and laughing in excitement for the concert. It had you feeling a little wistful, wishing you could go out there and have the fan experience you dreamed about.

But, you realized, you got to experience something none of them would. While it didn’t make you less wistful, you tried to not be upset about the experience you wouldn’t get. Instead, you decided you could give the fans a new experience.

You opened up your Instagram, and after figuring out how to go live, you hit the button and waited. You were a little insecure, thinking no one would view it, but within seconds you had over a thousand people watching the live.

“Oh, I didn’t think this would work. I’ve never done this but I figured I could give you guys a tour!” You whispered excitedly into the camera, hoping you wouldn’t get into trouble. You didn’t know if you were allowed, and in hindsight, you probably should have asked, but you were excited.

“Hi everyone! My name is Y/N. Wait, you would know this if you’re following me. Uhm, anyways! This is the set up for the stage!” You aren’t quite sure how to turn the camera from front facing to back facing, making a concentrated face while you do so, but instead you just turn yourself so they can see the screen.

You move down the stage, making it so where you weren’t in the screen as you moved. You then turn around so they see the empty seats.

“In just a couple of hours you guys will be in here, then maybe it won’t be so empty.” You look at the screen, seeing comments and questions and a bunch of hearts pop up, surprising you as you didn’t really expect that. You see one that asks where the boys are.

“Where are the boys? Oh! They are getting ready for soundcheck and the concert. When I left the room to explore, they were talking about last minute changes to their outfits.” You hope your answer is okay, reading more of the comments as you move off stage and down the stairs to the seats.

“Oh wow, the stage looks so close when you are in the first row! Now I know how you guys get so many good fancams!” Your excited voice can be heard from the stage, where the boys are starting to come out. You had trouble controlling your volume when you got excited.

Jimin was the first to spot you, standing in front of the first row on the left of the stage, holding your phone up so you could be seen.

“Hyung? Is she on a live?” Jimin pokes Hobi, before pointing to you. Hobi and the others look at you, answering a fans question wondering what you were going to be wearing to the concert. Jungkook is quick to grab his phone, opening up Twitter to see nothing, while Taehyung opened Instagram to see you were in fact going live.

“She is live on Insta, Jiminie.” He spoke, sending his own hearts to you on the app. Jin peaked over his shoulder to see you smiling at the screen, his heart fluttering at how happy you looked.

“Oh, what’s this? Are you sure? They are supposed to be getting ready for soundcheck.” You mumble when you see a bunch of comments come up saying the Taehyung commented on your live, looking up to see Hobi, Namjoon, Jin and Yoongi on the stage, waving dramatically at you. But you didn’t see the others. You thought they were still in the room when an arm wrapped around your waist.

“Oh my gosh you scared me!” You screamed at Jungkook, smacking at him as he just laughed, holding his chest. Jimin and Taehyung appeared over your shoulder, waving at the camera as tons of comments appeared for the boys.

“Well, uh, say hello to ARMY, boys!” You speak up, pointing at the camera. A chorus of “hellos” from the boys had you hearing screams from outside the arena. You turned to Jimin, asking him if the soundcheck was starting soon.

“They are going to be letting them in soon.” Was his response, his eyes focused on the comments flowing on the screen. He was determined to learn English, even more so when he recognized a couple of hate comments. He didn’t want you seeing that so he grabbed your phone out of your hand.

“See you soon, Army.” He gave his biggest smile before hitting the “end live” button. (However, army figured out why he ended the live so quickly and proceeded to make edits about how protective he was while also making edits about how cute you and your facial expressions were.)

“Hey! I wanted to say goodbye.” You told Jimin once you saw he ended the live.

“Sorry baby. The crew is about to let the fans in for soundcheck.” He brought you in for a hug, then proceeded to guide you back onto the stage where the others were waiting.

When you got on stage, you could see the crew running around backstage, doing so many last minute things so the soundcheck goes off without a hitch. You walked with Jimin to where the boys were huddled, his hand planted firmly on the small of your back, keeping you close.

“I see you had some fun on live, baby.” Namjoon spoke up, a dimpled smile on his lips as he pulls you in for a hug, your cheek happily smooshed against his chest. You nodded at his statement, too comfortable and warm to bother moving.

You loved when they hugged you like this, letting your entire body just fall into them, their arms wrapped around you, just letting you relax into them. It felt so nice and had you feeling warm and loved.

You had your eyes closed, missing the look Namjoon had sent you, a soft smile on his lips. But Hobi didn’t miss it, taking a quick picture and archiving it into the newly made folder on his phone with your name on it. He already had a bunch saved, mainly candids of you, seeing as you didn’t really feel comfortable with posed photos yet.

You just listened to them talk about how the soundcheck was going to go, leaning into Namjoon as they began to put their in-ears on. They all already had their mics in hand, making it simpler for them as they discussed which song they were going to rehearse first.

When the army’s with soundcheck tickets started trickling in, Namjoon had squeezed you against him really quick before reluctantly letting you go, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“We will see you later, okay?” You nodded your head, almost too relaxed to think about speaking. The others also bid you the same goodbye, kissing your lips in passing as they moved to their places on stage and Seungho guided you backstage.

“Do you think we could watch the soundcheck too?” You turn to Seungho to ask him when he began to guide you back to the dressing room.

“I don’t think it’s safe...” He began to say when you cut him off.

“I won’t watch from the front! What about the higher up seats? Like the 200’s section?” You ask him, basically pleading with your hands bundled together in front of your chest. You even tried to break out the puppy dog eyes that always worked on Yoongi.

“I promise we will be safe.” You tell him, hoping that will work, and then squealing from excitement as he finally relents and nods his head. You grab his hand and practically drag him to the entrance you remember from your earlier exploration that led you to the stairs that take you to the higher sections.

You waste no time climbing up the large number of stairs in front of you, almost tripping a couple of times to Seungho’s dismay.

When you reached the top, you were excited. You moved from seat to seat trying to figure out which one had the best view, spending a couple minutes picking before eventually sitting in the one right in the middle of the first row. None of the fans could see you unless they were specifically looking for you. (They did, in fact, spot you and your photos circulated twitter for a couple of hours)

You took your backpack off and took out the army bomb you snuck in there behind Jungkook’s back. You put your batteries in it and excitedly started waving it, causing laughter to erupt from Seungho, his eyes closed as he laughed at your animated form.

You didn’t know where you would be during the concert, so you came prepared in case you were allowed to go to the soundcheck and didn’t have to be backstage. You really wanted to experience the concert and didn’t care how you did it.

You tried to stay still in your seat but it didn’t work. You danced and sang along the entire time, happy that you could hear the songs live, even if you weren’t necessarily at the concert.

However, during a small break in the soundcheck where the boys had some issues with the back track, you took a second to look around, realizing exactly how high up you were in the stadium. You could feel your heart racing, as if trying to jump out of your ribcage.

You think the last time you were high in the air was at your home city’s yearly fair, where you had a panic attack on the Ferris Wheel years ago. You didn’t realize you were still scared of heights, not having been any place high in such a long time.

You were starting to feel sick, so you sat down and slowly turned to Seungho, who had noticed something change in your energy.

“Can we, uh, can we get down? I forgot I was scared of heights.” You whisper, unable to force your volume any louder in your terror. You were feeling dizzy and like you were going to fall over the edge of the balcony with every second that ticked by.

“Of course.” Seungho spoke quickly, helping you to stand up on your shaky legs before holding your hand and slowly helping you back down the stairs to the first floor. You felt like a newborn doe walking for the first time, your legs shaky and unbalanced.

“Why don’t we find a couple of seats in the 100’s sections, behind where the floor is set up? Would that be easier for you?” Seungho asked, knowing just how badly you wanted to experience the soundcheck like a normal fan. You couldn’t be on the floor for safety reasons, but he didn’t see why you couldn’t at least be behind them.

You think about it, turning your head to glance at where he had gestured. It wasn’t too high off the ground and seemed to be at the relative height of the stage where you had previously stood already.

“I think so.” You nod at him, and he could still see the traces of fear across your expression, the way your eyes had widened, lips pursed and jaw clenched.

Seungho brought you to the small steps that would bring you to the first row of the 100’s section, maybe ten feet from where the people at the edge of the floor were standing. You noticed another guard move over to where you were standing, in between you and the fans in soundcheck.

Despite the boys being on stage and surrounded by fans, you were still a priority to the staff and security.

You enjoyed the rest of soundcheck in the front row, not as energetic and excited as before, but you couldn’t help but shake your arms side to side in front of you, your hands in fists as you tried to not stand up on your still shaky legs. Your stimming had Seungho relaxing a little, knowing you were feeling slightly better, or, you would be as you continued to stim.

A couple of minutes before soundcheck ended, Seungho decided it would be the best time for you to go back to the dressing room and wait for the boys. You agreed, also wanting to go back and see them and hoping they would be able to spare some time for cuddles.

You’ve decided since meeting them, you loved cuddles. You loved being held. You loved being touched. But only by them. It was a weird conclusion to you as you hated being touched before you met them. You didn’t care though. You loved how you felt being with them.

You called the feeling ‘small thoughts no brain’. You didn’t have to think about anything, worry about anything. You didn’t have to make any decisions, knowing the boys would make them for you. You could just lay in their arms and feel warm.

Within minutes of you entering the room and sitting down, your backpack resting against the bottom of the long, black couch, the boys had come back in, smiling and laughing. Their energy was palpable and had you even bouncing in your seat. They had put their mics back in their cases before moving to where you sat.

Hobi was the first to reach you, with Taehyung being a close second. They both wrapped their arms around you and had you sitting in this weird position where you were sitting in both of their laps. Taehyung had his head resting on your shoulder while Hobi had his chin resting on your head, your own laying against his shoulder.

“Did you enjoy soundcheck, pretty girl?” Hobi asked you once you became comfortable in their laps.

“I did after we moved down to the lower section.” You grabbed his hand and held it in yours, your fingers tracing shapes into his palm. “I forgot I was scared of heights and being up in the higher sections was not fun once I realized how high up we were.”

Hobi’s eyebrows furrowed at your words. They had planned for you to be in the luxury box they reserved for their family and friends who had flown into LA. If you were scared of heights, that was not going to be good seeing as the box overlooked the lower section.

“Hey Namjoonah?” Hobi called out to their leader who was reaching for a bottle of water from the ice bowl on the catering table.

“Yeah?” Namjoon called back, looking at the three of you relaxing on the couch.

“We need a new plan for Y/n to watch the concert. Our baby is scared of heights.” Once Hobi called this out, everyone looked at you, making your cheeks redden in embarrassment and look down at your lap.

“Don’t be embarrassed love, we all are scared of something.” Jin had walked over with his own water bottle, placing a hand on your chin and tilting your head up to face them again, placing a swift kiss to your lips before moving to sit on the couch opposite you.

“What about having her be in front of us? Like we have the gates around the stage, where the security stand. What if we have her and Seungho along with a couple others stand there? That way we can also keep an eye on her?” Taehyung suggested, his thoughts causing a couple eyebrow raises as the others thought about it.

“I think that could work. Baby, what do you think?” Namjoon turned to you; his last sentence aimed at you.

“Uhm, maybe if I could wear my headphones? I don’t have any like, concert earplugs.” You think about it and feel better when you see Yoongi nod his head at your suggestion.

You struggle to get yourself out of Hobi and Taehyung’s embrace, who noticeably tightened their grip once Namjoon opened his arms.

“Heyyyy, not nice!” You whine, finally pulling yourself away and falling into Namjoon’s arms.

“But we want pre-concert kisses too!” Taehyung whined back, making you laugh again, hiding your face in Namjoon’s neck.

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gali-in-distress · 1 year

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Diagnosing Nigel Colbie

This is going to be a long post

In an attempt to gain a better understanding of Nigel as a character, I decided to find a Psychopathological diagnosis that, in my opinion, would fit him, because to me it's very obvious that he's not what you would call a neurotypical individual.

Here is my diagnosis FOR NOW:

Disclaimer: I'm a psychology student, I didn't just made this up. That being said, I am only a student and lack the experience to be certain that this diagnosis is accurate. Secondly, Nigel is a fictional character, aka not a real person therefore it's impossible to truly diagnose him as you would do to a real person. I advice against using this as a guide to diagnose anyone irl, obviously.

CW: mentions of psychiatry terms, personality disorders and mental illnesses.

Semiology:

Qualitative disorders of affective nature

Indifferent behavior.

Incongruity : refered to having opposed emotional reactions to events that would normally have a different effect on people.

Irritability: exaggerated response to frustrated psychological needs.

In many instances Nigel shows almost no response to violent acts against himself or others. He acts coldly and is apparently unaffected by events that would at the very least upset anyone.

At the same time he reacts very intensively to being rejected by Alex at the very end.

I am almost 100% certain that when he went after Alex with the shotgun he was having a psychotic episode.

Cognitive disorders in relation to the Thinking Process:

Autistic thinking: presents itself as disconnected from reality.

Note: (Autistic thinking doesn't mean he's autistic, that's just the scientific term for that particular symptom)

Fixations.

Delusions of grandeur.

Delusions of reference: refered to an egocentric psychological development responsible for making the patient think that some things that happen in real life are directly related to them, gifting personal significance to unrelated events.

Nigel has very strong beliefs that he does not hide from Alex. He thinks they both are part of a line of great men destinated to bigger things. He finds connections in stories that, in his mind, ultimately lead to him and Alex, putting them both in the center of a prophecy of sorts. He is obsessed about this narrative he has created and eventually also obsesses over Alex and their relationship.

Conative disorders:

Altered social behavior manifested as reticence and homicidal and necrophiliac impulses.

Disordered relationship with self and others.

Nigel is presented as an introverted character who rarely speaks at the beginning of the story. Once he begins pulling Alex inside of his narrative, it's when we can see him be more open and sociable, but otherwise he doesn't seem to have any friends or relationships outside of Alex and his family. He doesn't seem interested in having them either. This itself wouldn't necessarily be a sign of a disorder, but, in addition to his violent and harmful behavior, it does create a pattern.

So far the final diagnosis I'm going for is Schizoid Personality Disorder.

Might elaborate on that later.

Update: Diagnosing Nigel Colbie Part II

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obsessedtomone · 3 months

Text

Unravel Yourself Before Me ⛓️ Chapter 9 - Playing Chess▸Shigaraki x femReader

Chapter Summary:

◤ Seeing you like this felt intimate, and it probably was, but he couldn’t keep himself from wanting to pry more into your life. To carve himself into it. To force himself in—and he really fucking wanted to—despite knowing how much suffering he’s caused you, despite knowing you’ll try to push him away again.

The floorboard creaked loudly when he stepped towards the frame of your bed, causing you to softly jerk in your sleep. He stilled, waiting, watching.

Would you be mad if you saw him like this?

Probably. ◢

Setting: University AU - No quirks (unless degenerate personalities count) Tags: Slow burn, Eventual Smut, Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation, Mentally Ill Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to ??? Warning: Dead Dove – Do Not Eat | Mind the tags TW: Implied Su/Self H, Dubcon, Reader has a super shitty past like actually, Shigaraki Tomura is his own warning.

AO3 Crosspost | Chain Divider by firefly-graphics

Chapters: One • Two • Three • Four • Five • Six • Seven • Eight • Nine • Ten(ko) • Updates every Monday!

Chapter 9 - Playing Chess When he opened the door to the entrance of your building, a waft of old, aged structure washed over him, making his nose scrunch.

Sounds from the dangling plastic bag in his hand filled the otherwise quiet trip up the stairwell, rustling every time he took a step forward and made his way to the floor where your apartment was at. He couldn’t help but muse at the fact that he had—and only by coincidence this time—found out where you lived.

Not in the literal sense—he’s had quite a lot of your information sitting pretty in his documents—but in the sense that he got to see it in person without having to scope the area first (something that he would’ve done eventually) or…walk you home, as he’d put it.

Instead, you had opened your door for him willingly. You admitted you weren’t even on friendly terms, but he was still allowed to enter, standing right next to your friend that he’s convinced to go with.

His eyes scanned over the door to your apartment, noting how easily it could be broken into by someone with even a modicum of experience. With how old-school the lock system was, it probably wouldn’t take him more than five minutes to crack it open and give himself access to your world whenever he needed to.

But that would be cheating, he thought as he ran his finger along the chipping paint of the wood.

Tomura was definitely not going to slip up again. He knew well that he had to work you a bit longer, until you fully trusted him again.

He grinned to himself. He could do that. The best rewards lie behind the biggest challenges, after all.

He knocked on the door, surveying the hallway outside your apartment and reaching to scratch his neck softly. When the door opened, the first thing he saw was your friend…smiling at him.

It took him by surprise, his face contorting into a frown and his eyes narrowing.

What the fuck was wrong with them? Tomura scoffed.

They’re a pretty shit friend for forcing you to let him in, even he could recognize that much.

It didn’t take a lot for him to persuade them and get your new number. When you’d missed your third class in a row and he realized you wouldn’t come back on your own to finish your…talk with him, Tomura went and found your friend.

Instead of defending you, of clawing his eyes out or putting him in his grave for what he’s done to their supposed best friend—for what he’s still going to do—they let him in. They let him in because he’d promised he’d wanted to make good with you, that he was worried about you or whatever bullshit he’d said that served him at the time.

Was it because they were afraid of him? That would be the most logical take. Everyone was fucking afraid of him, save for maybe your stupid ass.

But he sensed there was something else that he couldn’t yet read from between the lines—something annoying.

In the end, it didn’t really matter to him. Tomura suspected Taylor was the ticket and the conduit for him to get back into your good graces, so he wouldn’t have time to question their motives. He will use whatever he can to get to you, and if your friend was this fucking stupid to let it happen, well—

“You didn’t fuck off after all, huh?” your bitch of a friend asked him with a smug smile.

“Get lost,” he replies, walking past them as they giggled stupidly, placing the plastic bag on the counter.

Despite him only being gone for a total of maybe twenty minutes, your friend had admittedly done an incredible job at making your apartment look more organized, having most of the garbage you had laying around thrown in trash bags and propped against the wall.

Not that Tomura could complain when the person cleaning his own fucking room wasn’t even himself.

“Where is she?” he mumbled, red eyes scanning for you, but you weren’t in the room anymore.

“Asleep, I think. We’ll wake her up when I'm done with the food. You had better have brought something decent, or I swear to god, Crusty,” Taylor nagged with their back at him, but Shigaraki wasn’t listening. “Wait, what are you doing?” they asked curiously when he signaled them to be quiet and opened the door to your room very carefully.

True to their word, you really were curled up in your sheets and sleeping. He had to bite back a snort when he saw your form. The usual rigid bitchiness was toned down by forty percent, making you look more like an angry sleeping cat, face holding a frown even when unconscious.

Tomura’s spread his presence across the safety of your room as he walked inside, noting how incredibly barren it was. Barely anything sitting in this room defined it as yours, making it look like you’ve either just moved in or you’re about to move out at any point in time. White walls, a wardrobe, cardboard boxes, an old desk and a chair.

Heaps of disorganized study notes were cluttering your desk among empty forgotten energy drink cans and an ancient looking laptop. He noted earlier that you seemed to keep your studies and your hobbies separate, taking into account how you had a designated gaming PC set up in the other room.

Seeing you like this felt intimate, and it probably was, but he couldn’t keep himself from wanting to pry more into your life. To carve himself into it. To force himself in—and he really fucking wanted to—despite knowing how much suffering he’s caused you, despite knowing you’ll try to push him away again.

The floorboard creaked loudly when he stepped towards the frame of your bed, causing you to softly jerk in your sleep. He stilled, waiting, watching.

Would you be mad if you saw him like this?

Probably.

Yet he dared to walk closer, squatting next to your sleeping form and observing you further.

Scanning over your face, he wondered what it was about you that pulled him in. You were extremely plain and seemingly unremarkable. There was nothing special about the way you dressed or looked. Your personality was god fucking awful, constantly getting on his fucking nerves. When your eyes weren’t filled with doubt or distrust—at him, at the world—they were determined, angry. You hated the world, hated him and probably also hated yourself.

And he now knew you didn’t get where you are by a stroke of luck. No, you were clever, so fucking clever. Holding your own, strong and independent at the weirdest fucking times.

You never back down from him, never take his shit no matter how many times he's tried to scare you. You were never truly afraid to talk back to him. You played his games. You smelled fucking good. You felt good against his cock and against his lips, and how he longed he could press himself against you once more, anytime or any place you’d let him.

He wanted you, desperately. He wanted to crawl inside your body and to never fucking leave you again, like a parasite you’d never be able to get rid of no matter how hard you tried.

You really fucked up crossing his path in the convenience store that night. You fucked up by talking to him, too. You fucked up being so fucking challenging to him, that he couldn’t help wanting to break you. Ruin you. Build you up, make you his. Only his.

Shigaraki only now realizes that you’ve been staring back at him, all the while his pale hand was caressing your face.

You looked at him through tired eyes as he pulled his hand away, his expression unreadable.

Time stood still for a moment, with both of you staring into each other's eyes. You wondered if this is what a cold war felt like. Enemies at a stillstand, predicting the other person’s move.

Neither of you could've predicted this next move however, as you subconsciously leaned in on your elbow and reached out your own hand to feel his snowy white hair. Was it going to be as soft as it looked?

Shigaraki flinched once your fingertips connected with his head, but didn’t pull back. You began sliding the pads against creases of his dry forehead, right under his messy bangs, earning you a frown of insecurity from him. You don’t let it deter you. No, you keep going, keep raking your fingers into the roots of his hair and brushing it backwards. They get caught into a tangled knot, but even that doesn’t bother him, letting you work quietly to detangle it.

He closed his own exhausted eyes and leaned into your touch, letting out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding back.

He waited for you to realize your mistake, to properly wake up or to pull back like you always did.

But the moment never came.

Tomura shuddered when you started petting his head in earnest, unable to help the small groan that escaped his lips. Why the fuck were you so gentle with him? His brows knitted together and when he opened his eyes again to glare at you for making him feel this way, his displeasure immediately dissolved into curiosity.

Your cheeks were visibly reddened, pupils slightly dilated and your lip was fucking quivering—you were flustered. Why were you flustered?

And you told yourself he couldn’t read minds when you couldn’t help but be reminded of the incident before your breakdown—the hallway. Where he laid under you, vulnerable and pliable to your touch.

He couldn’t read minds, yet Shigaraki smirked at you in a way it told you he might, because he too was reminded of it.

He was ready to fail over and over again, but you’re already giving him so much of yourself.

Maybe you’d finally realize that you belong to—

“Wonderful. Are the two lovebirds done making up? We got a baby to feed,” Taylor teased and Shigaraki was caught off-guard, making him stumble backwards with a curse slipping from his mouth.

You rolled your eyes and tried to sit up, but dizziness was weighing you down.

“Help me up,” you reached out to him, but he just stared blankly at your hand, and then at you.

Taylor clicked their tongue, grabbed your hand instead and helped you properly sit up.

“Prince charming here brought you food by the way.” they grinned slyly before continuing, “I warmed it up for you babe, but don’t get up, I’ll bring it to you,” your friend said, leaving the room and you alone with him once again.

You glanced at the boy who did not fucking move a fucking inch from the spot he fell against.

“Comfy down there?” you ask him with a hint of amusement and that seemed to wake him up from his trance.

“Huh? Oh,” he replies, quickly getting on his feet. “I should leave.”

Your almost-smile fell and a deep frown replaced it.

His eyes widened. Were you disappointed that… he was leaving?

“Yeah, you really should,” you say, looking away enough that he’s out of your view.

Alright. Not disappointed, then.

“Yeah.” he stared through you for a moment before turning around and exiting the room as if he was never there.

Taylor shouted a ‘bye’ and a ‘thanks’ after him, but you couldn’t hear anything in return.

Your friend came back to you with a bowl of what smelled like chicken soup.

“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t tell him what to buy,” they answer your unasked question, crossing their heart and hoping to die. You shrugged and started wolfing down the portion, feeling warmth flowing through your body and into your stomach for the first time in days.

You fucking loved chicken soup. ─────────

It was Tuesday.

Slowly, but surely, the air was getting colder outside, making you shiver slightly despite the extra layer of clothes you had underneath.

It’s been another week since your little… intervention happened.

You finally decided to get out of your comfort cave and stop missing on important study material that you couldn’t afford to miss, despite spending most of the time catching up with important assignments.

Taylor is still dropping by occasionally to check-up on you. You had to promise to call them at least once every 24-hours.

You’re hoping they would drop the worried parent surveillance bit soon, but it seemed unlikely after the stunt you pulled. Call it the consequences of your carelessness. It was odd, because you were walking through the halls of your university and not a single soul glanced your way anymore. It’s like you went back in time. It was quiet.

Your first lecture of the day was about discrete mathematics.

An idle game was playing in the background of your laptop and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you were waiting for the professor to finally finish recommending everyone his fucking four hundred dollar book that he wrote himself, one that you’ll totally fucking need in order to pass his stupid class. Asshole.

You were kind of irritated, because you couldn’t figure out why everyone suddenly had a change of heart and decided to move on from treating you like a whore, from pushing you or catcalling you every time you turned a corner.

Was three fucking weeks all it took for everyone to forget? Or was Shigaraki not updating the thread and ultimately removing it from the platform enough for everyone to stop giving a fuck about you?

It’s not like you or Taylor could check to see if the post was still up. You obviously should, but neither of you can bring yourself to do it, and you have a feeling Shigaraki wasn’t lying to you anyway.

Nevertheless, the air was still weirdly tense. Like something was still going on.

Whatever. You’ll deal with it when the time comes.

Time is moving slowly today, so you take a look at your online schedule on your phone to prepare for the next class, when you notice something strange. Your final class of the day was replaced with a different block.

Urgent Student Assembly - Gym 3

You raised a brow and pray to the fucking sun that there’s been a murder or the dean died of cardiac arrest and the topic of the assembly will not be about whatever happened between you and Shigaraki.

The faculty better not try making an example out of you after they’ve been keeping quiet regarding your situation and letting you deal with everything on your own.

You take a screenshot of the block and you text it to Taylor.

You – ^^^wtf is this? did you hear anything? it’s not about me is it??? [Sent Now]

They responded pretty fast.

Taytay – Uhhhh, no clue?? I don’t have classes today. I’ll let u know later if I hear anything. Did you finally leave your mancave??? [Sent 10:30]

You rolled your eyes at the stupid text, but replied with a smile on your face anyway.

Your phone vibrates once more. Psycho – hello [Sent Now]

What the fuck? You felt a lump get stuck in your throat.

Was he gonna pull some shit again? Is he upset you told him to leave last time? Why would he go out of his way to help you out last week, if that was the case?

You bite your nails and hope your anxiety is groundless as usual. You really hope it is.

You – ? [Sent Now]

Shigaraki fucking replies in record time.

If you thought Taylor was quick at replying to your DMs, you were comically wrong.

Psycho – uhh [Sent Now]

You – what?? [Sent Now]

Psycho – didn’t… expect you to reply this fast… or at all……. [Sent Now]

Psycho – are u in class now? [Sent Now]

Psycho – wait [Sent Now]

Psycho – are you??? [Sent Now]

Your face scrunched at his rapid fire spam.

Psycho – i need 2 know, answer now [Sent Now]

You – why? i mean i wouldn’t put stalking beyond you but still. [Sent Now]

Psycho – no, wtf relax. its 4 smt else [Sent Now]

You – riiiight [Sent Now]

Psycho – oh my GOD stop being annoying and replyyy to my questionn, im only asking you 1 fkin question. not that hard, idiot. [Sent Now]

You couldn’t help but snort, the thought of him getting annoyed and impatient over your texts brought another smile to your face.

And it went as quickly as it came when you realized just who you were texting with. God were you an idiot.

You see three angry dots typing and disappearing. This repeats 2 more times before you finally lose your patience and reply to him first.

You – yea i am, why? is this related to the ‘urgent study assembly’ by any astronomical chance? :) [Sent Now]

You – part two of the hit job? And making sure i’m there to watch?? Ill let you sit next to me if you ask nicely, y’know? [Sent Now]

Yeah okay, you were still really mad at him and were desperately trying to get under his skin, but you two haven’t had a healthy talk (would that even be possible?) and you still didn’t know just what changed his mind about his evil plan to make you grovel at his feet.

You’re scared to find out.

Psycho – ..yes [Sent Now]

Your eyes widen.

Of fucking course, what were you expecting?

Motherfucker got all sour again after you kicked him out of your house. How fucking stupid of you to believe that he’d feel any sort of human empathy—

Psycho – wait fuck [Sent Now]

Psycho – no [Sent Now]

Psycho – that won’t happen to you again, i wont let it happen again [Sent Now]

Psycho – so relax. ur fine [Sent Now]

You raise your brow.

You – oookay, then what the fuck is it. get to the point man [Sent Now]

Psycho – ok, soo… can u skip the assembly? [Sent Now]

You – why? [Sent Now]

Psycho – just skip it [Sent Now]

You groaned out loud and only remembered you weren’t alone when you saw people glaring at you.

You – you’re like /this/ close to getting blocked, asshole. tell me what you want right now or im checking the fuck out [Sent Now]

He looked at his phone, sighing.

Why couldn’t you make it easy for him just one fucking time? Nothing ever came easy with you.

Except for him, when you were grinding your hips against his in the hallway.

Or you, trapped between his arms against the wall that one time he caught those meatheads daring to get close to what’s his.

He almost fucked your brains out right then and there, with the broken way you were staring back at him. Shaking, scared, cute.

Tomura cursed under his breath when his pants were starting to get tight again.

He wondered if this would end up working out in his favor. He’s worked really hard, after all.

Psycho – ok so i mightve done something,, [Sent Now]

Psycho – but dont freak its not about u… well kinda. i tried to uhh, fix things ok. [Sent Now]

Psycho – shit did it send twicE?? fk [Sent Now]

Psycho – anyway dont go to assembly [Sent Now]

You – i'm going. [Sent Now]

Psycho – ugh fuck fine [Sent Now]

Taylor had also sent you a message.

Psycho – i warned you so dont block me after, idiot [Sent Now]

You huff at the last message, his cryptic behavior getting on your fucking nerves.

You then opened your friend’s message.

Taytay – Ok so, don’t freak out. [Sent Now]

Good start and not you too, you think simultaneously.

The bell rings and your class finally ends. You had already packed your things, so you just got up and left, eyes glued to your phone.

Taytay – I found out what the uni meeting is about :/ … [Sent Now]

You – Taylor if you also edge me about this istg bro [Sent Now]

Taytay – ?? What [Sent Now]

Taytay – Whatever anyway. So I don’t mean to trigger you, but can you like.. login with my account onto the uni platform again? You need to see this. It’s not… bad… for you at least. so you don’t need to worry about that, okay? Just log in, please. I think I blocked like 10 people in my contacts after what I saw, ughhhhhh, i’m never sleeping with jocks again i swear [Sent Now]

You honestly think you’ll punch the very next person that you come across today square in the face, but you do as your friend says and log in.

It was like the Second Coming of Jesus Christ had arrived early.

You could have never predicted what you were going to see when you logged in and looked through the front page.

At first, you were admittedly confused. But as you kept going down the feed, your brain slowly caught on. The bell rang again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move from your spot, a chill running down your spine.

What seemed like everyone’s dirty laundry has been readily aired on the platform. Students, professors and members of the faculty, no one was spared from hell as countless incriminating posts were spread all across the feed, together with people losing their shit over it.

From simple inappropriate screenshots of student-teacher messages, to blatant sexual harassment, physical altercations, leaked porn accounts, illegal fetishes, literal footage of assault and people committing various crimes at parties or otherwise, all posts seemingly coming from the account owners themselves. All in the same format of your hit thread, and all individuals related to your university.

It was incredible to see.

How the fuck did Shigaraki pull this off? No wonder it felt like a fucking funeral when you entered the building today.

Everyone has been fucked over. Stupid motherfuckers that looked at you as if they were superior human beings will now have to either face their own disgusting pasts or be anxious that they’ll get exposed next.

No one will have time to think about your existence again, not when they’ve got their own copies of your problems to deal with.

It was genius. Literal four dimensional chess. Shigaraki’s plan was absolutely brilliant. Your face split into a grin and you burst out laughing like an unhinged idiot in the empty hallways.

What an absolute fucking psychopath!

You – good one [Sent Now]

Psycho – ?? [Sent Now]

Does he live on his fucking phone? How is he so quick to reply?

You – i mean that was super fucked of you to do, but it works. So thanks? i guess, weirdo. [Sent Now]

Psycho – wat??? did u fkin hit ur head?? [Sent Now]

You – fuck you, im being genuine. Probably the first time you deserved it too, asshole. they won't catch you for this, right? [Sent Now]

Psycho – oh [Sent Now]

. . .

Shigaraki didn’t reply anymore after that. ───────── The ‘emergency’ assembly went about as well as you expected it to after the complete shit show you saw.

The majority of the students were completely mortified over the massive privacy and data breach, and the faculty was trying to damage control, promising to shut it down and find the culprit—genuinely good luck with that, by the way—after which everyone left the meeting probably around thirty percent more depressed than when they joined.

All in all, a pretty good day for you.

Things…might actually go back to normal now.

You – you get to live another day in my contacts list, shigaraki [Sent Now]

But he wouldn’t write anything back.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x y/n #emotional hurt/comfort #shigaraki tomura #unhealthy relationships #dead dove do not eat #trigger warnings #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki fanfiction #shigaraki x you #tenko shimura #tomura shigaraki #college au #reader is female

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imasimpforstevengrant · 1 year

Text

THRICE

Summary: Layla needs Marc to tell her the truth about the months he went missing. Steven convinces Marc that this will heal their relationship but the ghosts of unworthiness and guilt still haunt his mind.

Warnings: (past) trauma, (past) abusive parenting/child abuse, death, mentions of death, loss, mental illness, violent behaviour, sensitive topics, angst and comfort, swearing, protectiveness, DID, fluff, sexual tension, sexual themes, unsafe sex, absolute, self indulgent smut with feelings.

WC: 8.929

Note¹: I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE. I hope this makes up for the time I didn't post anything. Some of the lines and scenes, much like in previous and future chapters, are taken from:

• Moon Knight vol 1, issues #1, #3, #5, #7, #10, #35

Note²: I had to rewrite, correct and post this three times, since I didn't like the first draft. I read a theory that states Layla didn't know Steven because she was the only person who made Marc happy, so I wrote this to explore the idea. I love the idea of Layla knowing (and eventually falling in love with) Steven, as a healthy way to love Marc in his wholeness.

Note³: This chapter is absolute self indulgent, filth... but I couldn't help it. Marc/Steven deserve so much after all they went through. I hope you enjoy this just as I did writing it. Sorry for any typos. English is not my native language. Thank you for the kudos!

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SECOND PART

A Beacon of Hope (Steven)

For most people, the sun would be a solace against the coldness of rain. For Marc Spector, however, the cold means freshness after the searing heat of Egypt. But everything seems perfect when he's not conscious. Marc would think about it as another little tragedy in the long list of misfortunes in his life. It's something Steven Grant would agree with him without a doubt.

The alarm clock has been turned off. The calming sound of rain pouring engulfed him in a profound state of relaxation. This is the best part of redemption. And freedom too. A slight frown forms when a soft, humming sound vibrates through his skin. It's impactful enough for Marc to open his eyes to see the origin of this rare moment of poise and comfort. Thick, curly locks tickled his face-

The sweat gluing their skins together was arousing enough to set his heart on a crazed gallop, shortening his breath. Layla lies in front of him, sleeping with a serenity that Marc loved to watch during sleepless nights. Though he longed for warmth, he resists the impulse to claim her body again, but he's too afraid to disturb her sleep. Layla understood the need to remind himself that he wasn't a tool, but a human.

That was the only good part after bathing himself in blood. He could remember the first time they made love. It wasn't too long after Layla had offered herself to go undercover as am exotic dancer in a secret group of dangerous assassins. She played her part perfectly, even letting herself touch by an old creep that happened to be the leader of the murderous committee.

Marc was watching them from afar, furiously. They weren't even a thing at that point, though he could see her shy smiles whenever he flirted with her as much as she tried to hide it. Having known isolation and lovelessness so close, the moment when that man dared to lay his hands on her, awoke in his chest a burning jealousy. He would never let anyone take her away from him, but he needed to think coldly now.

To earn the trust of the leader, Layla performs a sensual, elegant dance before him and the results are splendid. The leader reveals all the info they needed to get rid of every member of the criminal committee. But it has its costs, as Layla had become the object of his impudent manners. He tries to lay her down the blue, opulent couch to quench his desires as she stares at him from the window, claiming for help.

The man catches a glimpse of her looking outside, and lands a painful, loud slap on her face at her betrayal. But his harsh, tough manners crumble when an inhuman, ghastly howl that appalled not only him, but her too. Marc doesn't think twice to attack him with enraged fists, which soon became reddish, gushing with blood. Layla stays away, observing with amazement how that man, that presence, who seemed so cold and inhuman, protects her with such choleric fury.

Suddenly a feeling of desire fires up her chest, unleashing a wild gallop in her heart. Marc just attacks, roaring like a beast… until Layla begs him to stop, that he's not a murderer. Marc suddenly comes back to his senses, with a blooded moon dart still in hand. Layla gathered enough information to keep assisting Marc, who took her away from the place, securing her in a room where she could change her clothes. The committee had been responsible for many crimes in Egypt, one of them being stealing relics in the black market after raiding tombs. All of them were American, though that was the least of his concerns.

They had a reunion with the other members in an abandoned warehouse. Many noticed the leader's absence, which immediately set suspicion. That was the best part of it.

With the rest of the committee on guard, Marc emerged from the dark. Everyone thought it was a madman in a disguise… until they realized bullets didn't stop him. Convinced they were before the presence of a ghost, many of them give in to panic. Marc was grateful that Layla wasn't there to behold the bloodshed. For his part, Khonshu was delighted. The deity praises Marc, who does not feel proud at all. There's one agonizing bastard staring up to him, with his face contorted by the most tenebrous expression of horror Marc had seen in his whole life.

As he reaches the place where Layla was hiding, he takes her and flies with her to a quieter place: her home.

The armor soon vanishes, leaving him with his usual outfit: a brown jacket, gray pants and a blue sweatshirt. Only the blood serves as a vestige of his deed, making Layla worried about him. She takes a few rags, cleaning the blood, though Marc reassures her that he's fine. A cold shower would do. Once in the bath, Marc takes off his clothes. The sound of water falling suddenly triggers the memory of that fatal day. Spector shuts his eyelids, stopping the flow of water. The shower is short, and trying to forget the faces of those he murdered, Spector looks for slumber.

"Marc?"

Before he finds the bed, he finds something more alluring. Once he turns around, his eyes behold a seductive, sultry Layla from the door sill. Marc is bewitched by her nakedness, those curves, that expression in her face. Awestruck, Marc feels incapable of speaking. Layla giggles. She steps forward but the vigilante is faster: the sexual act demanded for no other clothes except their bare skins. In seconds, both become a mess of entangled limbs on the wall. Layla whispers her gratitude for saving her, while Marc quickly works his way to pleasure her.

How he wished to freeze that moment, specially when her gentle arms cradle his figure as both drift to slumber after their act. The sweet memory of their first night together blurs with the present, as he feels her soft breathing against his face. Fascinated by the fact he was being desired and loved even in the quietest silence, Marc caressed her face. He marvels at her freckles, that flawless skin under his fingers, mouth agape and disheveled hair falling down her face… he had to repress the impulse to wake her up, seduce her, making her come over and over with his mouth just to make her full of himself again.

The stillness is no impediment to feel her naked form lost in his limbs. Her arms latch to his neck, as if her life depends on it. The same occurs with one leg tangling on his thigh. In a passionate outburst, the former mercenary takes Layla much closer to him, lustfully smelling her neck. It made him forget the horrors of the world, finally tasting how a normal life with Layla would be if he wasn't under the servitude of an obscure deity.

“Marc.” Spector opens his eyes, frowning.

“Steven?” he croaks with a thick voice, trying not to wake Layla up. By mere instinct, he looks for a reflection to glare at. But the room lacks any nearby mirrors.

"What… What happened last night?" Steven asked with a shaky voice, seemingly more fearful to wake her up than Spector himself, "why did you…"

"Not now, Steven," Marc tried to dissuade his alter, "we will discuss this later." His dry order just causes a low whine from the mild mannered man.

"Why?" Steven insists, irritating the former mercenary even more. He just sighed, undoing the embrace with Layla to get up off the bed. He put his navy blue boxers on and went to the three mirrored-dresser, facing his alter. He supports in his arms, closing his eyes before facing his reflection.

"Ease down, Steven. You're not gonna make the anxiety easier if you keep losing it," Marc finally said. The British man just let out a scoff.

"You always said that there was a wall between us… that it takes all your willpower to be a fly on the wall… but you… you blacked out." A castdown Marc listens to what Steven has to say about the incident.

"Why did you let me touch her? Why did you let me front when for less you threw me off a hole?" Marc can't help but let a soft chuckle out.

"Things are different now," the former mercenary replied. Steven frowns, his glare reveals a great confusion. Marc scoffs, "you saved my marriage, Steven. With your insufferable need to tell the truth,” he finally replied. The alter waved his hands, for his tone to lower.

"I felt she deserved to know it," Steven muttered, "she's just… she's just an awesome woman to be around…" Marc giggles, raising an eyebrow.

"Is she?" His cheeky expression makes Steven realize the double entendre of it.

"Hey!" He shrieks, blistering.

"Come on, Steven. Don't play innocent. I know the way you look at her, I know you couldn’t stop ogling her since you kissed her."

Steven felt like a depraved creep.

"I don't ogle her, Marc!" He replied from the mirror, outrageous, "I never intended to be a creep around her. She wanted to kiss me because I have the face of her husband… you, but she made the first move and I wasn't going to deny her just because she's your wife."

Marc raised an eyebrow.

"If the Gods gave you a blessing, you don't reject it. Leaving Layla there, after you blacked out, would have been rude to… you know… leave the job unfinished, yeah?"

Marc chuckles after staring at the mirror, surprising Steven with a calmness so atypical from his usual ways. Grant was smart, but he failed to notice that Spector laughed at his own, surprising sassiness.

"It would have been a crime to leave Layla alone at that moment," Steven whispered, more to avoid those long, awkward seconds of silence between them, "I never thought that Layla… would feel like that about me, to let me touch her. I still don't believe it–"

"Well, you better start believing it." Steven widened his eyes, mouth agape.

"What–?"

"You wanna know something, Steven?" Marc muttered, leaning his weight on his arm, supporting himself against the door, "The walls between us have crumbled, and I didn't want to accept that." Marc took a deep breath, as Steven encouraged him to go on.

"At first, I refused to see it but now I know that it was that same wall that prevented me from quieting the chaos in my mind." Steven nodded.

"I was jealous of her looking at you with that tenderness so typical of her, when all I got was hostility and anger from her."

"I can't blame her, mate. You lied to her and went missing. I still think you're a twit for that." Steven commented.

"You know my reasons on why I did that and as for us, that matter is solved" Marc replied. The British nerd sighed.

"All right, go on."

"Well, it happens that… I hadn't seen that look in her eyes since we…"

"Yes?" Steven inquires, eager to know.

"Since she shared a poem before we became a thing."

"Wow!" Steven Grant is genuinely impressed, and comments on how he never expected Marc to be a man of poetry. Both were in the library in her home, checking a few archeological objects. Marc saw she diverted her attention to a book by a French author. His mind couldn't keep fantasizing with her lips when she was so close to him, speaking about two lovers forced to be apart.

"She read me that poem, from Desbordes-Valmore," Steven can notice that this is something very important for Marc, as he turns to stare at a serene, sleeping Layla.

"We had our first kiss after she patiently explained to me what it was about. And I started panicking because of the way she looked at me then." Marc feels his eyes tearing up.

"Why?"

"I was afraid of her going to smack my face when she got up from the chair," his voice broke, "stepped closer to me and… held my head to put it on her chest.

Marc stood silent for nearly a minute, the vivid memory kept him too thoughtful in a sepulchral muteness. By instinct, he had prepared himself for what he thought was another unsparing punch, but all he does is to succumb to her gentleness. Layla is patient, and so she awaits for this breathing to ease down, softly cooing in his ear. Marc likes to hear her heartbeat, and shamelessly nuzzles her breast when Layla asks him what's going on. He doesn't say anything, delighted to glide his hands over her hips, and waist.

"I want the same for you, Steven," Marc whispered, "Why should I keep fighting you when both of us feel the same way about Layla? The key to solving the chaos is that we coexist, Steven." The mild mannered man was flabbergasted.

"What?" He could barely manage to croak. Marc crossed his arms, to emphasize the seriousness.

"Oy, mate…" Steven made a gesture to the former fortune soldier to go easier on him with this new idea of living in a shared marriage, "I think we need some time to think about this before taking it further."

"I made up my mind not too long ago and yet you fail to see it. My wife won't love me fully if she doesn't get to know you better, Steven!"

"Mate, mate, quiet. You'll wake her –!" Spector rolls his eyes, groaning at his stubbornness.

"We were dead in the Duat, and the first thing you asked me was if she was going to be okay."

"But mate, you were the one who took the shot."

"And even in death, you didn't stop loving her, Steven! That proves you deserve her more than I would ever do! That's why you exist!"

Grant remembers the moment where their lives bled together. He lowered his head, saddened. Marc got away from the mirror, ashamed to reduce his alter to a mere tool to cope with his feelings. He covered his face, incapable of looking Steven in the eyes when passing by the aquarium. Spector took a bottle of whiskey and a small glass, just a few feet away from the door.

"I'm sorry, Steven" Marc muttered, shaking his head while holding the drink, "I didn't mean–"

"Alright," Steven interrupts him, "Alright. You want me to be with Layla? Fine, I will if she also wants me… but I have one condition." Marc awaits as the reflection leans half body.

"Tell. Her. The truth."

Marc frowned, confused.

"What truth?"

"About us. About me. Tell Layla about our trauma, our mother–" The last word makes Spector jump like a feline taken by surprise, glass fell, drink all poured on the wooden floor.

"What?!"

"The truth, Marc. I know it's hurtful for both of us, but Layla must know it," the panic starts taking over his composure, "She deserves to know it! You should be the one telling her the truth, more than me! She met you first, she loved you first–" the situation worsens when a feminine voice ceases their conversation.

"Marc?" From his seat, he can see Layla getting up, "is everything okay?" She puts on one of Steven's sweaters, her expression is nothing but worry as she leads her steps to her troubled husband.

"No, no, baby, don't – please!" he begged, moving his hands so she could stay away from him, as if he was a leper, "I'm sorry- I don't want you to see me like this."

"What–?

He got up, turning to the door, though with no intentions of leaving. But Layla takes it all the wrong way.

"I didn't want to do this in front of you," he finally says something after the tense lack of words between them. But it only creates more confusion.

"It's okay, Marc… you can tell me."

His eyes are stuck on the door, futilely sealed with blue adhesive tape. The excessive protection made it look cartoonish, but even like that, Layla attempts to calm him down.

"You can trust me! Just please stop running away from me!" Her voice broke down in sobs. Marc hated that sound so much. The guilt of seeing those red, watery eyes was almost as if had made her bleed when all she did was offer compassion, patience and love to him. He gripped his hair, tightening his eyelids. Marc would never forgive himself for her deeply hurt expression in her face. How different their situation was just a few hours ago: drowning in ecstasy, screaming each other's names. Why was it that Spector never had long moments of stability or happiness?

"Mate, I swear…" Steven hissed, furious at his passiveness, "if you run now, we lose her! Do you understand that?!"

Marc takes a deep breath.

"Layla isn't like our mother!" Steven screamed inside his skull, "tell her the truth and she will understand."

"Marc, please tell me something! You don't get to fuck me and leave as if nothing happened!" Layla yelled, unaware of Grant's own feud with Spector.

"She's gonna run, Steven. She's gonna realize she married an insane, murderous bastard who can barely keep it together!" He shrieked, violently palming his head.

Layla gasps, stepping back.

"Honey, you're scaring me…" Layla sobs, horrified. She tries again to connect, but the former mercenary refuses to give in to any display of affection, trying the best to smother the pain, leaving him unable to enjoy her adorable habit of extending her hands to hold his face or arms, whenever he felt he lost control of his emotions.

"Don't leave me…" he pleaded, voice barely audible, looking at the aquarium for Steven to help him contain him.

"Why are you saying all those horrible things to yourself?" Layla touched his face and the result frightened her: She couldn't distinguish between her husband and her newfound British nerd, which made her hand recoil. Layla couldn't believe that this soulless, broken man was the same ghastly apparition which had inspired so much horror in criminals.

Whoever is in the body, doesn't make a move. There's no mercenary, no vigilante, not even a sad, meek loner. Just a disheveled, disoriented individual who can't stop staring at the beautiful woman, as if refusing to believe she's real. Layla extends her hand and caresses his cheek once again.

The helplessness in Spector's face manages to be so moving, so devastating for her kind heart, that Layla cannot help but to plant a kiss in his mouth. He does consent to the caress, though he doesn't kiss her back.

She tasted the flavor of early whiskey on him and Marc finally seemed to snap out of his trance. His lips trembled while a few shaky words left his mouth. Layla waits for it, with bated breath. As much as he hated Arthur Harrow, he can't help but agree with him about comprehension: there can't be no progress without it.

"Please… please say something…" Layla begged, after breaking the kiss.

"Steven…" he whispered, with eyes closed. Before Marc could say anything else in response, Layla remembers what happened between the British nerd and her in bed.

"Oh my God, are you upset because… because I slept with him?" but Marc frowned, waving his hands.

"No, no–" he whispered.

"I didn't mean to betray you or make you feel jealous… I'm sorry… I should have stopped when he fronted," Layla covered her face, regretful.

"I'm not upset about that," Marc held her hands with his to calm her down. Layla sobbed, drying her tears with the back of her hand. Knowing him, it was hard to believe he wasn't jealous of his alter's affections for her, as absurd as it sounded.

"We need to talk about… Steven," Marc muttered, "He has been nagging me to…" he cleared his throat, nervousness taking over his mind, "Steven, for fuck's sake, say something! Help me!" He hissed with a low voice.

"I'm with you, mate…"

Layla feels her heart soar as she hears Marc mentioning his alter.

"Nagging you to do what?"

Marc looked back at her.

"To tell you… the truth."

"What truth, Marc?" He inhaled deeply.

"About myself… my disorder… and what caused it." The last sentence sounded ominous, but it didn't stop her compassive ways to keep flourishing. Layla sits down with him at the table. Marc slides his hands down his face in despair, just after following Layla. He grabbed the whiskey and drank the remaining liquid, placing the empty bottle at his side. Alcohol helped to disconnect the physical and mental pain.

"He chose me because he knew I have a weak mind. That's why I hated Khonshu. I hated him with every fiber of my body, because that vulture ripped my corpse to hold me under his servitude!"

Layla nodded, remembering how Khonshu had pointed her as the responsible for Marc's crisis. The former mercenary lowers his head. The feeling of vulnerability becomes unbearable. It had been easier to reveal the truth to Steven while in the Duat. He wishes to have the door, and show her everything, with no need of speaking.

Marc cannot help but feel that there's something inexplicably evil with words. Words hold an unspoken, powerful effect on one's soul, and no amount of love could erase the scars left by a mother's hatred and a father's indifference. Broken bones could heal, bruises could fade away but the livid memory of Wendy Spector striking him and blaming him for her dead son would haunt him until the day he'd die.

"Dissociative Identity Disorder," Marc finally spoke. Layla stares at him but her husband just adds:

"I was twelve when I was diagnosed," the expressions on his face were shaded by a profound sadness. His mirthless eyes cause an immense sorrow on her. Marc covered his face, as if trying to peel off the shame. Layla intertwined her fingers with his, nodding so he would continue.

"Dissociative Identity?" She asked, tilting her head.

"The doctor said it is a psychological response to trauma. It involves an identity disturbance, where two or more identities can control your behavior," Marc explained, monotonously, "It feels like being a ghost of your own body." Layla covered her mouth, dimensioning the bodeful definition.

A psychological response to trauma.

"I had a family once," Marc suddenly added, "when… When I was a boy, my brother Randall and I loved to enact an adventure film we were fans of, so we crossed a forest and went to a cave on a rainy day–" he interrupted himself, gulping and gathering strength to keep opening up. Layla takes his hands and brushes distractingly her thumbs on them, giving him the confidence he needed. Marc squeezed his eyelids, holding back the tears.

"We got into the cave… and he drowned when the rain flooded it," he breathed, as if saying it louder would conjure another tragedy. His words reconstruct the fatidical day and its consequences. Layla listens carefully, granting him space. But once Marc broke down in rattling sobs, she immediately got up from the chair to wrap his trembling form in her arms.

Layla didn't oppose when Marc trapped her form in his arms with heartbreaking despair, sitting her on his lap. It helped to maintain their stillness, which contrasted so much with the torment in their minds.

The chaos within prevented him from deciding where to start. Where pain and death caused suffering, lies began to sprout and so does the desire to become someone else. Someone whose life was better.

Marc leaned his forehead to her shoulder.

"It's just a memory..." he repeated himself constantly, like a mantra. Suddenly he remembered those birthdays on company of his father. The absence of his mother only poisoned Marc's mind with delusional notions, which bordered on jealousy and his premeditation for what happened. Locking himself in the room was always the solution to run away from Wendy Spector's anger, but Steven…

(When the danger is near, Steven Grant has no fear)

Layla stared at him, trying to understand what was going on in her head. But Spector suddenly understands something greater: Mother is the danger.

"She never forgave me for that, beating the fuck out of me whenever she had the chance. I lied to Steven, so he could have the life I always wanted," Marc hides his face in her chest, "I survived because I knew I wasn't alone. Steven was there, always so full of life, hope… things that Marc Spector isn't."

The former mercenary ached for tenderness, understanding, to be loved. To be protected and not the protector, for once. To let his defenses fall, to breathe, just for once. Layla feels his fingers clutching at her back, and hears him sobbing.

"I wanted to put Spector to sleep! I was just a boy!" Marc exclaimed. More than ever, he wishes to throw into oblivion those horrifying epithets his mother yelled at him, accusing him of deliberately leading his brother to his demise out of jealousy.

"Of course you were!" Layla tries to heal this regretful war criminal whose soul had been rebuilt through suffering and selflessness. As much as Layla gave him peace, her love is powerless against the painful words still echoing in his head.

"She… she died more than two months ago," Marc whispered, once he overcame his sobs, "my father called me after so long, for her Shiva and I just… I just couldn't do it."

"It's all right, you don't have to forgive her either," Layla held his face in her hands, peppering his forehead with kisses. There's so much love in her tone of voice, and the former mercenary can be happier to hear it again.

"I'm so, so sorry…" she gently rocked him, trying to repress the image of Marc as a child being brutally beaten by the one person who was supposed to protect him when he needed her the most.

The inevitable contrast between her loving father and his hateful mother worsened her dismay. Abdallah El-Faouly had been such an attentive, indulgent parent with her, that she couldn't bring herself that a mother could abhor and resent her own child for such an unfortunate accident.

Marc has tightened his grip on her waist, hiding his face and whispering something unintelligible. Layla feels a strong uneasiness when his breath shortens. He had always dwelled in thoughts on how his life would be without Khonshu, without the violence, without waking up covered in someone else's blood, without the worry of Khonshu's clutches trying to reach his wife.

"You alright, Marc?" Steven asks at his sudden silence, not knowing his internal feud. A fiery, deathly glare is all he can threaten Khonshu with as he catches a glimpse of him, partially merged with the darkness of the right corner near the aquarium, holding his typical moon staff. Layla keeps still, cradling his form, ignoring the danger. Marc shakes his head, squeezing his eyelids shut.

(Organizing principle)

He pictures himself inside a psych ward. As if the asylum was the physical manifestation of an evil entity, Marc feels that wearing clothes of the same, unpleasant whitish served as an extension of it. All he now sees is a calm Khonshu sitting in a red chair, hands crossed in a polite, almost welcoming manner. He remembers his words before becoming his legionary. But the vulture speaks.

"Do you want death or do you want life?"

He opened his eyes, slowly lifting his head. His reality is another: Her face is all he sees when the last words ring in his ear. Layla under those purple lights, with that playful smile she gave him, is the first thing he can envision after returning among the living. He then sees Khonshu placidly sitting just a few inches away from her.

"Life."

Layla tilted her head, trying to understand what he just said. Marc was looking at her as if he had realized something of great importance. A chance to spend his years with a loving wife. A hope to start all over again. That was the promise of that one, precious word. Hope. Understanding. Love.

Three things he hadn't experienced.

"Honey?" She caressed his hair.

"I said…" Spector croaked, "I. Want. Life!" Marc's breath shortened.

The panic doesn't take long to return, but Marc frantically latches at her neck, whispering things that she couldn't comprehend at first. The vehement display of (tormented) love causes Layla to grasp on his shoulders, instead of running away after the startling fear.

"Marc, chill the fuck down, you're scaring her!" Steven yelled but it fell on deaf ears. It wasn't a hug. It was as if Marc was snatching her from something, protecting Layla with a possessive, vice-like grip. His raspy voice vibrates through her skin.

"I anxiously awaited every bloodshed to end to engulf myself in you so I could forget just for a brief moment that my life wasn't a nightmare, that not everything could be against me!" Marc spat, confessing from his guts, looking up to her.

Layla was so moved, realizing she meant more for him than she initially thought. She had always taken his rampant sexual desire as a way to relieve the fervour of violence when executing his sacred duty. The heartbreaking truth demolished the façade of invincibility. Now she could fully see that there was always more than just mere lust or physical need.

She remembers the countless times she had been with him, coming to realize that what he couldn't express in words, his body could. Sex served as a way to protect Marc. Hearing the words that bared his soul, his innate humanity demanded vulnerability, beyond his condition as the Knight and High Priest of Khonshu.

"I never told you about Steven because being with you made me happy!" Marc suddenly continued, "I didn't need Steven to absorb any pain! There wasn't anything painful or something to shield me from whenever I was with you."

He had never been the weak one. His tenderness, his clumsy, sweet ways were the shield that saved Marc from a greater insanity. The beautiful, everyday things, the wonderful family he had, all of it had died with RoRo that dreadful day. Being aware of the wrong, evil things happening around him was already hard but being the one who failed his promise to his mother to watch over his brother made it harder and worse to tolerate.

At that moment he cursed everything. He cursed Harrow for the two bullets that ended his life, thus obliging him to face his traumas, for abandoning Layla when she needed him the most, for lying to her and for not saving Steven from the dead, claiming him to doom his eternity in the dunes. The golden sun that shone in an eternal dusk wasn't too different from being locked up in an asylum. There was nothing calm without him and Layla understands it perfectly, since Steven is a fraction of the same man.

Marc then mentions his time as a teenager. After being locked up in an asylum for three years, Spector decides to leave. Tired of the abuse, the indifference and seeing love as something he was unworthy of, Marc chooses violence. It has its roots in boxing, much to Elias' chagrin. If his mother largely ignored him during his teen years, his father smothered him with the idea to become a rabbi.

How could he? At this point, he was convinced that he was good at one thing: hurting people. Because the people dear to him, those who loved him suffered or died. Love had never done good for him, reaffirming his (wrong) choice to never want to be loved. For many years, Marc thought that's why he always won. His harsh ways were just a façade to hide the immense pain he carried.

"I went AWOL and got discharged. They discovered that I falsified my documents, finding out I was interned in a psych ward. I didn't have too many options. Clandestine fights helped me to live decently for a while, before Bushman hired me as his second in command. The rest is history. I became a war criminal. A fucked up, soldier of fortune capable of inhumane acts for money. Until the raid in Egypt."

Layla nodded, though not agreeing with the self deprecating epithet.

"Whenever I think about all the things I did, I always wondered what made you fall in love with me. I always felt I was nothing but an innate, demented killer, a failure, a lie–" he cut himself, since being aware that Layla deserved better was the most painful part.

"Because you're no longer that person. You don't live in the past anymore," She immediately refused to hear any other negative word. Marc felt one hand gently scratching his nape, while the other held his back. He was totally ecstatic at the gesture, treating him with such care, immersing himself in the warmth he had yearned so much since his innocence was mauled, "please believe me when I tell you that no disorder will prevent me from loving you!"

She now holds his face, kissing him. But Layla doesn't move an inch away after ceasing the caress.

"You're exactly what you've chosen to be– a strong man determined to make up for the evil you once did, a believer and a fighter who has put himself on the good side– a new man that emerged from the ruins of what you were before."

Layla whispers so many beautiful things about why she is so in love with him. Marc is delighted to hear her: It was so haunting to think that this mysterious, yet immensely alluring crusader was lovesick for her.

There was something so wonderful and thrilling to experience the softer side of this force of nature, intrigued to see his face while making love, to see him subdued by the promise of love, of moments without violence. She understands the tremendous pressure Marc has put on his mind, trying to live the lives of two different men during a critical moment in his life.

"I know who and what you are, Marc! You are the strongest human I ever met! You're not mad! You're the man I love! Do you understand that?!" Layla brushed her thumbs over his cheeks, "Your own suffering diminished other's misery, you protected me, you died for me and you still think you're unworthy of love?"

Marc doesn't answer. For a moment, the sweet sound of her voice made him forget to talk. Now, Spector only has strength to listen to these beautiful words and comprehend their effect on his psyche.

"I'm proud of you, mate. You're so brave!" Steven's voice cheered from within, soothing his heart. Marc smiles, as Layla softly and patently caresses his hair, "You're so lucky to have her, Marc. She's so kind, so loving…"

"She is, she is," Marc hums, pressing his forehead on her shoulder.

"Huh?" She asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry– It's… it's Steven," he whispered, then he softly adds, "he's saying wonderful things about you."

"Can he see us? Can he feel me when I touch you?" Layla hummed, pressing her lips on Marc's. The caresses now go up and down his face, neck, his broad shoulders.

"He can see, yes" The former mercenary says with a faint voice, too focused on kissing her breast, even with the sweater on. He remembers how beautiful she looked as Taweret's avatar. Those golden wings made her look like a celestial being.

Marc remembered what Steven had said about the goddess in the Duat. The goddess of women and children… and also childbirth.

It unchained a memory from many years ago. It was in a market, days before the raid that changed his life. He was having a drink, when he heard a couple of archeologists talking about local mythology and temples. Marc found the conversation quite interesting. They talked about one deity in particular, associated with the moon and protection of night travelers. It was said that whenever Khonshu caused the crescent moon to shine, fertility blessed the cattle, nostrils became full of pure air… and women conceived.

The last sentence caused a dull, yet significant shiver between his legs. Marc leads his hands underneath the sweater, slowly kneading her way up to her waist.

"What is it?" Layla asked, eyeing the curious and aching hands fondling her sinuosities.

"I want to sleep with you," Marc hummed against her skin. Layla rolled her eyes, giggling.

"So what's new?"

"It just so happens that we don't have to prevent a global catastrophe nor I don't have to punish evildoers anymore," Marc chuckled but his smile soon morphed into a pleased grimace when he lifted the cloth, making Layla gasp when he drools at the sight of her bare breasts, carefully fondling them after tossing the sweater aside. He's about to say something to praise her splendid nudity but a long, loud -and straight-out hilarious- gasp is everything he can hear for now.

"Oh my God– Marc, she– she looks gorgeous! " Steven is breathless. Spector can't help but laugh at his fascination, though he totally understood it. He had seen her body in the dark, but having the privilege to behold her body in broad daylight made his brain lose the capacity to think clearly. Layla looks down but Marc rushes to clarify things.

"It's… it's Steven," his name suddenly draws a happy expression on her face, "he really likes what he's seeing…"

"Well, he can see us before we get to fuck again" Layla states, rubbing his shoulders and arms, "so he knows what's gonna be like from here."

"He is the kind of man that can make you happy." Steven can love you in ways I can't…" he whispered but Layla cut his doubts with a kiss.

"Both of you make me happy, I'll have you both. He's a part of you that you can't ignore. I can't ignore him."

Marc brushes her nipple with his fingers distractingly before kissing it. Layla's breathy moan is instantaneous. He smirks. He adores her reactions, just as if it was the first time they had been together.

"You are the reason why I'm still sane, why I'm still alive…" he breathed against the orbed part, making Layla shudder… To then give a quick lick to the areola. All he obtains is a soft, pitiful whine which doesn't take too long to make him hard. Without neglecting the part, he looked down at their privates so closely pressed.

Marc is drooling over the sight. A thin, black thong is the only thing preventing her full nudity but an atypical, impatient echo from Steven startles the calm silence.

"Bloody hell, Marc–! Do something!"

Layla feels a ferrous grip on her hips and she realizes his intentions: Marc tugs the thong with urgency, tossing it to the floor to make his wife rub herself on his covered length.

"I can't stand being without you," Spector pronounced, unconscious. He only has energy to focus on the beautiful image of Layla straddling him but a sharp scratch on his shoulders manages him to regain his strength. The interruption was followed by an awkward silence that Layla soon avoids, despite how weak his touches left her.

"Honey?"

He suddenly remembers why he loves when Layla goes rough on him: This is the only pain he loves, for it is through that same pain that Marc knows he's alive. Their bodies wouldn't stop lusting for each other and Marc Spector's unbridled desire longs for something serving as a reminder of this rare moment of euphoria. He loves to see the scars left all over his back, and he's dying to feel that pleasurable pain all over again.

"Again," Spector orders.

Layla bites her lip and looks down impishly. Marc chuckles when he senses her hand pressing his nape, so his face was buried between her breasts.

"Be gentle," she asks in return and greatly rejoices when Spector puts his tongue to work on her nipple. Layla smiles when Marc cannot take it anymore, holding her while getting up. Both bodies slammed against the wall once Marc cornered Layla.

"What do you want your good girl to do, husband?" She whispered sensually.

The small furniture helped his eager hands to spread her legs, so he could see the effect he had on her body. Layla feels so vulnerable by offering her drenched sex so openly, with an starving husband impeding any escape. His hands caressed the inner thighs, lining softly her folds and her wet, warm intimacy.

Marc got rid of his boxers, hypnotized by her pink, glistening intimacy he so eagerly wanted to invade. He leads his hands to his mouth, oiling his fingers just before he teased her femininity, right on her fleshy bud. Layla jolted violently, everything is becoming blurry and all Marc can do is to gather enough strength to insert himself inside her.

"I want you to come around me, baby," he muttered against Layla's mouth. She holds his face with avid tenderness, loving those rebellious curls falling on his forehead. His exhausted yet completely ecstatic expression ignited her to taste his lips, setting aside a few locks.

"Fuck- I only–" Layla doesn't allow him to talk with her voracious kisses, "wanna–wanna feel you on me," Marc circles perfectly her swollen bud and Layla just ceases the passionate kisses to writhe and moan for him, crying his name when she feels her moistened depths fluttering, yearning to be invaded, to receive Marc in the ways he deserved, so he can feel the exquisite captivity imprisoning his flesh even more.

Marc needs more of her sounds, smiling at her urged, needful calling ring in his ears. He knows his life is made of contradictions, as being a war criminal while being the only living son of a rabbi. He was joyful and exultant to be a fearful force of nature and a touch starved man subdued by love. She calls him, wishing her man to claim her body and soul. Just then, Marc howls, desperate for humanity:

"JUST FUCK ME UNTIL I LOVE MYSELF!" he exclaims, out of his mind.

Marc holds her closer to him, to bind her very soul with his. He slowly opened his eyes, staring at her blurred face but her voice echoes in his mind:

"Habibi…" she lovingly lulled into his ear, knowing the effect the endearing name had on him. Once his vision is clear, he becomes lost in her loving glare, far from those harsh looks he had received during his whole fucking life. How can he not love her, if Layla is the living opposite to every abusive person that had crossed paths with him? As with Steven, Marc is maddened by the fact that someone tried to understand him from a loving perspective, instead of being examined and observed as a mentally ill lunatic.

"Habibi…" she murmured again, shuddering at the touch of his fingers down her body, tangling some curls from the abundant mane that barely managed to cover that lovely bosom of hers. His hand sneaks between her legs and he smiles when he hears Layla claiming his name, begging for more. Though he intends a more profound exploration of her body, his long, lost gaze suggests confusion as to where to start touching.

Fascination takes over Layla when she feels an atypical gentleness in his touches, as if she was made of glass. Layla perceived that this kindness was not like him, but rather from…

"We both need you," Marc said as he slid his fingertips over her chest before pouncing like a hungry animal, sliding his tongue to reach the part previously pampered, tasting it more hungrily now. His hand drew impatient circles all over the swollen bud, making her lose the little composure she had left.

His mouth gently nibbled at the hardened nipple and then looked up at her mischievously. Layla never felt so aroused in her life by just a gaze. Although Marc didn't believe it when she mentioned it, Layla just melted before the manly beauty of her husband. His eyes, his black hair, his intense gaze… soon Layla feels Marc is everything she needs now.

Marc is still doing his wonders with his hands, but they cease once he decides to close the wounds of both of them, left behind by so many lies and so much foolishness when answering the call of his flesh, which ardently cries out to abandon the solitude that individuality meant.

Layla sobs and whimpers as she is invaded, relieved to receive him inside her. Marc wasted no time in thrusting into her desperately, panting heavily as pleasure made him lose his mind.

"You like that, don't you?" and Layla nods with a cute, playful expression in her face, prompting Marc to continue. He was blissfully overwhelmed by the warm, living constriction that adjusted to his length each time he slammed inside.

Layla arched her back several times against the wall, fighting against the pleasurable pain cramps spread all over her thighs, her belly. Her labored breathing turns into scandalous moans.

"That's it... Moan, moan for me" Marc pays more attention to her heated intimacy, getting exactly what he wanted. These were whispered words, sometimes incoherent, but beautiful. Her moans are interspersed with her native Arabic, whose sound helps to heal his heart. Marc played with the fleshy pearl hidden in his privacy, causing his wife to stir with pleasure.

The former mercenary feels the rapture reaching unimaginable dimensions when her twitching depths brutally contract around him. His voice rumbles with ecstatic moans as he pours himself inside her. Marc felt it was as if her soul begged in every (humanly) way for him to stay there, with her… wanting his rigid sex melted with hers for good, something he happily conceded.

"Looks like someone wants to be a father," she jokingly said, but another animalistic thrust from Marc seemed to confirm what she suspected.

"I could be one, you know…" Marc hums against her mouth. Both laughed it off.

It is a mad, sweet addiction.

This is the only madness that Marc wants: this love, the one a man feels towards a woman, the love that reduces a man to a slave, to a madman. He is proud to recognize himself addicted to her body, to her love, to her good heart, to the fact that their bodies could not stop once they united. Layla glides her hands over his neck, feeling the skin vibrate as he speaks.

"Save me…" She saw how lost his expression was, still basking in the elation of being one, "save us…"

That blissful glare was rare and gorgeous to gaze at. His forehead touched her shoulder, repeating the plea over and over. He probably didn't even know what he was saying at this point. She caresses his hair but Marc keeps his vicious, downright desperate grip around her waist, hiding his face.

"She's a goddess, Marc!" An enraptured Steven Grant exclaims from within. Marc groans at the strident joy of his alter and it catches Layla's attention.

"Sweetie?" She asks. It takes a few seconds for Marc to react. He breaks their physical bond, without getting away from her.

"Steven wants to hug you," Marc murmured. Layla tilted her head, softly laughing at the tender request.

"Did he enjoy our little show?" She playfully asked.

"I think he did," Marc giggled, looking right at her, "it means a lot to him, you know?" He steps away from her, looking at the mirror's reflection, which showed an impatient Steven, "alright, you're in."

Layla closely pays attention to the moment her husband keeps mute for a moment. He turned around, quickly glancing at her. Layla's face beams with happiness as Steven gasps at the sight of her, completely exposed. She got down from the furniture, walking towards him.

"Oh, dear!" Steven almost stumbled, seeing her and himself with no clothes on. He doesn't move an inch, incapable of taking his eyes off her. Layla finally comes close to him, extending her hand to caress his face.

"Steven." His breath shortened as her hands reached his lips, brushing her thumb over it. His fearful, innocent attitude, so distant from Marc's rough ways, makes her feel guilty for how angry she was at him when they met.

"Steven Grant… from the gift shop," she lovingly hummed, while slowly wrapping his neck with her arms. She can feel his body tensing, especially when his chest is pressed against hers, "don't be afraid…"

She starts leaving a line of kisses all over his neck, to let him know it was real. He groans softly, sliding his hands down her waist as a sensual compensation for her embrace.

"Layla…" he muttered, bewitched by her beauty, "look–look I–" nervousness makes him clear his throat, trying to hide the panic. Layla undoes the hug, causing a low whine from Steven. Layla pays full attention to him. She has that look in her eyes, full of love, of understanding.

Everything changed all of a sudden. Not too long ago, Steven had been dwelling in depression for a missed date, sick of his usual bad luck. Layla's gentle heart makes him forget that angry call, the shame… he still has trouble thinking something or someone this good couldn't be true.

"Last night… last night was amazing," Steven Grant stutters, but it doesn't scare her off. She keeps listening carefully, "I never thought you wanted me in that way… I just freaked out because I didn't know what was happening."

A cute smile on Layla's lips encourages him to continue.

"You…" he says, feeling the typical lightheadedness of love brought with it, "you looked absolutely lovely. I feel… I feel I've been waiting for this moment my whole life."

She nods, smiling as she remembers the kiss in the desert. Layla also remembers she had been the one starting the affections. But the memory itself doesn't prompt her to properly resume what Steven had interrupted (even if it was with a noble reason). It was the rapture that made his eyes shine. That same love he looked at her with back before finding Ammit's tomb. Layla's face came closer to his, searching to lock their mouths.

Steven gladly consents and responds to her hungry kiss, praising her each time their mouths broke the caress. The sound of their lips colliding sent shivers through his nerves, thinking this could be the beginning to more touches.

"I absolutely loved you fucking me so hard, Steven with a V," Layla whispered between kisses, stopping for a few seconds to bathe in the tender praise. The nerd chuckles happily. After all, she remembers that silly rhyme.

"When I came here, I wanted my husband and I ended up with two instead."

"I thought that if I was under the service of an evil, stupid pigeon, I was also married to you.” The mild mannered man pants against her mouth, loving the feel of her breath on his face.

Layla sneaks her tongue inside his mouth, parting his lips. Steven allows her to, leading his restless hands towards her chest, squeezing her soft forms. Layla broke the kiss, eyes open in surprise at his daring boldness. The long and awkward silence scares Steven, ashamed of his impulsivity:

"I'm sorry, I don't want you to think I'm a creep or something–"

"No!" Layla calmed him down but Steven's insecurity keeps speaking for him:

"I'm sorry, it's just… just before I met you, I missed a date. All because Marc had to retrieve that golden beetle. I don't remember kissing anyone until you," Steven places his hands over her shoulders, "I don't remember anyone until you. Please tell me this isn't the last time we do it."

Layla rolls her eyes, taking his hands to place them all over her chest, so he could squeeze and fondle them.

"Didn't you hear me? I said–" she pulled him closer to her to then purr, "you can see us before we get to fuck again." Steven moans when his fingers get to touch the nascent line to the full, round part.

"That's it… touch them if you're not convinced," Layla approves his touches, putting her hands over Steven's and he's there again, consumed by desire. His eyes reflect an incommensurable gratitude and profound relief.

"That is the best part of all this adventure," Steven whispered, amorously holding her hands on his, "I got to meet the wife I didn't know I had. How was I supposed to live the simple, normal, peaceful life Marc intended if you're not in it?" The line is powerful enough to make a tear fall from her eye.

"You can now, Steven" she held him close, "because you're alive and I can touch you and love you." Steven wraps his arms around her waist once both lay down. He holds her with passion, gratefulness, free of any thought concerning his solitude.

Layla means 'night' in both Hebrew and Arabic, and for the first time in his life, Marc Spector could succumb to rest, feasting his eyes on the beautiful stars that saved his existence from complete darkness.

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