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sh0rtins0mniac · 3 months

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Who are the hostages still held by Hamas?

On October 7, 2023, 253 Israelis and foreign nationals were kidnapped to Gaza by Hamas and gazan civilians. Since then, 105 were released in a prisioner exchange deal, 4 were released by Hamas and 3 were rescued.

However, 134 remain in captivity (4 of those were kidnapped prior to 2023). A recent investigation has concluded that more than a fifth of the hostages are dead and the fate of some other hostages remains unknown. This video explains how doctors determine which hostages are dead, based on the nature of their injury and by analyising footage and the victims' last phone calls. Additionally, during the operation in Gaza, the IDF has recovered the bodies of a few victims and returned to their families for burial.

Since I couldn't find this all in one place, I've compiled a list of: 1) hostages who are presumed alive; 2) hostaged whose death has been reported/confirmed; 3) hostages who were released or rescued. In the group of hostages presumed to be alive who haven't been released, the youngest is 1-year-old Kfir Bibas and the oldest hostage is Iraqi-born 85-year old Shlomo Mansour.

As we learn more information, I'll continue to update this post.

They need to come back home. I'm hoping for more successful rescue operations soon. Keep them in your thoughts.

Hostages still held by Hamas (presumed alive or fate unknown):

(1) (2) (3)

Abraham Eitan Mor (23)

Abraham Munder (79)

Agam Berger (19)

Alex Danzig (75)

Alexander (Sasha) Trupanob (28)

Alexander Lobanov (32)

Almog Meir Jan (21)

Almog Sarusi (26)

Alon Ohel (22)

Amit Buskila (28)

Amiram Cooper (85)

Andrey Kozlov (27)

Arbel Yehoud (28)

Ariel Bibas (4)

Ariel Cunio (26)

Avera Mengistu (37) – Has been held hostage since 2014

Avinathan Or (30)

Bar Kupershtein (22)

Bipin Joshi (23)

Carmel Gat (39)

Chaim Peri (79)

Chanan Yablonka (42)

Daniel Gilboa (19)

David Cunio (33)

Dolev Yehoud (35)

Doron Steinbrecher (30)

Edan Alexander (20)

Eden Yerushalmi (24)

Eitan Horn (37)

Eli Sharabi (51)

Eliya Cohen (26)

Elkana Bohbot (34)

Evytar David (23)

Gadi Moses (79)

Gali Berman (26)

Guy Gilboa-Dalal (22)

Hamzah Al-Zayadni (22)

Hersh Goldberg Polin (23)

Hisham al-Sayed (35) - Has been held hostage since 2015

Yair Horn (45)

Idan Shivi (28)

Itzhak Gelenter (56)

Itzhk Elgarat (68)

Kaid Farhan Elkadi (53)

Karina Ariev (19)

Kfir Bibas (1)

Liri Albag (18)

Matan Angrest (21)

Matan Zangauker (24)

Maxim Herkin (35)

Michel Nisenbaum (59)

Muhammed Alatrash (40)

Naama Levy (19)

Nadav Popplewell (51)

Nimrod Cohen (19)

Noa Argamani (26)

Oded Lifshitz (83)

Ofer Kalderon (53)

Ohad Ben Ami (55)

Ohad Yahalomi (49)

Omer Neutra (22)

Omer Shem Tov (21)

Omer Wenkert (22)

Omri Miran (46)

Or Levy (33)

Ori Danino (24)

Oryon Hernandez (30)

Rom Braslavski (19)

Romi Gonen (23)

Ron Benjamin (53)

Sagui Dekel-Chen (35)

Samuel Keith Siegel (64)

Segev Kalfon (25)

Shiri Bibas (32)

Shlomi Ziv (40)

Shlomo Mansour (85)

Tal Shoham (38)

Tamir Nimrod (19)

Tsachi Idan (51)

Yagev Buchshtab (34)

Yagev Kirsht (34)

Yarden Bibas (34)

Yoram Metzger (80)

Yosef Al-Zayadni (53)

Yosef Ohana (23)

Ziv Berman (26)

Hostages confirmed/reported dead:

(Note: I couldn't find a report with the full list, but if you google each individual name you can find sources.)

Alon Shamriz (26) – Mistakenly killed by the IDF

Arye Zalmanovich (85) - Death reported by Hamas. He was forced to appear in a propaganda video.

Asaf Hamami (41)

Aviv Atzili (49)

Daniel Oz (19) - Killed on Oct. 7. Status updated on 25/02/24

Daniel Perez (22) - Killed on Oct. 7. Status updated on 17/03/24

Dror Kaplun (68)

Dror Or (48) - Killed on Oct. 7. Status updated on 02/05/24.

Eden Zecharya (28)

Eitan Levy (53)

Elad Katzir (47) - Murdered by the Palestinian Islamic Jihad. His body was recovered in Khan Yunis. Status updated on 06/04/24.

Eliyahu Margalit (75)

Elyakim Libman (23) - Killed on Oct. 7. It was presumed he was a hostage because his body wasn't found, but it was later discovered his remains were accidentally buried with another victim. Status updated on 03/05/24.

Gad Haggai (73)

Guy Iluz (26)

Hadar Goldin (32) - Body held hostage since 2014

Ilan Weiss (56)

Inbar Haiman (27)

Itay Chen (19) - Killed on Oct. 7. Status updated on 12/03/24.

Itay Svirsky (35) – Killed by Hamas in captivity. His body was shown in a propaganda video

Joshua Loitu Mollel (21) – A released video shows how he was brutally murdered by a group of men on October 7

Judy Weinstein (70)

Kiril Brodski (19)

Lior Rudaeff (61) - Killed on Oct. 7. His body was taken to Gaza. Status updated on 07/05/24.

Maya Goren (56)

Mordechai Yonathan Samerano (21) - Killed on Oct. 7. His body was taken to Gaza.

Nik Beizer (19)

Noa Marciano (19) – Her body was found near the Al-Shifa hospital

Ofir Tzarfati (27)

Ofra Keider (70)

Oren Goldin (34)

Oron Shaul (30) – Body held hostage since 2014

Ran Gvlli (24)

Ravid Katz (41)

Ron Scherman (19)

Ronen Engel (54)

Sahar Baruch (24) – Killed by Hamas during a failed hostage rescue operation

Samer Talalka (22) – Mistakenly killed by the IDF

Shay Levinson (19)

Shani Louk (22) - Body taken to Gaza

Tal Chaim (42)

Tamir Adar (38)

Tomer Ahimas (20)

Uriel Baruch (35) - Status updated on 26/03/24

Yair Yaakov (59) – Killed on Oct. 7. Sons and girlfriend were released. Status updated on 15/02/24.

Yehudit Weiss (65) – Her body was found near the Al-Shifa hospital

Yossi Sharabi (53) – His dead body was shown in a propaganda video

Yotam Haim – Mistakenly killed by the IDF

Ziv Dado (36)

Released/rescued hostages:

(1) (2)

Abigail Edan, 4, American citizen

Ada Sagi, 75

Adi Shoham, 38

Adina Moshe, 72

Agam Goldstein-Almog, 17

Aisha Ziyadne, 17

Alma Avraham, 84

Alma Or, 13

Amit Shani, 15

Amit Soussana, 40

Anucha Angkaew

Aviv Asher, 2, German citizen

Aviva Adrienne Siegel, 62

Bancha Kongmanee, Thai national

Bilal Ziyadne, 18

Boonthom Phankhong, Thai national

Buddee Saengboon, Thai national

Chalermchai Sangkaew

Channa Peri, 79

Chen Goldstein-Almog, 48

Clara Marman, 63, Argentine citizen

Daniel Aloni, 44

Dafna Elyakim, 15

Doron Katz Asher, 34, German citizen

Ditza Heiman, 84

Emilia Aloni, 5

Emily Toni Kornberg Hand, 8

Emma Cunio, 3, Argentine citizen

Erez Calderon, 12, French citizen

Eitan Yahalomi, 12, French citizen

Ela Elyakim, 8

Fernando Marman – Rescued by the IDF

Gabriela Leimberg, 59, Argentine citizen

Gal Goldstein-Almog, 11

Gal Tarshansky, 13

Gelienor (Jimmy) Pacheco, 37, Filipino national

Hagar Brodetz, 40

Hanna Katzir, 77

Hila Rotem Shoshani, 12

Ilana Gritzewsky Kimchi, 30

Irena Tati, 73, a Russian citizen, was included on the list but released separately from the exchange deal.

Itay Regev Jerbi, 18

Juckapan Sikena

Judith Raanan, 59 [Released 22/10/23]

Karina Engel-Bart, 51, Argentine citizen

Keren Munder, 54

Komkrit Chombua

Kong Saelao

Liam Or, 18

Liat Beinin Atzili, 49, American citizen

Luis Har – Rescued by the IDF

Manee Jirachart

Margalit Mozes, 78, German citizen

Maya Regev Jirbi, 21

Meirav Tal, 53

Mia Leimberg, 17, Argentine citizen

Mia Shem, 21, French citizen

Mika Engel, 18, Argentine citizen

Mongkhol Phajuabboon, Thai national

Moran Stela Yanai, 40

Natalie Raanan, 17 [Released 22/10/23]

Nattaporn Onkaew

Natthawaree Moonkan, Thai national

Naveh Shoham, 8

Nili Margalit, 41

Noam Avigdori, 12

Noga Weiss, 18

Noam Or, 17

Noralin Babadilla, 60, born in the Philippines

Nurit Cooper [Released 24/10/23]

Ofri Brodetz, 10

Ohad Munder, 9

Or Yaakov, 16, German citizen

Ori Megidish – Rescued by the IDF

Oriya Brodetz, 4

Owat Suriyasri, 40, father of two

Ofelia Adit Roitman, 77, born in Argentina

Ofir Engel, 17, Dutch citizen

Paiboon Rattanin

Pattanayut Tonsakree

Phonsawan Pinakalo

Ra’aya Rotem, 54

Raz Ben-Ami, 56, German citizen

Rimon Kirsht Buchshtav, 36

Raz Asher, 4, German citizen

Ron Krivoi, 25, an Israeli-Russian citizen, was included on the list, although he was released separately from the exchange deal.

Ruth Munder, 78

Sahar Calderon, 16, French citizen

Santi Boonphrom, Thai national

Sapir Cohen, 29

Shani Goren, 29

Sharon Aloni-Cunio, 34, Argentine citizen

Sharon Hertzman Avigdori, 52

Shiri Weiss, 53

Shoshan Haran, 67

Surin Kesungnoen

Tal Goldstein-Almog, 8

Tamar Metzger, 78

Uthai Sangnuan, Thai national

Uthai Thunsri, Thai national

Wichai Kalapat, 28, Thai national

Wichian Temthon

Withoon Phumee, 33, Thai national

Yaffa Adar, 85

Yagil Yaakov, 12, German citizen

Yahel Shoham, 3

Yarden Roman-Gat, 35, German citizen

Yelena Trupanov, 50, a Russian citizen, was included on the list but released separately from the exchange deal.

Yocheved Lifshitz [Released 24/10/23]

Yuli Cunio, 3, Argentine citizen

Yuval Brodetz, 8

Yuval Engel, 12, Argentine citizen

#israel #october 7 #hamas hostages #hostages #bring them home now #jumblr #compiling all their names was a really emotional process. i did this the day before it was announced yair yaakov was murdered #and had trouble opening the file again #praying and hoping for the rest of the hostages' safe return #please let me know if i made any mistakes and/or forgot any names #as i've said in the post - a lot of info was scattered and i'm afraid i might have missed something #note: 253 was the total number i found in most reports. i don't know if it'll change at the end of the war - since some people were #considered to be held hostage and sadly later it was found they had been killed on oct 7 inside israel #like clemence felix mtenga

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occatorcreator · 10 days

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Second Chances

Links - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

2 - Lonely Purpose

Purple seeks out a new purpose in the wake of his mother's passing and makes a new life in the world of Minecraft. Through it, he ends up crossing paths with a group of stick figures in need. Content Warnings: Character death, grieving, canon typical violence

Purple returned to the city to bury Orchid. There was no body to bury, but a grave was something Orchid requested in her end-of-life plan, and Purple would honor her last requests.

It didn’t change the hollow feeling he had standing before her grave. He had cried all of yesterday, and his eyes felt raw and painful, but he couldn’t summon any more tears. So he simply stewed in his emptiness.

He was the only one there for her funeral.

I mean, of course he wouldn’t show up, Purple thought. I should be glad to not see him… it would just be awkward. As if he cares that his ex-spouse is gone.

The lawyer reached out to Navy regarding the death. Navy should have learned of Orchid’s passing and Purple’s destitution. But of course how could one reach someone who left without any contact for over a year? Purple would be a fool to hope to see him here.

So, why was he so upset that Navy failed to show?

I can’t be here, Purple turned away, the numbness turning into an unexpectedly painful vise in his chest. He left his mother’s grave and the cemetery behind as quickly as he could, bolting down the sidewalk until he had no energy left to run.

He leaned against a wall, watching as stick figures passed by with faded interest. He stood as still as a statue, watching passerbys go into the stores. There were parents holding little kids by their hands, groups of friends chatting close to each other, lovers holding hands and laughing...

Everyone was lively and moving around like usual. The day was bright and sunny, birds were chirping. As if this wasn’t the worst day of Purple’s life.

A group of teenagers passed by him. When Purple watched them, he recognized all of them as old friends from school. All but one. A tall, lanky orange hollow head towered over them and chatted with arms waving animatedly. Their eyes briefly met Purple’s and for a split, terrifying second, Purple thought they were going to try to rope him into small talk.

But they didn’t, they just waved and continued walking with their group. A couple of others looked back at Purple, and Purple tried not to notice their confused and judging gazes. The teens turned a corner, but Purple caught his name whispered among them.

“Hold on, was that Purple back there?”

With heavy limbs, Purple followed behind them. He moved silently, trying to be discreet in the fact he was following them.

It has been five months since I dropped out, Purple realized. It had to be summer break now.

“Do you know them, Peri?” The orange hollow head asked.

“Yeah, he disappeared before you transferred in, Second,” the stick figure Purple knew as Periwinkle said. “He was in my financial elective...”

“And he was a total scumbag,” a dark violet stick figure jumped in.

“Saffron,” Periwinkle admonished.

“What? It’s true!” The oddly named Saffron said. Purple recalled her brazenness. She was Periwinkle’s annoying younger sister and highly protective of her softhearted brother. Any slight against him, no matter how small, earned her ire.

“What did Purple do?” Second asked.

“Ah, Purple is someone you wouldn’t want to get close to,” added a brown stick figure beside them. “He acts friendly at first, gives gifts to buy your affection. But he’s highly controlling. The moment you don’t do what he wants or if you inconvenience him, he dumps you and goes after the next sucker.”

Chestnut… Purple grimaced at his ex-friend’s bitterness. He lagged behind, increasing the distance between them.

“I think that’s being a little bit uncharitable,” Periwinkle added, “I think he really admired you, Chestnut.”

“Ugh, don’t even joke about that, Peri?” Chestnut said, punching Periwinkle in the arm. Her disgust was hard not to hear from this distance.

“Why are you even defending him? Do I need to remind you how Purple borrowed your prized umbrella?” Saffron said, “and you never got it back even after asking about it?”

“I never forgot that…” Periwinkle nodded, and Purple saw his shoulders slump. “Gosh, it still hurts to think about it. I spent so much money getting that, it was one of a kind.”

“Exactly! And now it’s gone because of him! You’re being too nice!”

Second, sensing that their friend group was getting agitated, coughed in their hands.

“Anyways, I asked Mango this morning, and he said I can go to the arcade with you all!”

Saffron pumped her hands in the air while Periwinkle clapped. “Awesome!”

“Yeah, enough about Purple,” Chestnut said, not leaving much alone, slinging her arm around Second’s shoulders. “Be grateful you never met him. He’d be horrible to you too.”

“Chestnut,” Second scolded.

“Sorry, I’ll stop,” Chestnut finished.

Then they chatted about arcade games. Purple didn’t catch anything else as he stopped in his tracks, watching as the group retreated. He couldn't stand to listen anymore as he felt like he was close to decking one of them.

Why… was the whole school glad I was gone for months? Purple thought, clenching his fists. Was I really that awful to you?

He and Chestnut certainly had a falling out, but he swore his attempts at being her friend were genuine. Complimenting and giving gifts- how else was he supposed to make friends? It wasn’t his fault they had incompatible personalities! Not everyone can be so blaisé about everything! Was it a crime to expand his social circle?

Not like those sticks liked me for long… Purple thought, recalling how he fell out of that clique faster than he did with Chestnut.

Periwinkle was nice; Purple did intend to only borrow the umbrella since he had none that rainy day. But of course, with his horrid luck, he ended up breaking it on the way home and feared how Periwinkle would react. How was he supposed to know that it was a special one of a kind?

Stupid idiot’s too obsessive over umbrellas, Purple grinded his teeth. If he and his sister blow a gasket over a lost umbrella of all things, then no sane person should deal with them!

He felt raw and scratched, scoured by their claws. How he hated them. Truly hated them all. Especially that Second kid- what a stupid name. While he didn’t know anything about them, he hated how the three people who he couldn’t befriend clung to them so easily. He hated how Second had to only look at him to ruin his horrible day even further. He hated that they had some parent to come home to after fun at the arcade with friends while Purple was all alone.

I hate you! Purple thought with bared teeth. I hope you all suffer like I did! Hope your days are as rotten and horrid as mine!

I hate all of you!

Alana reminded Purple that he could stay on the desktop for as long as he liked. That arrangement worked out for Purple because he had no reason to leave the computer. He didn’t want to return to school, and he had no desire to find a job and be a cog in some miserable system in the city. On the desktop, he had more freedom to do what he wanted.

And he just wanted to lie in his bed and wallow in his sadness.

He let the grief drape over him. It made his limbs heavy as lead and turned his mind to static. Food and activities were bland; he had no desire to do much of anything. Aside from Alana, there wasn’t anyone checking on him. He had no idea where the villager caretaker went or if they were somehow deleted, but he couldn’t even begin to care.

How odd it felt to be purposeless. How the drive and desperation to find a cure for his mother vanished with her body, leaving behind exhaustion and nothingness.

The only time he felt anything other than despair was when he dreamed. The dreams were both cruel and relieving. He dreamt of being a prince in a grand castle. His mother and friends were there in that castle to greet him and go on fun adventures. Waking was painful, as it brought those sweet dreams to an end and dumped him back to the cold, lonely reality. The more he slept, the longer the dreams went and more intense the pain of waking became.

I wish I could stay in my dreams…

But then one night, they changed. Instead of continuing the fantasy, he dreamt he was in a void. A light shone above, with pink petals floating down around him.

Orchid petals? Purple thought, holding a hand out to catch a petal. Mom?

Instinctively he looked around, trying to find Orchid in the pitch dark, only to flinch when he saw Navy standing before him in the gloom.

“Why are you here?” Purple raised hands up defensively. He had not dreamt of his father once in his fantasy world. It was as if he was banished from his dreams.

Yet Navy stood before him, staring. The stare was all too familiar, that cold, guarded stare before he walked out of Orchid and Purple’s life.

“What?” Purple demanded, “what do you want? What right do you have to judge me?”

Navy said nothing. He should have said something by now.

“Be gone with you!” Purple waved, “Do what you always do and just leave me already!”

To that, Navy’s gave a disappointed sigh.

“You can’t even keep your promises,” he said, “that’s it, I guess. I’m leaving.”

He turned and walked away into the void.

“What?” Purple never recalled him saying that before. He didn’t understand. “Wait!” Purple took a step forward. “What do you mean by that? Answer me!”

Navy kept walking; Purple couldn’t catch up. Despite telling him to leave, he still chased after his father.

What promise am I breaking?

When Purple awoke, he remembered his mother’s dying breath: she’d asked for Purple to take care of himself.

Sleeping in bed, shutting myself from the world, Purple’s heart hammered. I’m not keeping to that promise.

And he loathed that a dream version of Navy could be right!

For the first time since he left his mother’s grave, the drive fueled him. He thought he lost it to grief. That dream, his father’s words criticizing his ineptitude, gave him something for his churning anger to sharpen itself against.

I’ll take care of myself, he thought, no, I’ll do better, I will thrive. He’d prove his father, those teens, and everyone who ever doubted and looked down on little Purple wrong!

He would be great.

Purple crawled out of bed. His muscles protested at the exertion he was unused to after months of laying around. He forced himself to hold his head high.

“How about…” Purple said as he spotted the remains of his and Orchid’s castle. “I finish that castle of mine.”

Purple wanted to play Minecraft legitimately. No cheats, no spawning things. He was going in to play like any other player. He had a new goal for his playthrough. He aimed to become a true king of Minecraft.

He started with only the essentials and got to mining. He had his basic goals set for making his kingdom: get enough cobblestone and wood to build his castle and starting houses, locate some villagers, and… well he hadn’t figured out step three yet, but the first two were going to be huge.

There were enemies. Fighting them wasn’t as bad as Purple initially feared. If anything, felling the zombies, creepers, and skeletons, then the tougher ghasts, endermen, and wither skeletons, made Purple feel powerful. All those rusted fighting skills he neglected were sharpening and, for once, he enjoyed the combat. With the right equipment and enchantments, enemy encounters hardly concerned him.

He found some zombie villagers too and, desiring to build a village the proper way, successfully escorted and cured those zombie villagers. And, oh, how he was praised for his heroics! The cured villagers bowed to him as their savior, Lord Purple!

Not the pathetic Purple I was before now, huh? Purple thought, puffing his chest in pride.

But the joy never lasted. The glory he got from fighting turned dull as the enemies were no match for his sword. The villagers had children. Seeing happy little kids running around while their happy parents watched, filled Purple’s hollow heart with venom. Their praise towards his greatness suddenly felt shallow and fake, especially knowing how much he loathed to see them prosper when he still felt horrible.

It didn’t help that the next day, all those kids grew into adults. The very sight of this rapid aging caused Purple to retreat into his castle and remain there for three days. He glared at the wall, unable to sleep and failing to calm himself down. Once again, all the motivation deserted him, and a part of him wanted to burn this fake village and false castle to the ground.

“Why?” He asked a portrait of a bizarre wither skull formation, “why is it that I’ve accomplished so much more than I did in school, and I still feel this way?”

The skull painting did not answer, but Purple suspected it knew fully well why.

Purple imagined his mother telling him that he was pushing himself too hard, but the thoughts of her words just made him curl further in a miserable ball. How could he enjoy even the false, temporary victories of a game when she wasn't there to see them?

Only Navy’s words spurred Purple out of his funk on the third day when he fell asleep. You can’t even keep your promises...

“Right. Castle and village is done. I need a new goal,” he said and eyed the skull painting. It was such a peculiar piece that he wondered if it was a hint that if he made something like that he’d summon something like an iron golem. Something evil.

If so, if I make this and defend the village from this beast, Purple thought, then I’d be a legend to them!

Plus, he’d like a challenging fight for once. Time to visit the nether and grab some skulls.

“Ugh, finally!” Purple said as he successfully pried the third wither skeleton’s skull off and it didn’t disintegrate to ash. “I swear, hunting for skulls is such a pain.”

But he finally got three skulls and the soul sand. He was done with his nether trip. Time to head back and figure out what he’d summon-

Bang! Bang!

The nether caverns echoed with the sound of rhythmic thumping. Purple felt the walls around him tremble as the thumping grew louder and louder. He looked around, clutching the wither skull to his chest, as he tried to find the source of the noise.

“The hell is going on?” Purple gasped.

Suddenly, there was a scream. Purple only had a split second to turn towards that scream before a stick figure dressed in armor landed right on top of him and knocked him to the ground.

“Yeouch!” Purple wheezed. His health went down to half from the impact, and he shoved the stick figure off of him. Before he could get a good look at them, more screams were heard, and additional stick figures landed next to him, narrowly missing his battered body.

Why is it raining stick figures?! Purple looked bewildered between the group of stick figures. The green, blue, and yellow stick figures lay on the ground, their health at half a heart. The blue and yellow sticks were dazed, diamond armor shattered to pieces around them, while the green stick figure only had a cracked diamond helmet left.

The green one was moving, able to rise up because his fall was cushioned by landing right on Purple. He coughed, pushing himself on shaky arms and legs.

“Yellow? Blue? You-” he paused when his gaze met Purple’s. “-alive?”

Purple stared back and, unable to think of a better response, waved.

The stick figure, he presumed named Green given the naming convention, waved back. “Um, hi?”

Bang! Bang!

Purple and Green looked up at the ceiling where the noise came from. In the gloom, Purple could make out the stick figure shaped holes they fell through. A fine layer of dust fell from above.

“I take it you didn’t mine straight down,” Purple mumbled.

“Oh no!” Green forced himself up and ran to shake Blue and Yellow violently. “We don’t have time! Come on, get up!”

“What’s going on?” Purple asked, shouting over the thumping.

“Um, it’s a bit of a long story!” Green yelled back as he lifted Blue to her feet. She was waking, as was Yellow, but neither of them were in any good condition to stand for long.

“Condense it then!” Purple pulled out a potion of healing and threw it on them. The cloud restored their health to full instantly. The three stick figures leapt up, looking at their now healed bodies in shock.

“Woah! How did you do that?” Blue asked.

“Not now,” Purple waved his hands and pointed at the continuous banging above. “What is going on?”

“Ok! We found this game icon on our desktop!” Green explained, pulling out a sword. The tip cracked apart and caused him to pause as he tried to fix it.

“And we were building things with the stuff that came out,” Yellow picked up. They pulled their ax out, only to despair as it crumbled apart too, “taking turns and all that.”

“But when we gave the game icon to Red,” Blue said, staring ruefully at the busted bow in her hands. “She attacked us.”

“Attacked you?” Purple asked.

“Yeah, she wasn’t acting like herself!” Green rushed, “She just went wall eyed and hoarded the icon. We tried to stop her but…”

Bang! Purple heard blocks from above fall to the lava.

“She’s now piloting a giant block stick figure and ended up shoving us down here.” Yellow finished.

“I don’t think we have much time before she follows us here,” Blue added, clutching her head. “Oh, what are we going to do?”

Yeah, that seems like your problem, Purple thought, heart hammering wildly. He wanted a fight earlier, but given the sounds of what was coming, he opted to flee. He turned about to run before Green snatched his arm.

“Let go of me!”

“Please! You don’t have to fight for us, but we don’t have weapons or armor!” Green said. He clasped his hands together. “Please, can you lend anything?”

“I don’t have any extra swords!” Purple exclaimed. “I barely have enough potions after all the fighting I did!”

Bang! The other stick figures looked nervously at each other, rifling desperately through their belongings and finding little to help, fishing rods, crafting tables, jungle trees…

Yeah, they’re screwed, Purple thought, looking for his way back to the desktop.

“Look, I'm just going to head to the portal,” Purple said, “and if you guys have any sense, you’ll join me! Hopefully, Red will be too big to enter!”

The others looked at each other with mixed expressions, confusion, nervousness, and disdain.

“We can’t do that,” Green said, “she would be stuck here if we did that!”

“And how do you know she couldn’t smash her way through?” Yellow added.

Purple stared at Yellow and found himself glaring when he realized it made too much sense.

Ah! What do I do then? Purple thought, looking down at his wither skull helplessly. But as he stared at the empty eye sockets, Purple found an answer in them.

“Hold on,” he said, “I think I have an idea to help you with your problem.”

The plan was half baked given that they only had seconds to execute it. Yellow and Green set it up so they were ready to lure Red to the nether fortress while Purple and Blue made the wither skull statue.

Red came down from above and the very sight of the behemoth in obsidian blocks was almost enough for Purple to return to his “let’s flee to my village” idea.

“So, you are sure this thing we're summoning will be enough against her?” Blue asked.

Purple nodded even though he hadn’t a clue if the summoning would even work. “When we see their signal, just put down the last wither skull.”

Blue bit her lip, glancing from the obsidian stick figure chasing down Green, back to Purple.

“Is there a risk it would kill her?”

Purple blinked. “Aren't you trying to fight her?”

“Fight her, yes, not kill her!” Purple could see a glossy sheen form in Blue’s eyes. “I don’t know what will happen if she dies here.”

“She’ll respawn at her last checkpoint,” Purple said, but his stomach clenched. Assuming you have a respawn point set to begin with.

That didn’t give her any relief. Blue wordlessly sniffed and wiped her eyes.

In the distance, Purple saw the fishing rods fly and snag the head of the obsidian tower. “Ok, now!”

Blue placed the last head down. Upon doing so the statue turned into a three headed skeleton that let out a horrific howl. It glowed blue and was blinking rapidly.

Oh no…

“Uh, what do we do now?” Blue asked.

“Run!” Purple yelled, grabbing Blue by the hand and running away from the fortress. He cupped his hands and shouted at Yellow and Green. “Run!”

They could hardly react to the warning before a thunderous kaboom sounded behind Blue and Purple. The Wither was airborne, screeching and hurling hissing skulls right at them with wild abandon.

This is dumb! This is so dumb! Purple thought as he and the others scattered to dodge the projectiles. Why did I think summoning a giant enemy to fight another giant enemy was a good idea?!

The Wither did not discriminate. It targeted the stick figures as well as the obsidian figure. Its skulls landed right on the head and exploded it to bits. The explosion sent the red stick figure inside flying across the Nether.

Ah, I’m glad I didn’t summon that thing by my village! Purple thought. That thing is tearing through obsidian like tissue paper!

Blue raced down the walkway and held out her arms to catch Red before she landed. Yellow jumped from a ledge above to snatch the Minecraft icon that was knocked out of Red’s hands.

Despite receiving a skull missile to the face, Red was alive and kicking. She wasted no time in kicking Blue’s hold off of her and tearing after Yellow. Her expression was flat, yet her movements feral. She twitched and then lunged at Yellow, clasping at their leg. They fell to the ground with a thud and tossed the Minecraft icon further down the path.

“Oh, come on!” Purple lunged down and snatched the icon. Turning around, he saw the Wither gaining, and, in panic, he held the Minecraft icon. He visualized something stronger than obsidian, and, out from the icon, he blocked the attack with a wall of bedrock.

He protected the group of wrestling stick figures from the impact, yet his action only earned Red’s attention. Locking her fixed expression on him, she let go of Yellow and charged at Purple.

“Ah! Green, catch!” Purple tossed it just as Red pounced on his back. “Get to the portal!”

Green caught it, and started running, using his fishing rod to move across the Nether’s gaps with ease. Red, no longer interested in Purple, raced after Green. She nearly closed the gap between them with her inhumane speed, only for her to be hit down by a skull volley from the Wither above.

“Red!” Yellow and Blue exclaimed, racing to her pick her up. Even injured critically, she continued to wrestle against them, eyes locked solely on Green and the Minecraft icon.

How is she not even down? Purple thought, smacking the Wither’s volleys back as Blue and Yellow dithered.

“Come on! Leave her and get out of here!” Purple yelled.

“But-“

“No buts!” Purple turned and shoved the three over, pinning Red down to the ground. “To the portal now!”

It took a stern look and the Wither’s fast approach to cause the two to run off. Not like Purple could hold Red down long enough, as she shucked Purple off and raced after them.

I can’t let her attack my village! He thought as he ran in pursuit. He lunged his sword at her, narrowly missing her back.

“Stop! Don't kill her!” Green shouted.

Of course that idiot waited by the portal! Stunned by his stupidity, Purple wasn’t ready for Red’s quick roundhouse kick to the hand. His enchanted sword clattered far away from him, and Red ran towards the stick figures just waiting by the portal.

“No! Stop!” Purple abandoned his sword, equally as stupid as Green. “Get in the portal! Hurry!”

So many things occurred at once- Red collided into her friends, knocking them into the portal frame; Purple bowled into her back, which shoved the group through it; and as they entered, the Wither hit the portal, closing it completely behind them.

The group fell sprawling on the desktop, gasping and grunting. Purple clutched his head, wincing at the sharp pain of hitting the ground. Before him, Green, Blue, and Yellow were slowly getting up. Green held the icon. It was shuddering in his hands, glowing a bright white before suddenly fading, as if the portal did something to it.

Red lay limp on the ground. Then suddenly she jerked and writhed. A translucent outline of a Steve player avatar leapt out of her repeatedly before finally falling to the ground. As it let out a dying breath, Purple caught sight of its dead, white eyes before it poofed away.

Red was limp once more.The other three looked at her, expecting her to get up, but she remained still on the ground. They dropped the items they carried and crowded around her. Blue lifted her head up.

“Red? Red!” Blue jostled the stick figure.

“Come on, speak to us!” Green begged. Purple felt something form in his throat at the familiarity of his desperation.

“What’s happening to her health?” Yellow gasped as they held her hand.

Indeed, all the hearts of Red’s health turned black and were ticking down. An effect called “withering” was applied on her.

It’s going to kill her! Purple realized and whistled loudly. The sound spooked the three grieving stick figures, but not as much as the sudden crowd of villagers appearing out of nearby houses did.

“Lord Purple? You’re back?”

“I need a bucket of milk, stat!” Purple hollered and clapped. “Don’t waste time! A stick’s dying here!”

And no time was wasted. The villagers were quick to mobilize and toss a milk bucket to Purple. He snatched it and quickly tossed it to Blue.

“Feed it to her!” Purple quickly exclaimed, “It’ll cure her ailment.”

Confusion gone, Blue brought the bucket to Red’s lips. Indeed, the milk stopped Red’s decaying heart meter just in the nick of time. With only half a heart left, the withering effect faded, and Red let out a shuddering cough.

“G-guys?” She croaked out.

“Red? Is it really you?” Yellow asked.

“Um, yeah,” Red looked around, dazed and then pained, “I’m so sorry for what I did…”

“Shh, no, no,” Blue hushed before pulling her into a hug. Green and Yellow also wrapped their arms around the two.

“I thought we’d lose you…” Green said, muffled.

Purple watched from the sidelines as the four hugged each other. He watched until his heart couldn’t bear the sight of it.

How lucky they are.

“You’ll have to share how you saved these folks,” a villager said as they stood next to him.

“Yeah…” Purple couldn’t meet their eyes, “maybe later.”

He did a good deed, a brave one even! And yet he still felt horrid.

If only milk could cure a heartache too.

#occatorart #alan becker #animation vs minecraft #animator vs animation #second family au #ava purple #ava second coming #ava red #ava green #ava yellow #ava blue

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fictionalwh0ree · 1 year

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cheek to cheek- austin butler

based off: cheek to cheek by frank sinatra

word count: 846

warnings: none

pairing: austin butler x fem!reader

just two hours ago, you were walking down an aisle with a bouquet in hand, your friends and family on one side and austin’s on the other, watching with tears in their eyes.

just two hours ago, austin was wiping tears from his eyes as you exchanged vows and promised to be with each other forever.

you knew that nothing really changed, but being mrs. austin butler seemed to fulfill you in a way you never expected. now, at your reception, you were taking in everything around you. from the beautifully decorated room to the tall, gorgeous cake waiting to be cut, your wedding day was going perfectly.

you were simply standing there, watching as guests danced with each other when you felt an arm wrap around your waist.

“hi wife,” austin said, his voice alone making your stomach flutter.

“hi husband,” you responded, looking up at him to meet his love-filled eyes.

god, you were so in love with him.

you planted a kiss on his lips, but he soon pulled away at the sound of one of your favourite songs beginning to play.

austin’s hand slipped from your waist down to your hand and he picked it up fondly.

“may i have this dance?” he asked.

you nodded in response before he placed a kiss on the back of your hand, pulling you onto the dance floor. the band began to play as you positioned yourself with your arms around austin’s neck.

heaven, i’m in heaven

and my heart beats so that i can hardly speak

the lyrics resonated through the room as your head rested on his shoulder, both of you swaying gently. you could feel him looking down at you and when you met his eyes, it felt as though you were about to go into cardiac arrest. through the years, austin has never failed to make you nervous.

and i seem to find the happiness i seek

when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek

a smile spread on his face, and it spread onto yours, causing you both to be smiling at each other like idiots, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. you knew others were watching you dance, yet it felt like the entire world slipped away as you danced together.

yes, heaven, i'm in heaven

and the cares that hung around me through the week

seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak

when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek

austin finally closed the gap by kissing you on the lips. you pulled him even closer until you were fully pressed up against each other. the kiss brought you back to everything you’d been through, from your first kiss to his proposal on the beach. you remembered how much you’d doubted your worth when it had happened, wondering if you should marry him when someone better could come around at any minute. he always assured you there was no one else he wanted to be with other than you. you remembered how stressful the wedding planning had been and how leading up to the event, everything seemed to be going wrong. as austin pulled away, you were brought back. as you held him close, you felt all your tension ease away.

oh i love to climb a mountain

and reach the highest peak

but it doesn't thrill me half as much

as dancing cheek to cheek

your slow dance picked up its pace when austin pushed you away and spun you around. when you were back in his arms, he couldn't help but stare at you. your cheeks began to heat up as he smiled at you.

oh I love to go out fishing

in a river or a creek

but I don't enjoy it half as much

as dancing cheek to cheek

you buried your head in the nook of his neck as the song was reaching its end. as you swayed gently, you could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. his body provided warmth to yours against the air-conditioned room. his arms were wrapped around your waist and when he shifted their position slightly, you felt the cold metal of his wedding band graze your open back. the reminder caused you to start fidgeting with your own ring. you’d never been big on jewelry and often struggled to wear rings for long periods of time, yet with this one, you hoped you’d never have to take it off.

now mama dance with me

i want my arms about you

that charm about you

will carry me through

you placed small kisses along his neck before pulling away, a large smile adorning your face as you looked up at your husband.

“what is it?” he asked, smiling just as large as you were.

“i love you,” you said.

“i love you too,” he responded, leaning forward to connect your lips yet again.

you continued to sway, entangled with each other, and as you appreciated everything about him, you couldn’t help but think,

heaven, i’m in heaven.

#austin butler x reader #austin butler #austin butler x you #austin butler x y/n #austin butler imagine #cheek to cheek

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staybabblingbaby · 3 days

Text

Fan Experience with SKZ a2 d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Reader wins a contest to have dinner with SKZ and they become friends :D (and maybe more? 0w0)

Word Count: 1,399

Notes: I kind of went for a sillier sort of vibe for this (bc I am a silly person) but I wonder if it makes Reader seem too childish? This one is shaping up to be a one-shot, or maybe one-shot series, idk. I sort of feel like I need more lead up or environment descriptions, it just seems like it's moving pretty fast. I do have a car scene sort of outlined in my head as well as part of the dinner scene, but it'll probably be a bit before I write it lol I have once more accidentally avoided pronouns, unsure how I've done so. Might try to keep it up.

Warnings: None that I know of? It's just silly fluff idk what u want from me.

Masterlist Link :D

"I can't do this." you whine pathetically. Ha-Yun, your best friend and the sacrifice you'd dragged to this fan opportunity, wraps a comforting arm around your shoulder.

"You're doing it." she says firmly. Maybe the arm wasn't a comfort after all, maybe you were her captive now. Turnabout is fair play you suppose.

"We're already here, and the guard has already left to get someone. It's too late to back out now." She finishes reasonably. She’s made several good points, but the day you admit that is the day you marry her. Unfortunately, Ha-Yun happened to be very straight.

"You don't know that!" You insist, "We could run right back out the doors, just poof! Gone." You speak like some sort of madness had taken over you. Quite honestly, it probably had.

Ha-Yun turns to face you properly now. She knows you well enough to know that you were genuinely freaking out, no matter how silly you were about it. She gives you a sympathetic smile, and tugs you closer. Presumably to keep you from running off (and maybe to actually comfort you, just a bit).

"It'll be fine. You adore those boys, just be chill and respectful and it'll all go well." Once again, Ha-Yun appeals to your reason. Too bad you weren't feeling very reasonable at the moment.

You turn yourself to hide your face in her neck and make a sound not dissimilar to a boiling kettle.

"What if they hate me?" You desperately question, "What if they think I'm weird, or ugly, or annoying, or, or, or!" You trail off breathlessly, on the verge of hyperventilating, and feel Ha-Yun gently pat your head.

She makes soft seal noises to mock you and then says, "Well if they do its not like you'll ever know."

Another keening whine leaves you as you slide down to crouch on the floor, arms sliding down with you to wrap around Ha-Yun's knees. She stumbles a bit, but regains her balance by using your head as a cane. She lets you stay there, blessed saint that she is, and continues to speak, wretched devil that she is.

"I mean, really, they're not gonna tell you to your face, and you're not gonna see them again after today." She points out. You'd like to argue, but it's not like she's wrong.

You'd ended up couched on the floor of the JYP building, clutching your best friend's pant leg, on a random Tuesday, about to meet Stray Kids AND eat dinner with them, by pure dumb luck. Actual, literal, luck. Like, won-a-raffle sort of luck. You may as well have won the lottery for everything this opportunity means to you.

Once-in-a-lifetime was an understatement.

"Just have fun with it," Ha-Yun finishes her mini-speech, heedless of your internal (and external) freak-out.

"I think I'll die, actually." You mutter petulantly into her thigh.

She snorts at you, ruffling your hair aggressively and disregarding your half-hearted attempts to swipe at her for it.

"C'mon, what happened to the person who was bouncing off the walls excited about this?" She cajoles, shaking you around but not dislodging you.

"They're dead and buried." You deadpan. It wasn’t like you weren't excited, really! You were just going to perish from sheer anxiety, that was all. Could anyone really blame you? You were about to meet your idols. It was kind of a big deal!

Ha-Yun does nothing but pat your head twice. "Well unbury them," She commands, "the guard is coming back."

Your head snaps up to see, not only the beefy security guard who'd checked both of your I.Ds and passes with great suspicion a few minutes ago, but also the Bang Christopher Chan.

Your brain stalls for a second seeing him dressed head-to-toe in casual black, barefaced and smiling beautifully at you. And then you realize the position you're in and scramble to stand properly, far too late for either of them to have missed your bout of insanity.

You attempt to slide yourself behind Ha-Yun in your humiliation, but the cruel woman snags your elbow with one hand, and your opposite shoulder with the other, and holds you in place in front of her. You take back anything nice you've ever said about Ha-Yun, she's pure evil and out to get you.

Before you can panic too hard, Bangchan and the security guard are in front of you. Though Bangchan is all warm eyes and kind smiles, you can't help but feel small in front of him. You shrink back into Ha-Yun, but she doesn't allow you to retreat. You promise to yourself to only make foods she doesn't like for a whole month when this is over.

"Hi, good to meet you!" Bangchan greets cheerfully. You do your best to match his smile despite your fear and return his greeting, introducing yourself before motioning to Ha-Yun, who was still holding you hostage.

"And this is Ha-Yun, she's my emotional support human today." You're not sure how she's as functional as she is as she both bows respectfully and shakes Bangchan's hand, prompting you to do the same. This was one of the many reasons you'd chosen to bring her over any of your friends who were actually Stray Kids fans. Functional emotional support summed her up nicely.

As greetings wrap up, Ha-Yun turns to you with mischief to dramatically interrogate you.

"Is Emotional support all I am to you?" She demands, "I thought we were more than that! I thought we had something special!" She places a hand over her heart as you'd shot her, dipping back way too far in her dramatics because she knows your hand will catch her whether you want it to or not.

Supporting most of her weight with your fist dug into her upper back, you retort, "You thought wrong."

Bangchan's snicker reminds you of your audience and you tuck your hands behind your back with an embarrassed flush. Ha-Yun is treated to a heated glare when all she does is laugh at you, but you may as well have been air for all it affects her. Two months. No yummy home cooked meals for Ha-Yun. You swore it.

Bangchan begins to speak and your attention is immediately back on him instead of your comedy act of a best friend.

"So, the company actually picked out the place for dinner, so we don't get to choose, sorry." And he really does seem apologetic, despite this seeming like a very reasonable thing to you. "It's this barbecue place down the road, we'll be meeting the others there, if that's alright?" Again he asks like he genuinely values your opinion in this, and the prospect of being in even one (1) of this man's thoughts as an individual causes you a bit of a crisis.

Luckily this is exactly what you'd bright Ha-Yun along for, and she easily agrees for the two of you, guiding you along with the experience of having born witness to more than one blue-screen brain moment in your life.

She strikes up an easy conversation with Bangchan as he leads the three of you deeper into the building towards a different door, leaving the security guard behind. You're a bit jealous of her comfort, since you sort of feel like you're simultaneously walking on air and suffocating on that same air, but she keeps her hand on your back to keep you walking and rubs little comforting circles there. So. She's forgiven. A little bit. Back down to one month of no yummies.

Bangchan leads the three of you back, explaining that there was a company car waiting for you all outside, but that it was closer to a more private entrance for security reasons. He catches you looking around curiously as you walk, and generously explains the types of rooms and offices you walk past like some sort of tour guide. In fact, he apologizes for not being able to give you a more thorough tour and you frantically assure him that this was more than you'd ever expected in the first place.

You don't catch the pleased look he has as you crawl out of your shell a bit to ask him more questions, but Ha‐Yun shoots him a grateful look over your head. If you see the tiny nod they exchange, you just assume they're using their listening skills as you speak.

#w.i.p #w.i.p fic #skz fic #skz fanfic #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #Baby Writes #Fan Day AU

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whump-me · 14 days

Text

Obscure: Chapter 21

Chapter 21 of Obscure, novel-length interrogation whump about a rebel leader who can erase memories with a thought, an interrogator who can see inside his subjects’ minds… and the connection they share that neither of them suspects.

Masterpost | the Mind Games universe | Read the completed novel on Patreon

---

Elias

The orchard smelled like home.

Not the home of his childhood. Not the sick, sneezy pollen smell of the meadow, or the dark waterlogged rot of the marsh. But that home was gone. This was his home now. It was enough.

More than enough. The trees, dim in the moonlight, blurred as Elias’s eyes filled with unshed tears. He stumbled on a root buried in the grass Laina had kept carefully clipped in his absence.

And then he was on his knees, hands buried in the grass, the apple tree’s branches extended above him like a benediction. Like they were welcoming him home.

He had forgotten how sweet the smell of the orchard was. He had spent so long lost in childhood memories, he’d had no room to remember this.

He wanted to stay there forever, kneeling in the dirt of his home. He wanted to crawl under that well-tended grass, enveloped by the care it represented. He wanted to be buried here, if he couldn’t be buried in the fire-scorched meadow of his childhood home. He had died in PERI headquarters. It would be only fitting. And if he were to be laid to rest, he wanted to be under his trees, not sliced apart and stuffed into jars in the PERI labs.

But he wasn’t dead. His story couldn’t end that simply. The terrible cut of mercy had come down on him. He had escaped. He had survived. Now he would have to live with what he had seen in PERI headquarters, and what he had done.

And if he didn’t move quickly, they would catch up with him, and his home would burn around him. No doubt PERI would burn it anyway. But he would rather not watch it happen this time.

And, like last time, he had someone else depending on him. Someone who wouldn’t survive the flames without his hand to hold. Although he had no illusions about how long Laina would continue to hold his hand after he told her the truth.

It didn’t matter. As long as she survived. He had endured loss upon loss. He could endure one more.

He got up.

He stumbled across the grass. It was only when he was almost past the trees that the tickle of the grass on his bare feet registered. He couldn’t have come all this way with bare feet—had he?

He steadied himself against a tree. He lifted one foot and saw a mass of raw cuts from the pavement outside PERI headquarters and the streets on the way here. No wonder that cabdriver had looked at him so strangely.

As soon as he saw the cuts, the pain hit him. He breathed in for four, out for four. It was only physical pain. It was the least of what PERI had asked him to endure.

He hobbled up the wobbly wooden steps he had meant to replace for years. He tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. He had always told Laina to keep it locked. She had always laughed, thought it was a vestigial paranoia left over from his city years that he had only described to her in broad strokes and fictionalized anecdotes. Out here, she said, there was no need for locked doors.

Even now that he had been missing for months, she hadn’t started locking the door.

That alone told him PERI had fed her a lie about what had happened to him. Either they had claimed he had run off, and provided credible evidence, or they had manufactured an accident. And with an accident, with no broken body to visit him in a hospital, she had to think he was dead.

Widowed or abandoned—either way, she would be deep in her own grief right now. What did her grief look like? Did she have her own version of the big-eyed skeletal creature in his mind? Was she familiar enough with grief yet to see it that clearly, or was she still caught up in the initial shock?

He had never seen Laina grieve. All his sorrows had happened before they had met. They belonged to him alone.

She closed the door quietly behind him, not wanting to scare her at the thought of an intruder. He expected to find the house dark, and Laina sleeping a fitful sleep in a tissue-strewn bed. But ahead of him, the kitchen light was blazing like the midday sun. He drew in a breath, expecting the smells of all the food he had missed—something sweet and chocolatey, or maybe a savory midnight snack.

Instead, he got a nose full of bleach. It smelled sharp and sterile, like PERI headquarters. The blazing light turned to the light of the interrogation room. He reeled back with a gasp.

An answering gasp came from the kitchen. Laina rushed out, frying pan in one hand, raised like she was ready to slam it into his temple.

It had to be nearly midnight by now, but she was wearing her day clothes. The pair of jeans she loved so much she had patched them herself three times, the sweater with a jam stain on the sleeve. Her comfort clothes. Her hair was coming out of its ponytail. She had dark circles under her eyes, bigger and darker than Kirill’s had been at the end. In the hand not holding the frying pan, she held a bottle of spray cleaner.

He had thought he would never see her again.

He let out a low, sobbing noise at the sight of her.

She let out an identical noise. She dropped the frying pan and the bottle of cleaner.

She took a tentative step toward him, then froze, like she was afraid to move closer. Like she was afraid he was an illusion.

He understood that fear. After how long he had spent in memories of the distant past, she barely seemed real. Her life with her felt more distant than his childhood, more distant than his life with Lisbeth and Sammy.

But she was real. She was. And wherever he would stand with her by the end of the night, he had this moment with her. Another of mercy’s sweet pains.

When she didn’t move, he closed the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around her. She was warm, too warm, like grief had sent her body into a fever, trying to fight it off like an infection. Or maybe he had just grown used to being cold.

He stepped back. Held her at arm’s length. Studied her face until he could be sure he was looking at something real, and not another memory.

Her hand came up. A soft finger brushed wetness from his cheek. He hadn’t known he was crying.

“You’re alive,” she said in a small voice. That answered his question about what PERI had told her.

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he said probably the most useless thing he could have. “Why are you awake? Why are you cleaning? It’s the middle of the night.”

She let out a disbelieving laugh. “I’ve barely slept since they told me you were dead. What else was I going to do with myself besides clean? I’ve never been so happy we bought such a big ridiculous house.”

That explained, too, the care she had taken with the grass. “I’m not dead.”

“The police showed me your body. The accident… you were so badly burned… they said you never had a chance.” She paused. He watched her put the pieces together—the badly burned body, too badly burned for anyone to identify.

Then she eyed him, her fingers tightening on his arms, her gaze growing as sharp as an interrogator’s. “They said the dental records matched. They lied. Someone wanted me to think you were dead.”

“Yes,” he said. He watched her grow smaller at the lack of surprise in his voice. She knew, now, that there were secrets between them.

This was how the end began.

“We need to talk,” he said. The words that, since time immemorial, had presaged the collapse of something that had seemed stable.

At least she’d had some practice, over these past weeks. At least she had begun to learn how to lose him.

They sat in the living room, on the old sagging couch that she had reupholstered since he’d been gone. It was covered in a stiff blue fabric now. He didn’t have the heart to tell her yet that the effort was wasted, just like all the time she had spent cleaning. She would have to leave this place soon, and bring nothing with her.

“I should have told you all this a long time ago,” he said. “I didn’t tell you because I thought the best way to build a happy life for the two of us was to bury all my past grief. But memory doesn’t stay buried forever.”

“You’re scaring me.” Her hand quested toward his. But when he reached for her, her fingers caught her other hand instead. Her hands squeezed each other, turning her fingers white.

“I know telling you now will mean I’ll lose you,” he said. “But I have to tell you anyway. You deserve to know everything. Including why I never wanted children—why we’re rattling around in this big house all alone.”

She pursed her lips, irritation briefly winning out over apprehension. “I’d rather know why someone went to the trouble of faking your death.”

“We’ll get to that, too,” he promised. He took a breath. He had gone through this speech so many times before, but always in the bunker, in his other life. Always with a stranger.

“In the 1970s,” he began, “something about the pollution in the air and water started activating a dormant gene…”

He had known she would be skeptical. She didn’t disappoint. Her lips grew thinner and thinner with every word she said. Tension collapsed her body in on itself like a spring. He braced himself for that spring to release, to send her off the couch and storming upstairs to her bedroom.

It was a testament to the trust she had in him that she stayed.

“I’m guessing you didn’t believe a word of that,” he said when she was done.

“You guess right.” Her face looked brittle enough to shatter. “What I don’t understand is why you’re telling me this… this story. Do you believe it, or is the truth so bad, so dangerous, that you would rather try to convince me of this than tell me?”

“I can show you,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”

“This… memory power of yours?”

He nodded. “It will only be for a minute. But I won’t do it if you don’t want me to. Can I show you?”

She gave a jagged nod. “Sure. Why not?”

He stared into her eyes, and slipped into her mind.

It took longer than it had with Kirill. With him, it had happened almost without thought. With her, he had to find his way. But although nothing could compare to the bond of the friendship he and Max used to share, more than a decade of life shared with Laina was far from nothing. The process wasn’t effortless, but it was easy.

He spread the fog wide, because the effects had to be obvious. But he spread it thin, thin enough to blow away at the slightest breeze. Then he pulled back, and he waited.

She blinked away the fog in her eyes. “Where… am I?” she asked, her voice small and lost. “Who…”

Then she shook her head slightly. Her eyes grew sharp again. She reached out a hand to steady herself against the couch. Again, he reached for her. Again, she pulled away.

“I…” She shook her head hard, like she was trying to clear away the last of fog. “For a minute… I couldn’t remember you. I couldn’t remember… anything.”

“That’s what I do,” Elias said. “I can take away a specific memory, too. Or make the effect last longer. Or both. It all depends on how well I know the person. The more of an emotional connection there is, the more control I have.”

Her eyes narrowed. He saw the calculations behind her eyes. Almost fifteen years together. That was a lot of time to build an emotional connection. A lot of time for her not to know what he could do—what he might have been doing.

He shook his head. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I would have asked permission. I always do, unless my life is in danger.”

“And it has been,” she said. “Your life has been in danger.” The couple of feet between them on the couch seemed to expand as she stared at him as if across a vast gulf. For a moment, he saw himself through her eyes—an inhabitant of another world. A world where danger was ordinary. A world where memories were erased, and deaths faked.

“Eighteen years,” she said. “A year after we met, I told you there was nothing more to discover—that you knew everything about me. More than I had ever shared with anyone else. Do you remember?”

He remembered. It had been difficult, finding a way to imply that it was the same for him without saying it outright. He hadn’t wanted to lie to her—except for the unavoidable lies of omission. But he couldn’t have come out and said he had secrets, either, not without sharing with her what those secrets were.

That option—actually telling her his secrets—hadn’t even occurred to him. Not that night. His heart was still too tender from Sammy’s loss to risk exposing it. His network was too new and fragile to bring into the light.

“I should have told you then,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“You should have told me before then.”

“I should have,” he agreed.

“This isn’t like… like hiding a DUI from when you were a teenager,” she said. “You have… powers. You’re…”

He could have filled in her silence with the word Enhanced, but that wasn’t what she was looking for. She wanted to know who he was.

“I’m the same person I’ve always been,” he said.

“You can’t say that,” she said, shaking her head. “Not when you have this whole other life I never knew about. I never knew you.” Tears welled up in her eyes, like she was getting ready to mourn him all over again. “I never knew you,” she repeated. “I knew… pieces of you. That’s not the same.”

He wanted to argue. He couldn’t.

“There’s more,” he said. Better to rip the band-aid off all at once.

He told her about the network he had created. Fifteen years of fighting against PERI and how they wanted to use people like him. The bunker in the backyard—her eyes widened at that, but she said nothing.

Her eyes looked slightly glazed. Her mouth hung slack, like she had forgotten what to do with it. He knew that look. He had seen it in the bunker more times than he could count. It was the look of someone who could no longer feel solid ground under their feet—because he had ripped it away.

And he wasn’t done.

“I’ve lived under four different identities,” he said. “The first was when I was a child. My first name was Elias then, too. I lived on a commune, people like me. About half a dozen families, maybe slightly more.”

It hadn’t been half a dozen families. It had been one family. But that was more than he wanted to explain to Laina right now. If he told her about his family, about the meadow and the marsh, about Max, he would fall back into the quicksand of memory and might never come out again.

“PERI destroyed it,” he said instead, skipping to the end, his voice clipped. “I was the only one who survived.”

Not quite true. But true enough.

Her hand came up to her lips.

“The second is when I lived in the city,” he said. “A couple of different cities, really. I’ve told you stories. I just didn’t tell you I was living under a different name then.”

“How many of your stories were real?” she asked. She was already catching on.

“Most.” His eyes lowered. “Some.”

She shook her head and looked away.

“PERI tracked me down. I ran, and changed identities again. That was when I went to work on the orchard, like I told you.”

“You were like… like some kind of spy,” she said, slowly shaking her head. He couldn’t tell whether still angry. It didn’t matter. If she wasn’t now, she would be in a few seconds.

“Spies have resources. All I had was myself, and the determination to live.”

She let out a sharp laugh of disbelief. “And the power to erase memories,” she reminded him.

“That doesn’t go as far as you might think.” Before she could speak again, he took a deep breath. “After the orchard… I met someone. We got married.”

A slight hesitation. “I never thought I was the first woman you were with,” she said. But she had thought she was the first woman he had married, and the slight tremble in her voice showed it.

He ripped the rest of the band-aid off. “We had a son.”

Tears came to him then, unexpected, like a summer squall. They ripped through him, tearing him in two, doubling him over.

Sammy.

The infant in his arms.

The eight-year-old who didn’t come home.

The assassin who didn’t know him.

He couldn’t see her through his tears. She said nothing. Maybe she was giving him the space she thought he needed. Maybe she was too furious with him to cry.

He wiped his eyes. A few last hiccups escaped him. He looked up at her, bracing for anger, hoping for sympathy.

He saw neither. She was still frozen in shock.

There was no excuse for not having told her about his child, so he didn’t offer one. “I saw him,” he said. “He’s grown up now. He works for them. They took him when he was a child. That’s when I became Elias Kitzner. I left my old life behind so I could fight them.” He hastily added, “I didn’t leave my wife. She left me first.”

It was all leaving his mouth out of order, in a hopeless tangle. He had no hope of retracing his steps and finding his way through the mess of words to untangle it. He could only move forward. “They found me. They wanted me to give them everyone who worked with me. They learned about Sammy. They thought… if they threatened him, if they hurt him…”

His voice failed. He couldn’t go any further.

Her mouth was a circle of horror. Her hands clutched each other for dear life. She still didn’t reach for him.

“I escaped,” he said when he could speak again. “But not before they…” He shook his head. “It worked. They got everything. And they know… they know where to find me. I need a new identity.” Another gulping breath. “We both will. You have to run, or they’ll find you, and I can’t trust that they won’t hurt you this time. I’m sorry.” He tried to stare at his lap, so he wouldn’t have to see her face when the shock wore off. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her, when this might be the last time he would ever see her. “I’m so sorry.”

Little by little, Laina’s face came unfrozen. Her eyes first. Then the thaw crept gradually downward until her mouth snapped shut.

Her lips tightened. Her eyes sparked with fury.

He had expected it. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

“I already have a call in to someone who can get us both good identities,” he said. “They’ll hold up.” Or that was what he had heard. He had never used this person before. His old contact… he had given the name to Kirill. He knew better than to think she was still around.

“I’ll help you figure out where to go,” he continued. “I’ll get you whatever you need. After that, you never have to see me again.”

The fury in her eyes didn’t abate. Sparks snapped in their depths of her gaze. “How old was your son?” she asked. “When he was taken?”

“Sammy was eight.” Was she going to make him explain every detail of his lies? He supposed he owed her nothing less. But every moment they spent would give them less of a head start. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. But we have to—”

“Sammy,” she said softly. Then, “They took a child. They forced a child to work for them? These people who… you said they do assassinations? Secret military operations?”

“That and more,” he said, feeling the conversation slip out of his control. He didn’t know what was happening anymore. “But he didn’t do any of that at eight. They trained him. They made him into…” Into someone who was his son and yet wasn’t. A stranger who could talk to about assassinations without blinking an eye.

He didn’t say any of that, but when her expression shifted, he had a feeling she had seen it anyway. He might not have known his past, but she did know him, whether she thought she did or not.

“And they took you,” she said. “They faked your death. They made me believe I was a widow. They hurt you—they must have. I’ve seen enough movies to know how these things work. And then they hurt your child in front of you.”

It took Elias that long to figure out her fury wasn’t directed at him.

“We’re not running,” she said.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her and thank her for being so much more than he deserved. But he didn’t know whether she would accept his touch, and anyway, they had no time. “We have no choice,” he said. “They’ll be here within hours. If not sooner.”

“We’ll leave if we have to,” she said, like it was nothing, like she had been doing this all her life. Like the very thought wasn’t making her hands tremble in her lap. “We’ll get those new identities. But we’re not going to run and hide. We’re going to get your son back.”

How he wished they could. “It’s too late for that,” he said, and meant it. “He’s spent too long with them. It’s the only life he wants now. I know—I talked to him.”

It was too late for him, like it was for Kirill. Kirill—who had wanted to make plans for after an escape that should have been impossible. An escape that had happened less than an hour later. Had a freak stroke of luck really unlocked that door and turned off those lights? Or…

“Maybe,” Laina allowed. “But how much of a chance did you have to talk to him? And even if you can’t help him… you said there were others. You said you spent years helping people like him.”

“That’s all gone now.”

“For now. Are you saying you can’t do what you did a second time?” She shoved herself up from the couch. The sparks in her eyes hadn’t faded. “Are you going to let them win?”

He stared, shocked into silence by her fervency. And, perhaps, by how he had accepted his own defeat without question.

“I thought my life was over,” he finally said, by way of explanation. “I thought they were going to kill me.”

“Then make them wish they had.” Her lips pulled back from her lips in a fierce smile he had never seen before from her. Maybe there were sides of her he hadn’t seen, just like she had never seen all of him.

“You’ll be in danger,” he said. “I never wanted that.”

“At least I’m getting the chance to choose,” she said. “Which it sounds like you never got.” She held out a hand to him. “And I’m choosing you. On one condition.”

He waited.

“Never keep anything from me again,” she said.

He took her hand. It was warm in his. He craved that warmth, after the constant low-grade chill of PERI headquarters.

He wanted to tell her she didn’t understand. Sammy was gone. His network was gone. Elias Kitzner, the one who had created his network, was dead—as surely as Sammy and Max.

But someone had allowed him to escape. It was the only explanation that made sense. And there was only one person who would have done it.

As for Sammy, he still remembered that day on the beach.

Maybe they weren’t completely dead after all. And so maybe Elias would just have to live, too. Even if that meant living with what he had done.

“Thank you,” he said, as he clung to her hand as if she had pulled him out of the grave. Maybe she had.

Then, reluctantly, he let go. “But right now, we still need to run. I’ll take care of everything. All you need to do is trust me.”

She swept her pointed gaze over him—from his filthy scrubs to his bleeding feet. “You’re in no condition for that,” she said. “You’ve spent fifteen years protecting me. Let me take care of you for once. Just tell me who to call.”

---

Tagged: @cakeinthevoid @suspicious-whumping-egg

Ask to be added or removed from taglist.

#whump #whump novel #my writing #my writing: Obscure #my writing: Mind Games #superpower whump #emotional whump #whump aftermath

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saturniidaess · 19 days

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my vampire Percy fic is under 400 words, so im posting it here, hope you guys dont mind. Not to to proud of it, but just wanna share Vampire Percy content ^-^ fic under read more!

Percy was upside down, as he often was at night, he knew vampires were probably supposed to sleep during the day, but he didn't mind sleeping at the wrong time, everyone he knew was awake during the day and besides the only job the scout post offered at night was night watch and he was not signing up for that.

He watched Diggory from the rafters, asleep, chest rising and falling eyes closed hands folded over their stomach. Percy slowly climbed down, he was sure Diggory wouldn’t mind cuddling, they were dating after all. He crept to the bed, silent in the shadows. He lifted the sheets gently and slid under. Percy nearly leapt out of his skin when Diggory suddenly rolled over and wrapped an arm around him.

“Hello,” Diggory said, as if they hadn’t been sleeping. “Hey,” Percy whispered. “Are you having trouble sleeping?” Diggory asked, “I talk to Granny Mends when I have trouble sleeping” “What?” “I can show you” They offered. “No it’s- it's fine” Percy refused.

There was a moment of calm silence. “Am I too cold?” Percy asked. “No, you are not” Percy nestled in closer to Diggory wrapping his arms around their neck.

Diggory wasn’t cold or warm, room temperature Pery guessed, but the blankets were warm. The room was warm, and Diggory’s arms were a comfort. Like a weighted blanket. Percy’s eyes grew heavy, he blinked slowly. Yawning he buried his face in Diggory’s neck. “Im surprised you sleep” he muttered. “I don’t,” Diggory said, “What?” Percy asked, pulling his face away, “I pretended to because you do and it seems nice”

Percy blinked, “You- you just said when you have trouble sleeping you talk with Granny Mends?” “I did that once” Diggory smiled.

Percy furrowed his brow.“Good night, Percy” Diggory said, and Percy leaned back in close to Diggory. “‘Night Diggory” He mumbled.

#saturniipost #fanfic

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adventure-showdown · 5 months

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What is your favourite Doctor Who story?

ROUND 4 MASTERPOST

synopses and propaganda under the cut

Peri and the Piscon Paradox

Synopsis

The Doctor and Peri journey to Los Angeles 2009 to do battle with a Piscon. His name is Zarl, and he's a fish of utmost evil.

Zarl is going to steal all the water of Earth and sell it to the highest bidder. Or blow up the San Andreas fault. Or the planet. Or something like that. He's a bit vague on that point.

Fortunately, to stop him there's help from an unexpected source: a future version of Peri. She knows Zarl's dark secret.

But should the future Peri be on Earth at all? Something smells fishy — and it's not just Zarl.

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

Doctor Who and the Pirates

Synopsis

All aboard, me hearties, for a rip-roaring tale of adventure on the high seas!

There'll be rum for all and sea shanties galore as we travel back in time to join the valiant crew of the good ship Sea Eagle, braving perils, pirates and a peripatetic old sea-dog known only as the Doctor!

Gasp as our Gallifreyan buccaneer crosses swords with the fearsome Red Jasper, scourge of the seven seas and possessor of at least one wooden leg! Thrill as Evil Evelyn the Pirate Queen sets sail in search of buried treasure, with only a foppish ship's captain and an innocent young cabin boy by her side! Marvel at the melodious mayhem which ensues as we sail the ocean blue!

And wonder why Evelyn still hasn't realised that very few stories have happy endings...

Propaganda

DOCTOR WHO AND THE PIRATES MY BELOVED Just. A masterpiece of somehow very sad nonsense with an entire episode full of Gilbert and Sullivan songs, all about trying to stop a young woman from committing suicide. Of course it is. The subtitle is ""The Lass Who Lost a Sailor"" which makes me feel emotions (HMS Pinafore's subtitle is The Lass Who Loved a Sailor). (@mischieffoal )

#round 4

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atrocitahs · 8 months

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I'm so sorry you have to have a body!

a study in the intrinsic horror of being a hero, burying grief and other emotions, using humor as a shield to hide pain, and the knowledge that your body is not your own.

multifandom original character // by peri! // promo credits @chimichanjas affiliated with: @untales verses page

Rules below the cut

basic guidelines!

i shitpost a lot. despite this being a horror centric (sorta) blog), i like to have fun and be lighthearted!

despite the shitposts, i do write, but ramsey is a very flighty muse and chooses who to respond to. it's nothing personal!

i don't have many triggers, but just in case: irl politics (the palestine situation is not political. it is a genocide, through and through.), scorpions, and fingernail horror. i tag my triggers as 'x tw'. this is a very trigger heavy blog, and i try and keep everything tagged accordingly.

i would prefer you be 20+ to interact.

if i do or say anything that hurts you, 100% it's unintentional. PLEASE feel free to come to me and tell me if i did so!

i use tone indicators a lot because i'm autistic and have a hard time discerning tone over text. you don't need to, but i do mess up sometimes and misread messages!

my discord is available to mutuals ! just ask !

#self pr. //#spiderman rp #into the spiderverse rp #itsv rp #across the spiderverse rp #atsv rp #marvel rp #marvel comics rp #comics rp #marvel cinematic universe rp #mcu rp #sci fi rp #oc rp #horror rp #body horror rp #body horror tw

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hlficlibrary · 1 month

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hey ! this is the friends to lovers slow burn au anon, i loved the recs, i read them before and they’re great fics !! i was wondering if you have more? (they don’t necessarily have to be college au’s) 🥰

Hi, anon! Okay, if they don't have to be school related au's that opens it up a lot! Here are some more slow burn, friends to lovers fics for you!

Into the Weeds by kair0sclerosis / @night-is-a-feeling

What happens to someone when their life slowly fragments before their eyes, before shattering into pieces from that final blow? What happens when up starts to look like down, and the things that used to bring them joy now only bring panic? When the natural order of their body halts, and breathing becomes an unnatural act of thought?

Following the whispered words of a stranger, Harry Styles finds himself in the small town of Peri Ridge. It’s a town nestled within overgrown forests, raging rivers, and ominous mountains- full of unkept secrets, the aura of freedom, and lost people seeking to be found. It’s here that Harry works to uncover all the parts of himself that he buried long ago.

With the help of the captivating bartender, Louis, who he can’t seem to stop daydreaming about, and his enchanting group of friends; Harry remembers what it is to be alive.

This is a story about small-town secrets, found family, queer identities, and the battle between fight and flight.

ghost of you by beckywritesthings / @beckydoesthings

As a rule, Mandalorians and Jedi do not get along.

So when Harry Styles, esteemed Jedi Knight, finds out he has to work with the hot-tempered Mandalorian Duke, Louis Tomlinson, he’s prepared for it to go poorly. But it doesn’t, testing both of their boundaries of what they deem acceptable for a partnership.

It’s the start of something, and as the galaxy dissolves into war, they find themselves clinging to each other, even as it drags up things better left in the past. As it turns out, nothing between them has changed.

Or, a Star Wars AU where Harry is Obi-Wan, Louis is Satine, and somehow there’s a love story between the cracks where there shouldn’t be.

For the Right Reasons by @juliusschmidt

Harry doesn’t agree to be the Bachelor expecting to find love. He’s just hoping for an exciting jaunt around the world, half a dozen new friends, and, if he’s lucky, an amazing hj or two.

Louis may have signed up to be a contestant on the Bachelor, but he’s not interested a ring or a proposal, not from Harry, not from anyone. He wouldn’t turn down a few more Instagram followers, though.

#ask #anon #ficrec #minificrecs #friendstolovers #slowburn #juliusschmidt #beckywritesthings #kair0sclerosis

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datura-tea · 5 days

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ok this has been brewing in my brain for a while now and i need to put it down somewhere, so... have the romantic relationships of my courier ocs (moz, kiwi, and avery) hehe

moz

gabe -> first love, childhood sweethearts; they almost became teenage parents. they broke up because moz wanted to explore the wasteland and gabe wanted to stay in their town. for a while, they would hook up whenever moz would come home but eventually stopped when gabe wanted to get serious with his eventual spouse. here's their ship tag (#when forever was us)

sydney -> first girlfriend; they met when they were matched at the boxing ring. moz won the fight, sydney bought her a celebratory drink, and they spent the night together. they got really serious really fast, and were talking marriage about six months in. things ended when sydney threw a boxing match and left in the night with both of their winnings

allie and bien -> moz was only dating allie; she didn't know that allie was in an open marriage with bien, who knew about moz but didn't want to get involved initially. but when moz and allie started to get serious, bien wanted to get involved. allie's big reveal (that she was married, that her wife wanted to join in) didn't go as planned; moz freaked out at first, but was convinced to try being a throuple. it didn't work out, mostly because getting a third made allie and bien's marriage stronger, and they realized that they didn't really want another person in their relationship. they still keep in touch with moz. she visits them sometimes

arthur -> stabbed moz in the thigh after a big fight, then apologized profusely while calling over the resident doctor. once she was ok, moz punched him so hard he blacked out. she broke up with him right after, and swore off serious relationships for a while

a series of situationships and one night stands -> most of them are still friends with moz :) ringo is among this group, as is cass (they were a thing for a couple of months, then moz went to the big mt for a month, and cass moved on; here's their ship tag (#hangover heart))

ulysses -> oh you know ulysses and moz!! theyre the loves of each other's lives 💖 here's their ship tag (#we are bound by symmetry)

kiwi

jamey -> first kiss; jamey grew up with kiwi - his sister, marie, is kiwi's best friend. their relationship was nothing serious, just some teenage experimentation, significant only because it was the first for both of them

flirtations and flings -> kiwi has never taken anything seriously in their life, most of all romantic relationships. they flirt with every man they meet, regardless of their interest in the man. they constantly flirt with arcade just to rile him up even though theyre both not attracted to each other at all haha

the king -> kiwi's longest casual relationship, which only became more and more serious until eventually they get married. the king still has his groupies. kiwi still has their flings. they're both very happy with the arrangement here's their ship tag (#vegas royalty)

avery

river -> best friend, unrequited first love; avery had always had a crush on river, but river didn't return it. they used to practice kissing on each other though. unfortunately river discovered that he was very straight, while avery realized that he was a gay man. they stayed platonic friends

casual relationships -> having been on the run since his teens, avery never has the time to fully stay and develop a long-term relationship. but he doesn't like to be alone. so in every place he stops at, he manages to find someone to hook up with for a while. then, eventually, he leaves

ulysses -> casual on avery's side; serious on ulysses' side. they're bitter exes and ulysses actively wants avery dead. however, thanks to benny's bullet, avery only has vague memories of his time with ulysses. can't even remember his voice. oops! here's their ship tag (#so bury me in memory)

boone -> nothing happened between them but there was something between them. yknow how when you're freshly out of the grave and need a stoic man to snipe enemies for you because you can't even aim your gun and he's so big and capable and strong and protects you so well? yeah

arcade -> they clicked immediately, but avery fumbled arcade, but then they got back together before the battle for hoover dam, but then avery went with an ncr-run vegas so arcade had to go into hiding, but then avery went out after him, striking out into the unknown. it took a few years before he finds where arcade was hiding and a few months of groveling before they get back together :) here's their ship tag (#poor confidants)

#shh peri shhh #i have too much time on my hands and too many ocs in my brain lmao #moz #kiwi #avery #when forever was us #we are bound by symmetry #hangover heart #vegas royalty #so bury me in memory #poor confidants

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chickensarentcheap · 5 months

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NSFW. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED

@fanficanatic-tw

I unearthed some more smut for you ;)

@tragiclyhip @munstysmind @themaradwrites @secretaryunpaid @thebejeweledwatercat @theesirenteller @youflickedtooharddamnit and anyone else who doesn't mind the dirty stuff ;)

She listens for him now. Searching for signs of life within the cabin; the percolating of the coffee machine or the water streaming in the shower or the clatter of dishes and cutlery in the kitchen sink. But it’s silent; the only noisethe cawing of the sea gulls and the fluttering of the curtains and the rush of the waves as they roll up onto the shore. And she’s in the midst of throwing off the covers and launching a search when movement on the deck catches her attention; eyes widening and her blood pressure immediately rising at the sight of her husband immersed in a yoga session. Sweat dampening his hair and beading across his bare shoulders and on his chest; the tell tale sign of a run on the beach. Clad in nothing but a pair of simple black cotton boxer briefs; shoes and clothes from earlier discarded in a nearby heap.

Her hormones are at an all time high; a mixture of pregnancy and what the doctor had diagnosed as peri-menopause. The sight of his rippling back muscles and the bulging and twisting of shoulders and arms isimply to bear; moisture building between her legs as her pussy throbs with lust and animalistic need. Unable to control herself as she seeks out relief; eyes glued on the entertainment playing out before her as her hands wander her body. Slipping up the front of her t-shirt; toes curling and a long, drawn out moan tumbling from her lips as her fingers pinch and pull at her nipples. One hand continuing the teasing and the torturing as the other slips between her legs; slowly and agonizingly rubbing at her engorged clit before sliding two fingers deep inside. Losing herself to the filthiness in her mind; eyes closing as she conjures up images of his face buried between her thighs as he vigorously finger fucks her while lapping and sucking at her clit.

His name tumbles from her lips when she thinks back to that first time in Dhaka almost thirteen years ago. The anger in his eyes and his hand tightly clutching her throat; the hunger that flashed in eyes right before he lost complete control and pinned her against the wall. Using his full weight to keep her there as he savagely kissed her ; their greedy hands ripping and tearing at each other’s clothes. Only managing nakedness from the waist down before he took her right there and then; a quick and uncomplicated fuck as she clawed at his back and bit at his shoulders and cried out in ecstasy.

“Need some help?”

Her eyes snap open and her fingers still; thighs clamping shut and trapping her hand in place. A furious blush creeping into her cheeks and the tips of her ears as she stares up at her husband; looming over her as he stands at the side of the bed. Hair soaked and body damp with sweat; droplets glistening on smooth, tanned skin and the longer strands of hair plastered against his forehead. His face flushed and his breathing slightly laboured; the lingering remnants of physical excursion, and the appreciation and approval of what he’d just witnessed. The latter made obvious by the beginning of the erection straining against the fabric of his shorts; his palm lazily sliding over it as he drags the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip. Lust and need; darkening his eyes and clenching his jaw and quickening his pulse.

Esme gives a sheepish smile. “Hi.”

“Hi. What’cha doin’?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Looks like something to me. Something I wouldn’t mind seeing more of. Do you? Need help?”

“No.”

“You sure? ‘Cause it looked like you were enjoying yourself and I wouldn’t mind joining in and helping you enjoy it even more.”

“I’m fine!” she insists, and then scowls when he arches a doubtful brow and his smirk broadens. “Go away! You have the worst timing!”

“Ask me, this is the best possible timing. EVER.”

“Oh God…” she groans, and reaches for one of the many extra pillows; pressing it tightly against her face and letting out a dramatic scream. “...go away!”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not when I just saw what I saw. In fact…” Tossing the soiled towel towards the open bathroom door, Tyler kneels on the bed; laughing when she grumbles a ‘fuck off’, gathers the quilt around her half naked body, and then flips onto her stomach. “What’s wrong? What’cha so pissy about?”

“I’m not pissy.” Her voice is muffled by the mattress. “I’m frustrated. Sexually.”

“You didn’t have to stop. Not on my account. You could have kept going. I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I mind!”

“Why?”

“Who wants to get caught when they’re….you know.”

Grinning, he attempts to peel the blanket away. “Fucking themselves?”

“Stop!”

“It’s not like your mum or dad caught you. Or a brother or sister. I caught you. And I’m not just some random person. I’m your husband. I’ve watched babies come out of your vagina. I sat in a tub while you gave birth. I’ve even been shaving or brushing my teeth while you use the toilet. And THIS is what you’re worked out about?”

“It’s embarrassing!” She yanks the quilt out of his grasp.

“Why? Why are you embarrassed? You can’t be serious. You honestly can’t be THAT upset by this. Come on now, Me. Don’t be a baby. There’s no reason to be like this. Are you blushing?” Managing to remove the quilt from around her face, he clears strands of hair off her cheek and then leans over her. “You are. You are blushing. What’s your major malfunction? I’ve only been seeing you naked nearly every day for thirteen years. You can’t be that embarrassed just ‘cause I walked in on ya.”

“You wouldn’t like it if I walked in on you.”

“Well I’m smart enough to lock the door, so…” He chuckles when she flips him the middle finger. “...and I wouldn’t give a shit if you did. Why would I care about THAT? You’ve seen my dick many times. Not to mention I’ve watched you before; at home, on Skype when I’m away.”

“That’s different!”

“How’s it different? You’re either flicking the bean or you’re not.”

“Because it’s planned. We PLAN it. We know what we’re going to do and we do it together. No one walks in on the other person.”’

“Does it help if I tell you how fucking hot it is? How much it turns me on? Seeing you do that?”

“A little,” she pouts. “How long were you standing there?”

‘“Long enough.”

“How long is that?”

“Long enough to pitch half a tent. And to hear you say my name. More than once.”

Her eyes widen as the flush to her cheeks and ears increases. “Oh fuck….”

“If you want to, we can.” His hand briefly cups his cock; lightly squeezing before adjusting it in the confines of his boxer briefs. “ Although I wouldn't mind just sitting here and watching you finish what you were doing. You want to? Make out for a bit? Get yourself worked up again? So you can get back to things? Be nice to me. Be a good little wife.”

“I AM a good little wife.”

“That you are.” He lifts the edge of the blanket, tongue once gliding along his bottom lip as his eyes feast on her scarcely clad form. Slender and incredibly toned, tanned legs and the ink that decorates them, the curve of her hip and the swell of her ass. The way her t-shirt has journeyed up to the bottom of her breasts; exposing her midriff and ever growing baby bump. It’s becoming more and more visible every day, and nothing sexier than the thought of her carrying his child inside her; watching as her body steadily becomes thicker and voluptuous as the life they’d created together continues to thrive.

“You should be grateful,” she says. “That I do the things I do. Outside the bedroom and inside of it. ESPECIALLY inside of it.”

“I am. I AM grateful for that. ETERNALLY grateful. That I have a wife that puts out as much and as often as she does. Especially when she’s fucking hot and I always want her so fucking bad. But…”

He stretches out alongside her; tip of his nose pressed against hers as his hand slips beneath the quilt. Spurred on by the way she shivers when long, calloused digits ghost over her skin; slowly following the curve of her hip and travelling over her hips. Briefly brushing against the underside of one breast before moving downwards; pausing to trace a circle around her navel before sliding even further. Palm pressed flat against her stomach and the tips of his fingers resting on her pubic mound; pressing through the neatly trimmed hair that covers her pussy. Finding her still still hot and wet; able to smell the remnants of her arousal as it coats his skin. And it causes his cock to twitch and swell; erection coming to fruition and becoming uncomfortable within the confines of his underwear.

“....but right now…” he continues, as two fingers slip through her slick folds. “...right now I really want you to keep going. I don’t ask for much, but…”

She stares up at him pointedly.

“Okay, so maybe I DO ask a lot of you. I’ve maybe crossed a few lines here or there in the past thirteen years. But this? This is something I really want. From you. We haven't done it in a while and…”

“We did it while you were in Cambodia. Twice.”

“That’s like, half a year ago, though.”

“Half a year? It hasn’t even been eight full weeks.”

“Come on, Me.” Flipping his hand around, he grazes two knuckles against her clit; grinning when her entire body violently shudders and she takes in a long, quivering breath. “Just humour me, yeah? Do this for me. Please. Let’s have a little fun.”

“What we’ve been doing so far isn’t fun in your books?”

“It’s always fun. It’s always awesome. Just this would...I don’t know…” His gaze locked on hers, he swipes the tip of his tongue over his top lip. “...extra awesome.”

“You just HAD to be out there doing yoga, didn’t you. In your underwear.”

“Didn’t think anything of it. I went for a run and I was sweating like hell so I just took everything off when I got back. Not like there’s anyone around for miles. No one saw me.”

“I saw you.”

“You were asleep. I wasn’t expecting you to wake up. And I definitely was NOT expecting you to get all hot and bothered. Is that really what did it for you? Me doing yoga in my underwear?”

She nods.

“You’re not bullshitting me, right? To feed my ego? You weren’t in here thinking of someone else? Some movie star or pro athlete or…”

“I don’t need to think of anyone else. I’m married to the most beautiful man on the earth. A total sex God that lives up to all of my wildest and dirtiest fantasies. You’re more than enough, believe me.”

“So what WERE you thinking about? While you were…?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Why not? We’ve been together a long time. We already know everything there is to know about each other. We’ve done some pretty filthy things. Starting on day one. What’s the big deal? What’s there to be embarrassed about?”

“It’s just weird. Getting caught. Even by you. I don't know why it is. It just IS.”

“How about I help you out? Get you started and then you let you take over. Would that do it? Get you back into things? ‘Cause I would really...REALLY...like if you got back into things.”

“It could work. Maybe.”

“Doesn’t hurt to try, yeah?” He presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose. “Roll over. Back towards me.”

“But I thought…”

“Just do it. Please.”

He peels the quilt away as she obliges; palm sliding up her thigh and over her hip and around to her ass. Fingers gently digging into the soft, supple flesh as he dips his head and brushes his lips across her shoulder and onto the back of her neck. The juxtaposition of warm, moist lips and the scratch of his beard the start of sensory overload, causing her to shudder against him and take a long, ragged breath and then slowly release it. He knows every button to push; long ago discovering every little secret spot that no other man had ever taken the time to search for. And he knows just how to manipulate and caress and torture every single one; able to get sensations and reactions out of her that she’d once confessed she’d never felt before. And kisses his way up to the lobe of her ear, allowing his breath to waft against the side of her face as his rough facial hair continues to torment her sensitive skin.

“You trust me?”

Esme nods.

“I need to hear you say it. Doesn’t count if I don’t hear it.”

“I trust you. I always have. I always will.”

Pressing a kiss to her temple, he slides his free arm between her and the mattress; palm on her collarbone as pulls her tightly against him. Unable to suppress the groan that rumbles deep in his chest when the shaft his cock settles between the cheeks of her ass.

“Not…”

“I would never do that,” he assures her. “Not unless you ask me too. Or tell me it’s alright to do. You should know that by now. I just want you to relax, okay? Just lie there and take it easy and then when you’re ready to take over, you just let me know.”

She turns her head to grin at him. “What if I’m never ready?”

“That’s not the game we’re playing. I said I’d help. Until you got worked up again. So if you don’t want to play by the rules…” He attempts to remove his hand from between her legs, only to chuckle when her thighs clamp shut. “Well, you gotta do what I say then. ‘Cause if you don’t…”

She pouts dramatically. “You’re so bossy.”

“You like it.” He nips at the side of her neck; hard enough to break the skin. “You love bossy Tyler.”

“I love Tyler in ALL ways. But yeah. I do like when he comes out to play.”

Placing a series of feathery pecks along the outer edge of her ear, he uses a knee to both urge and keep her thighs open; a long, soft sigh of contentment and shiver passing through her when two fingertips skim over her clit. Her entire body locking up and then slowly relaxing against his; head tucking under his chin and a hand reaching back to stroke and scratch at the bottom of his hairline. His eyes close as he loses himself in his task; the tip of one finger pausing at her entrance as another slowly and gently strokes at the sensitive bundle of nerves. His cock growing to full prominence at the mere scent of her arousal; familiar and musky and alluring and co-mingling with the hint of sweat as it beads on her forehead and at her temples. The hand that had been resting on her collarbone sliding down the neck of her shirt; fingers briefly brushing against one of her rock hard nipples. And she gives a gasp of pleasure and presses her ass against him; a low, deep groan rumbling within his chest with the simple movement slides his cock even further between her supple cheeks.

He drops his head down her shoulder and his mouth begins to feast; beard scratching and chafing as his lips suck and nibble at the sensitive flesh. The ministrations between her legs slow and deliberate; thumb moving against her clit in lazy, unhurried circles as the tip of his finger finally breaches her entrance. Lingering just inside; creating a delicious pressure that has her squirming for him and attempting to bear down on his hand. And she mewls in disappointment when he abruptly stops; pouting at him from over her shoulder as he removes his hand from between her legs.

“Your turn,” he says, voice gravelly and eyes dark from a mix of desire and the strength to hold himself back. Cock more than ready, willing, and able to perform; thick and engorged and the head a deep, angry red as it drips pre-cum.

The sexual attraction towards her has always been intense. From that moment inside that old shack when he’d seen the curves of her ass in those little jean shorts and he’d had to fight the overwhelming urge to push up the one strap on her tank top every time it slid off her shoulder. But it quickly became so much more than just craving someone’s body and touch. The kind of woman that challenges you both mentally and emotionally; effortlessly digging below the surface to where those hidden and withered pieces of morality and humanity have laid dormant for years. A refreshing yet often frustrating change from other women he’d been with; enjoying those long and intense conversations yet finding himself annoyed by how easily he opened up and trusted and how subtly she managed to reach those areas of his soul that no one had ever bothered to search for.

Over the years, that attraction and want and need for her has only increased. Putting his babies inside of her and watching -in awe- as her body changed to accommodate the life she was nurturing and growing. The pride that comes with seeing her become a mother. Those precious moments immediately after birth; sweaty hair plastered to her forehead and both body and soul completely exhausted. Her eyes and face exuding nothing but pure joy and happiness; newborn - or newborns- pressed to her chest and already rooting for the breast. Watching her at home as she loves upon their ever growing brood; loving deeply and intensely and receiving that love in return. Witnessing the strength that that tiny body possesses; a mental ferocity that could never be matched by another. Taking care of him after the grievous injuries suffered during their first ‘trip’ to Dhaka and those he’d been subjected to at the hands of Nathan. Never losing her patience as she helped feed him and assisted him to the shower and to the bathroom; tending to even the smallest chores of washing and cutting his hair and trimming his beard. Possessing a love and care that no one else had ever shown to him; hands gentle and comforting and always able to soothe both the mental and physical pain. Never drawing attention to the circumstances and what had led up to them; instead chatting cheerfully the entire time and the adoration and respect never leaving her eyes. Fighting for him when need be; battling doctors and hospitals to get him the treatment and care he so desperately needed and defending him against not only other people, but himself.

It’s a love and lust that goes far beyond the physical. To things much more important and beautiful than the curves of her hips and the smoothness of her skin and the fulness of her ass and breasts.

When she rolls onto her back, he leans down to kiss her; her palm resting against his cheek as their lips move softly and slowly against each other. And when he once more lies beside her, he reaches for her hand; pressing his lips to each knuckle before guiding it between her legs.

“Just listen to my voice,” he instructs, and uses two fingertips to clear hair from her forehead. “And look at me the entire time. Don’t look away.”

“I can’t…”

He pecks the tip of her nose and each corner of her mouth. “You CAN.”

Sighing heavily, she briefly closes her eyes and then begins; the tip of her nose pressed against his as a finger begins to tease and manipulate her clit. Gently rubbing in slow, smooth circles, a shiver passing through her and her breath quickening when he slides a hand up the front of her shirt; cupping one of her breasts and repeatedly brushing his thumb across her nipple.

“Were you really thinking about me?” His voice is low; tone quiet and even and his accent thicker. “When you were doing this?”

She nods.

“Do you think about me when I’m not around? When it’s late at night and I’m away from home and you can’t have what you really want? When you get out those toys of yours? You’re thinking about me?”

“Always you. I don’t need to think about anyone else.”

His smirk is a mix of smugness and victory, and he hastily shoves her t-shirt up her collarbone. Hearing the whimper that escapes her when he lowers his head in order to take one of her nipples into his mouth. Her finger moving at a faster pace as he sucks and nibbles as the hardened bud. Her hand reaching for his hair when he pulls away; fingers gripping the longer top strands as she tries -in vain- to get him to continue.

“Tell me,” he encourages, lips against her ear as his hand once more briefly cups her breast. “Tell me what you think about. Tell me what I’m doing to you. When you’re getting yourself off. I want to hear it.”

“I don’t know...stuff...I’m thinking about stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Tyler, I…”

“Tell me,” he gently orders, and pinches and twists her nipple; hard enough to make her both wince and cry out. “Tell me what you think about. And keep your eyes open; don’t stop looking at me.”

“I think about you going down on me. Your tongue on my clit. Your fingers inside of me.”

His cock twitches against her hip as she speaks; the familiar ache building to epic, uncomfortable proportions in the pit of his stomach and the small of his back. It’s a turn on like no other; the trust and the vulnerability in her eyes and the tremor in her voice as she struggles to hold onto those last remnants of self control. And he’s the one to break eye contact; dropping his forehead onto her shoulder; pressing a series of moist kisses across her collarbone and up the side of her neck. Sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin; hips involuntarily jutting forward and bringing his erection in contact with her body. Needing that bit of friction; enough to drive him towards the edge but not send him careening over it.

“How many?” He inquires, as he once more trails kisses along her collarbone and moves to the other side of her neck. “How many fingers?”

“Three. And they’re so long and they’re so big and…” She groans as she slips her own fingers inside of her; bearing down on her hand and rubbing at her clit with her thumb. “...and it hurts but it's good. It’s so good. And when you fuck me with them and it’s rough and it’s fast and …”

“Jesus...fuck…” Sweat beads across his forehead and his temples as he begins to unravel; losing his last bit of command and control as the ache and the need become unbearable. And he’s unable to stop himself from reaching into his under shorts for his cock; lips placing soft kisses along her neck and jaw and up onto her ear as he begins jerking himself off. Long and steady strokes at first; covering from base to tip and the callous on his trigger finger brushing across the head. Working himself slowly; eyes heavy and hooded and unable to look away from between her legs; heart pounding and the cock aching at the sight of his wife fucking herself.

“I want to watch you.” She’s breathless; cheeks flushed and chest heaving. “It’s so fucking hot. Watching you. Let me watch you.”

He leans in to press a kiss to her lips; tip of his tongue pushing through her teeth and swiping against hers before he moves away and rolls onto his back. Lifting his hips in order to yank down his boxer briefs; enjoying that little sigh of approval she gives and the way she hungrily runs her end of her tongue over her bottom lip. This kind of play is nothing new. often bringing it into the bedroom or outside after all the kids have bedded down for the night and they’ve retreated to the beach or the hammock for some much needed alone time. And they’re accustomed to watching one another over Skype; eager to aid in satisfying one another despite the miles and the time zones keeping them apart.

“You are so beautiful,” he praises, as he drops the shorts to the floor and returns his attention back to his cock. Thriving on that look in her eyes; carnal and animalistic and full of unbridled passion and lust. Uninhibited; losing herself in the pleasure created by her own hand. “So fucking beautiful.”

“I was going to say the same thing about. I was…” She cries out when he aggressively pulls at one of her nipples; unable to maintain eye contact as her fingers move faster inside of her. Thumb continuing its torture of her clit; pressing hard and moving erratically until her entire body begins to shudder. “Kiss me,” she demands, and reaches for him; aggressively fisting his hair and yanking him into her. Crying out into his mouth when her orgasm hits; toes curling and body locking up as it arches off the bed. Then collapsing into her pillow with a ‘holy shit’; shuddering from the top of her head to the soles of her feet and her sweat-dampened hair sticking to her brow and the sides of her face.

He slows the pace of his hand, then leans in to peck the tip of her nose. “You good?”

“I can’t really feel my feet, but yeah... “ She releases a long, content sigh. “I’m good. You?”

“I will be. In a few minutes.”

“I’m tired of this game,” she says, and then catches him off guard by shoving him onto his back. “I want you to come in my mouth.”

“That wasn’t…”

“The original game was for me to get myself off while YOU watched. Well, success. We did it. Now I’m making the rules.”

“Alright.” He pushes himself up the bed and sits up; leaning against the headboard as his hand once more continues working his cock. “But I’m only letting you make so many.”

“Of course you are.” She says with a roll of the eyes, then waddles across the bed on her knees and grabs a fabric headband from the top of the nightstand; letting it dangle around her neck as she rejoins him. “What rules are you making?”

“I’ll let you know when we get to the point of needing them.”

“They’re supposed to be set up and communicated BEFORE hand,” she reminds him, and slips the band onto her head. “But I’ll let it slide just this once.”

“Is this the new version of you putting your hair up? You put it back and it lets me know you mean serious business?”

“When don’t I mean serious business when it comes to this? I don’t joke when it comes to pleasing my man.”

“I don’t know, you’ve given some pretty questionable gobbies in your time. I remember a couple where you were drunk and they were really sloppy and...OW!” He grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut when she yanks at some of the hair that travels from his navel to the base of his cock. “That’s mean! That’s not friends!”

“You don’t want me to use teeth, do you?”

“You’d never.”

“I would. Now shut up and just sit there and let the mistress do her thing.”

He grins as she shoves his thighs apart and sets herself between them. “Mistress, huh? Do I need to get you a little leather outfit? Thigh high boots? A riding crop?”

“Depends. Is this a kink of yours I’m only finding out about now?”

“I’m just saying if you WANT me to get an outfit like that, I’m sure I can turn it into a kink of mine.”

“Watch it, Tae, You’re treading on thin ice. You’re getting dangerously close to submissive status. Next thing you know, you’re going to want to build a playroom in one of the garages and you’re going to start liking being tied up and dominated.”

“Okay, let’s not take things THAT far. I’m just saying you in leather and being all bossy? I’d cave every once in a while.”

“Well now you know what to buy me for my birthday,” she teases, and leans down to press a line of kisses along the inside of one thigh, then the other. “Would you let me do it? Make you my bitch? My sex bitch?”

“I don’t know if I’d go THAT far. But we can see just how far I WILL go.”

“Never thought I’d hear that coming from you, big, bad, mercenary man. You’ve always been the one in charge. The assertive one.”

“That’s just ‘cause you’ve wanted me to be. Right from day one. And I just merely give you what you want. Happy wife, happy life.”

“So you don’t enjoy being the dominant one? You just do it to humour me?”

“No, I enjoy it. A lot. I’m just saying that maybe once in a while, letting you be the way isn’t such a bad idea. I’m always in charge, yeah? I’ve always got all the control. The business, out in the field, at home…”

Esme laughs. “You are so not in charge at home.”

“So maybe just in charge in the bedroom. And sometimes you get tired of being that way. You want a break from it. Let someone else be the boss.”

“Tyler Rake…” A slow grin spreads across her face. “...you WANT to be dominated.”

“I never said that.”

“Not with those exact words. But it is what you’re getting at . You...all six foot three, two hundred pounds of you...want your little five foot nothing wife to make you her sex bitch.”

He scowls. “You gonna suck my cock sometime today or…?”

“I knew that wouldn’t last long. You being all sweet and docile. But I’m going to remember this conversation. And when you least expect it…”

“I think you need to shut up and…”

His words are replaced with a long, rumbling groan when she unceremoniously takes him fully into her mouth; barely flinching or gagging when the tip of his cock comes in contact with the back of her throat. A woman with many years of experience; a ferociously determined student that had allowed him to teach her exactly how to please him. Breaking out of her own comfort zones to experience sex in a way that she’d never had before; surrendering to the hands and mouth of a patient and attentive lover that had opened her eyes to just how exciting and satisfying love making could actually be. No longer being told she wasn’t pretty or sexy enough to adequately turn a man on; married to a someone that heaps praise upon her and showers her with words of love and affirmation.

And she’s so good at what she does. The mixture of mouth and hands that drives him absolutely insane; the suckling and the stroking and the squeezing that all work together to quickly and effortlessly lead him to the edge. His fingers tangling in the hair at the back of her head; gently tugging in silent encouragement for her to look up at him. It’s an incredible experience; his cock in her mouth as those enormous dark eyes stare up at him. The lewd sounds she makes; the slurping and the gagging and the moans that come when he pushes down on the back of her head and forces her to take him even deeper. The tears that prick her eyes and the small trail of saliva glistens at the corner of her mouth and trickles down to her chin.

“You’re beautiful.” He can barely get the words out; chest heaving and body rigid and sweat gathering at his temples and the nape of his neck. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

He sees it; that glow of happiness and pride that comes over her face. A far cry from the woman who’d spent years being tormented and abused; called filthy and degrading names and forced to eat discarded food off the kitchen floor and use a toothbrush immediately after her husband had used to clean the toilet. Refusing would earn her a beating; knocked to the ground and dragged out of the room and down the hall by her hair and then kicked and punched until she was a bleeding, sobbing mess. Now she’s worshipped and she knows it; loved beyond all measure and ferociously protected and fought for.

“I love you.”

She blinks at the moment of tenderness in the midst of such a lewd act; eyes sparkling and face brightening. And it’s all there for him to see; the love she feels for him in return, the respect and adoration, the complete and utter blind faith and trust she has in him.

“I love you so much, Esme.” His fingertips graze along the curve of her jaw. “ Don’t ever forget that, okay? Just nod or something. Let me know you’ll never forget that.”

She reaches up and laces their fingers together; tightly squeezing before placing their joined hands upon his thigh. And just like that the moment is over; the desire to please him and bring him to completion returning once more. Concentrating on the head of his cock; flicks of her tongue followed by gentle swirls and then aggressive suckling. The hand that had been pumping his shaft moving to briefly cradle and fondle his balls; head falling back and his eyes closing and a string of profanities tumbling from his mouth when she resorts to gently squeezing. And it’s when her finger nail lightly scratches his perineum that his orgasm hits him at full force; hips jutting up to force his cock further into her mouth as he violently cums inside of it. Entire body shuddering as she sucks him dry; until he's a whimpering and cursing mess and his hands are yanking at her hair in order to pull her away. Too much, too soon; the orgasm powerful and every nerve ending below the waist on fire.

“I wanna see,” he says, when she moves away and sits back on her heels. And he reaches for her; fingers under her chin and thumb against her lips. “Open your mouth. Let me see.”

She offers resistance and allows him to pry her mouth open; giving him a view of the semen that sits on her tongue and pools in her mouth and the back of her throat.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Such a good, beautiful girl.”

He waits until she swallows his load and then takes her face in his palms, pulling her into him and kissing her long and soft and deep. Both of her arms wrapping around his neck and his thighs closing as she settles herself in his lap; one hand on the nape of her neck and the other on the small of her back. Several minutes passing before he tugs on her hair; a silent request to look at him. And he loves the smile on her face when she pulls away; contentment and pride and the afterglow of intense and overwhelming satisfaction.

“You are a dirty little thing, Esme Rake.”

She laughs at that, then brushes the tip of her nose against his. “I’ve learned from the master.”

Pulling the headband from her hair, he tosses it aside and pushes his fingers through her hair; lips meeting her brow and lingering for several seconds. “Good morning, by the way.”

Giggling, she presses a kiss to his lips and then buries her face in that warm, safe place between his neck and shoulder. “Good morning.”

#Tyler and Esme series #from Never Gonna Be Alone

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dailyunsolvedmysteries · 10 months

Text

The Bhopal Tragedy

On the night of December 2nd, 1984, a Union Carbide plant in Bhopal, India, began leaking 27 tonnes of the deadly gas methyl isocyanate. None of the six safety systems designed to contain such a leak were operational, allowing the gas to spread throughout the city of Bhopal. Half a million people were exposed to the gas and 25,000 have died to date as a result of their exposure. More than 120,000 people still suffer from ailments caused by the accident and the subsequent pollution at the plant site. These ailments include blindness, extreme difficulty in breathing and gynaecological disorders. In the Immediate aftermath, the health care system immediately became overloaded. In the severely affected areas, nearly 70% were under-qualified doctors. Medical staff were unprepared for the thousands of casualties. Doctors and hospitals were not aware of proper treatment methods for MIC gas inhalation. There were mass funerals and cremations. Within a few days, trees in the vicinity became barren, and bloated animal carcasses had to be disposed of. 170,000 people were treated at hospitals and temporary dispensaries, and 2,000 buffalo, goats, and other animals were collected and buried. Supplies, including food, became scarce owing to suppliers' safety fears. Fishing was prohibited, causing further supply shortages. Formal statements after a few weeks were issued that air, water, vegetation, and foodstuffs were safe, but people were warned not to consume fish. The number of children exposed to the gases was at least 200,000. Within weeks, the State Government established a number of hospitals, clinics, and mobile units in the gas-affected area to treat the victims. A cohort of 80,021 exposed people was registered, along with a control group, a cohort of 15,931 people from areas not exposed to MIC. Nearly every year since 1986, they have answered the same questionnaire. It shows excess mortality and morbidity in the exposed group. Bias and confounding factors cannot be excluded from the study. Because of migration and other factors, 75% of the cohort is lost, as the ones who move out are not followed. A number of clinical studies are performed. The quality varies, but the different reports support each other. Studied and reported long-term health effects are: Eyes: Chronic conjunctivitis, scars on cornea, corneal opacities, early cataracts Respiratory tracts: Obstructive and/or restrictive disease, pulmonary fibrosis, aggravation of tuberculosis and chronic bronchitis Neurological system: Impairment of memory, finer motor skills, numbness, etc. Psychological problems: Post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) Children's health: Peri- and neonatal death rates increased. Failure to grow, intellectual impairment, etc. Missing or insufficient fields for research are female reproduction, chromosomal aberrations, cancer, immune deficiency, neurological sequelae, post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and children born after the disaster. Late cases that might never be highlighted are respiratory insufficiency, cardiac insufficiency (cor pulmonale), cancer and tuberculosis. Bhopal now has high rates of birth defects and records a miscarriage rate 7x higher than the national average. The site has never been properly cleaned up and it continues to poison the residents of Bhopal.

#The Bhopal Tragedy #bhopal #history #disasters #poison

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 2 years

Note

Hii, I’ve been messaging a few supercorp-centric blogs about this, and I love your fics so I wanted to hear your thoughts!

What do you think would have been the perfect supercorp first kiss? Like, say the showrunners had decided to go for it, when and how do you think it should have happened?

That's an interesting question! And it doesn't have a simple and concise answer, I'm afraid. Because in order to have an on screen kiss feel organic, we would need to deepen a whole of onscreen moments Lena and Kara shared. In my mind, S6 would be the place to do it-- after the rift, after the PZ, expounding on the scenes they have canonically shared.

I'll try to recall as many moments as I can:

- the pre-/peri-PZ content: their conversation should have been more personal, a little deeper. And Kara's message to/about Lena in her legacy hologram should have been more directly alluding to her relationship with Lena.

- the post-PZ hug: it should have continued longer, to the point it borders on TOO long. Long enough to demonstrate that Kara missed Lena most of all, or was most grateful to Lena for rescuing her.

- Lena's departure for Newfoundland: should have been in person, and more hesitant. Like she knows what it looks like, that it looks like she's running away from them. But the truth is that she's running towards her mother, finally chasing down the answers she's always longed for.

- the courage gauntlet scene: Lena should have been more quietly effusive of Kara, and how she inspires Lena herself to be brave. I mean, the only time Kara caved to her fears was when she failed to tell Lena the truth of her being Supergirl. Which helps Kara recognize where she failed the night she saved that plane.

- kara and lena being on the same page: there was a scene about kara wanting to use peoples humanity against Nyxly, and Lena disagreeing. If I had my druthers, that would have resolved differently, with Kara either apologizing for going thru with her plan despite Lena's objections, or else caving to Lena's objections in the first place. Because canon was weirdly ooc for this altercation.

- the potsticker scene: i think it would have been cool if Kara commented that she's sure Lena had something better to do than share dinner, and Lena coming back with a "There's nowhere I'd rather be." In that soft voice she has sometimes.

- the witch confession: if Lena had used Kara as a sort of sounding board when figuring out how she feels about her newfound magic. Kara wouldn't really catch the deeper meaning, but she'd basically cast her vote for Lena, doesn't matter when or where or how.

Anywho... I could go on and on. But basically the sum of this season-long build up would culminate in a moment of quiet following their tearful embrace at the wedding. When they pull back, they linger close. Lena would lift her hand to tenderly cup Kara's cheek as they hold each other's gaze.

"Will you be there for me?" Kara asks, despite already knowing the answer.

Lena nods. "I'm with you," she promises. "No matter what."

Kara hiccups again, tears spilling onto her cheeks. Then they'd embrace again, with Kara burying her face in the crook of Lena's neck. And Lena would press a kiss to Kara's hair, the only thing she can reach.

Then when Kara's emotions are back in check, they'd go to see the happy couple off, they're fingers interlaced between them.

#supercorp #first kiss #how id like to see a canon kiss by series end #just my take #what do you think?

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whump-me · 26 days

Text

Obscure: Chapter 16

Chapter 16 of Obscure, novel-length interrogation whump about a rebel leader who can erase memories with a thought, an interrogator who can see inside his subjects’ minds… and the connection they share that neither of them suspects.

Masterpost | the Mind Games universe | Read the completed novel on Patreon

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Kirill

Kirill had been afraid Elias would refuse to step through the door. If he had, other measures would have been required. Messier measures. He would have had to drag Elias’s son in, or Elias out. Either option would have raised the emotion in the room to a thickness that would have made both men’s memories realer than the room around him.

There were multiple reasons he didn’t like mess. It wasn’t just a distaste for the physical nature of that kind of work. Nothing heightened emotion like fear and pain. A little was a helpful adjunct to his work. Too much was like a tablespoon of salt when a pinch would have done.

But no mess was required. Not yet. Elias stood, his movements robotic, like his body was no longer his own. Fear-memories hung off him like an odor of week-old garbage as he passed through the door. His face was vacant. Dissociated. His eyes, sunken deep in exhaustion-hollowed sockets, shone with silent desperation.

Kirill beckoned Elias to the seat across from his son. He stood by the door, and eased it closed as he watched.

The two were echoes of each other. Elias hadn’t seen it—Kirill knew because he had seen the memories, which had first compared his son to the redheaded woman, and then, strangely, to Kirill himself. But the two men resembled each other more than his son resembled either of those.

They were echoes, not mirror images. They didn’t reflect so much as they rhymed. One was younger, his eyes brighter, his face unlined. Decades younger than this version of Elias, but still older than Elias had been when Max had seen him for the last time.

It wasn’t just age. Elias, as stoic as he tried to be, wore his emotions in the lines on his face. The worry was there, the mark of caring too deeply. But also the lines that spoke of sorrow, and of deep joy. Elias was a man who knew how to set his feelings aside when he had to. But he had become that kind of man because he was also the kind of man who felt deeply.

His son, on the other hand…

Elias’s memories had shown Kirill empty eyes. Opaque. The eyes of a machine. Dark eyes—his son as he was now. Pale eyes—Kirill’s.

Kirill wasn’t who Elias thought he was. Neither was Elias’s son. Just because Elias couldn’t imagine working for PERI without becoming an unfeeling automaton, that didn’t make his judgment correct. And yet Elias’s son’s face spoke of training Elias had never had. A certain discipline. A sense of duty. That duty, that discipline, lived in the same part of his son’s mind where Elias’s deep joys and sorrows lived. Kirill knew because that was where those things lived in him, too.

Elias’s face was blank as he slid into the chair opposite his son. But it was a forced blankness, formed from desperation. Elias knew he could not afford to feel anything, and so he would do his best not to. His best, though, still sent a steady stream of memories into Kirill’s mind. If Kirill so much as whispered a word about Elias’s network right now, the names and addresses he was looking for would spill into his mind like water from a faucet.

And then the memories of Kirill’s past would follow. That was the defense mechanism Elias had chosen for holding the information Kirill wanted at day. Unfortunately for Kirill, each worked. And the thought of facing those memories made a deeply buried part of his mind quail with something that was neither duty nor discipline.

So Kirill said nothing.

Elias’s son’s face, when he looked at Elias, showed nothing but curiosity and the same impatience from earlier. “Are you here to give me my next mission?”

If he noticed the resemblance between them at all, he said nothing. And why would he notice it? It wasn’t as if PERI training included much time looking in mirrors.

Elias looked over his shoulder at Kirill. His eyes glittered with unshed tears, but his voice was steady. “I don’t know,” he said to Kirill. “Why am I here?”

“So you can meet the consequences of your choice face to face,” Kirill answered. He fixed his eyes on Elias, made the man’s face his focus, used it to block out the unwanted memories. None of what was spilling off Elias right now had anything to do with his network. “Talk to him directly. Let him find out why he’s here. Then see whether your choice is the same.”

“You want me to tell him the truth,” Elias said flatly.

“Of course, the truth. Why would I need you to lie?”

“If I ever had any doubts about who you are,” said Elias, “they’re gone now. Max could never have been this cruel.”

“You decided who I was,” Kirill said, “when you refused to tell me who I used to be.”

Elias’s son watched the exchange with no emotion stronger than mild curiosity and growing annoyance. It was easy to see what he was feeling—Kirill saw the resonance in the memories that leaked from him. The memories were a trickle, nothing next to Elias’s flood.

“Why am I here?” The man’s tone was one Kirill had perfected himself. Bland enough not to risk being seen as insubordinate. Insistent enough to make his feelings clear.

Kirill stepped back. He gave Elias a wordless nod.

Elias’s jaw clenched. For a moment, Kirill thought those unshed tears that made Elias’s eyes glint unnaturally bright under the harsh lights might finally spill down his face. But no tears fell.

Elias folded his hands in front of him. He met his son’s eyes. His memories spiked. He breathed in. Breathe out.

Kirill didn’t mind the memories of Elias losing young Sammy. He could push those aside easily enough. He had seen most of them before, anyway. The difficult ones were the memories of Elias losing young Max.

But Kirill had decades of experience ignoring unwanted memories. He let them become mere background noise. They didn’t matter. He knew who he was.

“Do you remember where you came from before you worked for PERI?” Elias asked. His voice was still perfectly steady. His memories were chaos.

His son’s annoyance grew. Kirill had his own versions of each of the memories he leaked. All the annoyances of growing up in PERI headquarters, of working for PERI. Having to wait too long for a guard to open his room door. A superior with impossible mission requirements who refused to listen to reason. Fellow operatives who thought they were better than everyone else because their power could do more damage, or reach across a farther distance, or cause a prettier explosion.

“I thought that wasn’t supposed to matter,” said Elias’s son.

A stranger’s hand holding his. A car with tinted windows. An unfamiliar face looming over him, and the blur as a sedative took effect. Fear. Fear. Fear.

The memories blended with Elias’s familiar ones—the day of the disappearance, the memorial, everything in between. Those, in turn, blended with the memories of the mold-ridden squat, of Elias’s hand in his. Of Max letting go. Max walking alone down the dark city streets, alone for the first time in his life. Fingering the business card the woman had given him like a lifeline, rubbing the sharp edges smooth, letting the paper bite into his fingertips.

It took him a moment to figure out those last memories were his own.

“Well?” Elias’s son pressed, and Kirill realized he had lost track of time, trapped in those memories.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he continued, “but no one has explained anything to me. Is there a situation? Something connected to my past?”

A man’s face, seen from below: a near-mirror of the adult Sammy’s own, but with less duty, and more love. A hand letting go—

“In a sense.” Elias’s voice, finally, was no longer steady. It trembled almost imperceptibly as he said, “You had a family. A mother who loved you. A father.”

“Of course I did. Everyone did, once. Or did you think I came from the labs downstairs?” His son’s voice was casual. Dismissive. The faces in his memory shone with knife-sharp clarity.

“You had a father,” Elias repeated. “You had me.”

Elias’s son’s memories mapped his emotional state more clearly than his face. Confusion. Then disbelief. He stared into Elias’s eyes. Then, as he studied the feature of that face that so clearly echoed his own, disbelief edged into fear.

Stepping onto a cavernous school bus for the first time, to be met by a wall of sound as raucous kids laughed and yelled and tossed ball-up scraps of paper across the aisles at one another.

A planetarium. A voice droning on about the wonders of the stars. Looking up at the pinpoints of light projected onto the black ceiling—distant stars, whirling galaxies. Feeling dizzy, like he was falling, like he was impossibly small.

An unfamiliar hand. The car with tinted windows. A fall into unconsciousness.

Fear of the unknown.

“I don’t know what they told you,” Elias said. “But if they said I chose to give you up, it was a lie. PERI took you from me. I didn’t know where you had gone. If I had known they were coming for you, I would have taken you and run.”

His son didn’t say anything. His disbelief was gone. Only fear ruled now. Elias’s son’s fear of leaving his carefully ordered world and falling into the abyss of spinning stars. Elias’s fear of his son’s rejection, of who the boy he had known had become, of what Kirill would do to him next.

“Do you remember your family at all?” Elias leaned across the table, straining toward his son like a dog pulling at the end of its lead. This wasn’t about doing what Kirill had demanded anymore. Kirill wasn’t sure Elias even remembered he was there.

Kirill could barely focus on what was happening in the room. Memories flowed from both of them, fast and thick, braiding together until Kirill couldn’t tell them apart. There was a baby cradled in a father’s arms. There was a young man who, seen from a child’s perspective, looked impossibly old. There were hugs. There were fights. There were birthday candles blown out, and separations, and rejoinings.

There was love.

And in the end, there was fear, and there was loneliness. There was absence.

Kirill knew that absence. He knew it like the long-forgotten ache of a missing tooth. He prodded that ache now, as he relived his son’s memories as if they were his own. Maybe they were his own.

The first night in his private room in PERI headquarters, sitting on the hard and narrow bed, knees pulled up to his chest. Trying not to cry, because he was stronger than that. Holding his breath so the tears wouldn’t come. Shivering. They had always kept those rooms too cold.

Or maybe he had only been cold because he wasn’t used to being alone.

That familiar face, that steady presence, the touchstone he had known all his life—gone. Elias wasn’t there. His father—no, his friend.

In his son’s memories, he knew what he had lost, and the pain of isolation was worse for the contrast. In Kirill’s memory, the horror had a different source. He had known something was missing, but not what that something was. He had known he was alone, but he hadn’t remembered ever not being alone.

This isolation, this darkness, this small and sterile room… it was the first clear memory of his life. Those more white walls were all he had. They were all he had ever known. He clung to them until they became comforting, because he didn’t remember any other source of comfort.

“Are you here to take me back?” Sammy’s adult voice broke through the memories of the child he had been.

Kirill pulled himself back to the present. He still couldn’t remember which memories belonged to him and which belonged to Elias’s son.

Elias shook his head. “I’m sorry.” His voice was slow and rich, thick with a sorrow he no longer tried to hide.

“Please don’t take me back,” said his son. “I… I think I remember you. Your face… I don’t know. It was a long time ago. And my father would have been younger then. But even if you are him…” He shook his head. “This is my home. I lost my home once. I don’t want to lose another.”

Elias’s grief-memories spiked. Again and again, the redheaded woman’s voice cut through the gray memorial service.

Elias’s son looked over at Kirill. To the man who had come here to torture him, he said, “He can’t take me back, can he?”

Maybe it was just the lingering echo of the memories, but to Kirill’s ear, he didn’t sound like a grown man anymore. He sounded more like that lost eight-year-old.

Elias answered for Kirill. “I can’t take you back. I wish I could. But you’re right—it’s too late for that. It wouldn’t be fair to you.” Elias swallowed back audible tears. “I’m sorry I couldn’t hold on to you when it mattered.” He paused. “And I’m sorry about what’s going to happen next.”

Elias wasn’t looking at Kirill. His words were directed solely at his grown son. Even so, the words felt pointed. Almost like they were meant for him as well.

I’m sorry I couldn’t hold on to you when it mattered.

It’s too late for that.

It’s too late.

His hands curled into fists. His nails dug into the fleshy part of his palms. He forced away the images of old grief, of lost chances. Of his own younger face.

He didn’t want Elias’s grief.

He didn’t want his sorrow.

Most of all, he didn’t want his pity.

And he had never wanted Elias to hold on to him. He had followed Elias for too long, clung to his hand for too long, asked him to make every decision for too long. He had never realized it until the day he had wanted to make his own choice, and realized he had no idea how to do that.

But he had done it. And now he was here, and Elias was about to watch his son suffer. He had made the right choice. He had never regretted it.

He had never had the chance to regret it. How could he, when he had never remembered the true terms of his choice?

And that, too, had been Elias’s decision.

Elias looked over his shoulder, and Kirill saw that he had gotten his wish. Elias’s eyes held no sorrow, although grief still bled from his memories. There was certainly no pity in his dark gaze. All Kirill saw was anger. Anger smoldered at the edges of the grief-memories, until only images of hot, deadly fury remained.

“Did you get what you wanted?” Even though Elias was still bleeding memory, his voice was perfectly steady once again.

“You had a chance to have Max back,” said Kirill. “You rejected him. Kirill is a PERI interrogator, and this is what Kirill would do. It isn’t about what I want. I told you what I wanted, and you said no.”

“If you were doing your job,” said Elias, “you would have asked me your questions when I told my son who I was. You would have gotten everything.”

“Would I? You seem to have figured out a way around that method of questioning.”

“And then you would have had to see memories of Max,” said Elias. “Are you afraid of those memories, or are they what you want? You don’t seem to be able to decide.”

Elias’s son looked between the two of them. “Is anyone going to tell me what’s happening?” Fear-memories leaked from him in a steady stream.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” said Kirill—which was just as well, because he couldn’t have answered that question if someone had set him down on the wrong side of an interrogation table and demanded a response. “You made that choice for me. That choice and every other.”

“I said it was your choice to make,” said Elias. “And you chose PERI.”

Kirill took the spare pair of handcuffs off his belt. He strode across the room to Elias’s son. “Give me your hands.”

The man pressed himself against the back of the chair. The fear-memories sped up. “I didn’t know who he was when he walked into the room,” he said, with a flick of his eyes toward Elias. “I barely remember my father. If he’s done anything, I have no part in it.”

“Unfortunately, you do,” said Kirill. “Elias has made that choice for you. It’s what he’s good at.”

“I tried to protect you,” Elias said from behind him. “You wanted me to protect you.” A now-familiar slideshow of childhood memories followed his words. It ended with two hands letting go and the hollow taste of failure.

Kirill grabbed one of Elias’s son’s wrists, and then the other. He locked the handcuffs in place. He had nothing to fear from this man. He had read his file. The man’s power only worked if he’d had ten continuous seconds of physical contact with his target at some point in the past twenty-four hours. In any case, he would never dare use it against a fellow PERI operative without being ordered to. He had been trained too well.

“I don’t understand.” Elias’s son looked from Kirill to his father. Images of fear turned harder, sharper. In his memories, he was no longer a lost child, shivering and alone. He snapped at an instructor; he watched a fellow trainee land a coveted prize he had tried hard to claim for himself.

Anger. Resentment.

“What did you do?” Elias’s son asked his father.

Elias, to his credit, didn’t look away. “I tried to make up for losing you.”

Kirill brought the other item out of his pocket. It was a bracelet that looked identical to Elias’s. Their eyes both followed the bracelet as Kirill locked it around Elias’s son’s wrist. Elias’s son eyed it with trepidation. Elias’s fear was darker and deeper.

And somehow, in his memories, his fear still wore Max’s face.

Kirill didn’t think Elias was trying to call up the memories of Max this time. He hadn’t asked any questions for Elias to resist answering. The memories had come up of their own accord.

And after Elias was gone from this place, they would continue to come up. Kirill couldn’t forget Max’s face again, any more than Elias could keep from thinking of it now. That face would live on in Kirill’s nightmares long after this interrogation was over.

He could send electric shock after electric shock through the man’s tense and terrified body. He could break every bone in the man’s hands. He could do it until the answers Kirill hadn’t gotten from Elias’s memories spilled from Elias’s lips instead. He could do the messy work he detested, and do it so effectively he would never have to endure Elias’s memory-barriers made of Kirill’s own past again.

But it would still be too late. The memories would still live in him.

Then why go to such lengths to resist them?

It was time to make the choice Elias had urged him to make.

It was time to do his job.

It was time to be Kirill.

Memories rolled off Elias, thick and fast. He stared at the bracelet around his son’s wrist, like he thought it would go off as soon as he took his eyes off it for a second. Memories of Sammy. Memories of Max. The memories blended until the two boys wore the same face. Until even Kirill could hardly remember which was which—and which side of the table he himself was on.

He pressed the activator. A shock shot through Elias’s son. His body went rigid. Only his eyes seemed within his own control. He stared up at Kirill with a mix of betrayal and fear.

The shock released him. He sagged forward, forearms resting on the table. His breaths came raggedly. “What… what are you doing?”

“He’s reading my memories,” said Elias. “He wants information from me, and I’ve declined to give it to him. He can’t get it from my memories fast enough, so he’s decided to hurt you until I tell him outright.” He looked up at Kirill. “But even though you’ve given up on my memories, you can still read them. So read this, and then tell me who you are.”

Kirill braced himself a second before the memories hit. It didn’t help. The memories were sharp, jagged-edged. They hit Kirill’s mind in a flood of jumbled fragments, and each one sliced into him like a shard of broken glass. All the details were clearer than life. They were a flurry of whirling blades. In the right hands, memory was as much of a weapon as obscuring was.

Max’s face wasn’t blurry anymore. Pale eyes stared into his with cutting intensity. Happy eyes, with crinkles around the edges. Sad eyes, overflowing with tears. Questioning eyes, looking to him—to Elias—for answers or for help. Always looking to Elias.

But not anymore.

“Your network,” Kirill said. “Names and addresses.”

The memories changed, following the path he had given them. Elias drew in an audible breath, preparing.

Before Elias could hit him with another batch of memories from his own past, Kirill hit the button again.

Elias’s son’s memories flooded him, drowning out the images of Max’s face. They were all confusion and betrayal. A friend shoving him off the swings on an elementary-school playground. An instructor during a hand-to-hand sparring session luring him into exposing a weakness and then striking. Sitting in his small private room as a child, crying, calling out for a rescue that would never come.

Kirill had never called out like that. He had known he had chosen to be in that room, even if he hadn’t remembered exactly why he had made the choice. Kirill had never thought there was anything he needed to be rescued from, let alone that there might be someone out there who would have done it if he could have.

He had never called out for help. But there had been times he had sat on his bed with tears threatening at the corners of his eyes, with a name on his lips that he couldn’t remember. With a fog in his head that, like the four walls around him, seemed to be all he had ever known.

He shoved aside Elias’s son’s memories as ruthlessly as his own. He focused on the names and addresses pouring off Elias. The shock had caught Elias off guard before he could use his newly discovered defense. With his well-trained memory, Kirill catalogued every name, every face, every address and map fragment. He would write them all down later.

One of the faces in Elias’s memory changed. The warm brown eyes became pale as the moon. The hair shortened and lightened. The face grew rounder, softer, younger. Max’s face.

Elias, breathing heavily, held Kirill’s gaze.

Without a word, Kirill hit the button again.

Elias’s son screamed. He went rigid, then slumped with his chin to his chest. Only the wet glint of tears in his eyes showed that he was still conscious.

“I’m not… a part of this,” he protested, in a voice almost too quiet to hear. “Whatever he’s done… it has nothing to do with me. I’m on your side. Let me help you.”

“You are helping me,” said Kirill.

Elias’s memories shifted again, back to Max, back to their shared childhood.

Kirill hit the button.

This time, the scream was more ragged. Less outrage, more pain. Elias made an answering noise deep in his throat. The memories of Max cut off.

“Names and addresses,” Kirill reminded him, and Elias’s battered mind obeyed.

“I’m one of you.” Now Elias’s son’s voice was only a rough whisper. “Please… I’m one of you. When have I ever been disloyal?”

“What I know must be worth more to PERI than you are,” said Elias. There was no spite in his voice. Only sorrow. “I’m sorry for that. I wish I could have gotten you out before it was too late.”

Elias’s son looked up at his father. His glistening eyes were daggers of accusation. “But… I’m not worth any more to you, am I? What you’re holding back… it matters more to you than I do. And I’m supposed to be your son. So don’t bother wishing you had saved me. I wouldn’t be any better off with you.”

Elias’s memories surged. Kirill pounced on the opportunity. “Names and addresses,” he reminded Elias.

“You were my life.” Elias wasn’t even trying to keep his voice steady anymore. His eyes held his son’s sharp gaze without flinching, even though his son’s eyes looked sharp enough to draw blood.

Even as he spoke, memories poured from him. There were the names Kirill had asked for. And the addresses. Faces flashed by like mugshots. Maps, building exteriors, street signs.

And threaded through all of those were other memories, memories of loss and pain. The fire—the surging orange flames, the sharp bite of smoke in his nose. Then sitting cross-legged on a filthy carpet, watching the door, hoping Max would change his mind and come back, knowing he wouldn’t.

“I was your life,” Elias’s son said. “What am I to you now?”

“A stranger.” Elias’s voice bled sorrow like his mind bled answers. “A memory.”

Kirill hit the button again.

“If that were all he was to you,” said Kirill over Elias’s son’s screams, “your memories wouldn’t be so strong right now. Why would you care so much for a stranger’s pain?”

“Some of us have still have hearts,” said Elias through gritted teeth. “Not all of us signed up to have them carved out by PERI. Some of us were strong enough to keep going.”

“Strong enough to let you keep making the decisions, you mean?” The button again. “I chose this. Maybe I was never who you thought I was.” He hit the button again, this time before the man had stopped screaming. “He’s your son. You care about him. No matter how much you deny it to yourself, I can see it in your memories.” It is a third time. “Names and addresses.”

The slideshow of faces began again. Elias narrowed his eyes, clenched his jaw, stared at Kirill like he was trying to burn a hole through him. All the faces turned to Max’s face.

Kirill hit the button again. “I’ll hurt him every time I see Max. Give me the memories I want, and only those. Or give me the answers aloud.”

Max’s hand letting go. Elias sitting in an empty room, staring at a closed door, his own breathing too loud in the unaccustomed solitude. Or was that Kirill’s memory? Was that the squat he was seeing, or his private room in PERI?

“That time wasn’t on purpose,” Elias said quickly, as Kirill’s finger drifted toward the button. “You betrayed me then. You’re betraying me now. Of course I thought of—”

Kirill hit the button.

Elias’s son’s screams were weaker every time. His voice sounded torn in two. When the shock stopped, this time he didn’t bother protesting.

“Either I’m Max or I’m not,” Kirill said. “Either this man is your son, or he’s a stranger and you don’t care about watching him suffer.”

“Either you want my memories of Max,” Elias countered, “or you don’t.”

Kirill hit the button again.

If this man were a stranger to Elias, his memories wouldn’t have surged at his every scream.

If Kirill were still Max to Elias, Elias wouldn’t have turned him away last night in his cell.

If Kirill were still Max inside, he wouldn’t have walked out the door of that cell last night. He would have… he would have…

What? What would he have done? All he had ever done as Max was follow Elias’s lead, and now Elias refused to lead him.

Max was dead. He was Kirill. He made his own choices.

He hit the button again.

“No!” This time, Elias’s scream drowned out his son’s. As his son collapsed to the table, head in his hands, Elias stared up at Kirill with hatred in his eyes.

“You’ll get it all from my memory anyway,” he said. “You’ve figured out how. Congratulations. Let him go—I’ll tell you everything.” He hung his head, but his accusing eyes stared up through his lashes. “You win… Kirill.”

“I’m sorry.” The words left Kirill’s mouth before he knew he was going to say them. He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for.

“Don’t be.” At last, Elias’s voice was steady again. “You got what you wanted.”

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