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unseededtoast · 1 month

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Turtle Doves | Joel Miller

Part Nine

Chapter Directory

Series Summary: In which two broken souls connect so deeply, that if one should perish, the other would surely die of a broken heart. (slow burn, timeline changes. After TLOU1, before TLOU2, assumed knowledge of infected, uses elements from both show and game)

Series Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, and sexual content.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

"So you were there when she died?"

"I was."

Traveling with Joel is both the easiest and most difficult thing. His quiet nature makes it easy to lay low, allowing myself to focus on my thoughts without interruption. His silence is also the same thing that makes it difficult. The silence let's me think too much, and my list of questions just keeps continuing to grow. If I had no sense of respect, I would be asking all of them at once. But I know that if I'm ever going to get the answers I want, I'm going to have to play things smart. Joel is a cautious and reserved person, he doesn't strike me as the type to lay everything out.

He walks a few paces ahead of me, probably in effort to keep me from asking questions. Last night after he read the notes, I still didn't get anything useful out of him. My mind keeps reeling, trying to figure out what he knows. But I keep coming up with nothing. The best idea I have so far is that he has some sort of issue with the Fireflies, and that makes two of us.

After walking most of the day, he stops off in a wooded area to the side of the road, unloading his gun and backpack against a tree. Finally. My feet ache and my back hurts from walking nonstop. My backpack finds its place against a tree as well, and I raise my arms to stretch my weary muscles. Joel glances at me before averting his gaze, and I can't hold my tongue any longer, I can't help it.

"So what were you doing all the way in Boston if you live out past Omaha?" I ask, my voice creaky from not using it all day. My arms lower themselves back to my sides, and his silence makes me think he's probably not going to answer.

"I had to tie up some loose ends, let people know I wasn't gonna be comin' back." He says as he takes a sip of water from his old canteen. My mouth forms a small 'O' shape as I recall that he was in fact supposed to come back after his job.

"James told me about that. What kind of job was it? I hope it was worth it, you and your partner were gone for what, almost a year?" I immediately regret asking as I see his jaw tense. Without knowing it, I may have just crossed a boundary. He puts his canteen away without answering me. My gaze falls to the ground and I shake my head,

"You don't have to answer." My voice is weak and I pick my bag up to find somewhere else to take a break. The tension is palpable and heavy between us, almost suffocating.

With my bag almost dragging the ground, I find a shaded spot about twenty feet away from him and sit down so that my feet can find some reprieve. I wipe my hands over my face, trying to reinvigorate myself and to relieve some of the stress I'm sure is apparent on my features. Resting my head against the bark I let my eyes close and I focus on the sounds of nature opposed to overthinking the grumpy man's silence.

The songs of birds faintly carry through the air, and if I concentrate hard enough, it's almost like the world never ended. The peace of the woods in the middle of nowhere is unparalleled after spending years in a busy, crowded QZ. My body takes a deep breath and I open my eyes, fingers fiddling with the grass below me. There are tiny white wildflowers sprinkled throughout the grass, along with dandelions.

Without a second thought, I pick them and made a rough arrangement in my hand. The white and yellow compliment each other beautifully and as I admire my rudimentary work, my chest aches with longing. I miss doing this every day, I miss my small field of colorful flowers; they always brought me joy. Now, the beauty of flowers serve as a bittersweet reminder of what used to be. I break off a large piece of grass and tie it into an ugly looking bow around the stems of the dandelions and put the flowers in the side pocket of my backpack.

As I put the flowers away I notice Joel looking at me through the trees. His eyes almost look soft, not as guarded as they always are. But I don't hold his gaze. Instead, I keep to myself and rest my eyes for a few minutes longer, until he breaks the silence for once. His boots rustle around in the tall grass and I hear the unmistakable sound of his rifle being slung over his shoulder.

"We should keep goin'." He says, walking back out towards the road. I agree wordlessly and join him on the pavement.

A part of me is beyond annoyed at his behavior, but the more logical part of me understands why he is the way that he is. To keep my temper, I keep reminding myself that I only have to stay with him until Omaha, and then we will indefinitely go our separate ways. But the thought of making this journey back to Boston by myself is daunting, and something I'd rather not dwell on right now. I'll figure things out when the time comes, in the meantime my focus and energy should be spent going after the killers.

Hours later, we find ourselves in a tiny town, one that only has a single traffic light. The buildings have all probably been ransacked a few times over, but I know Joel will want to stop to look for things. Which is fine with me, the more supplies we have the better off we are. I follow him into the stores, each clear of infected. Our bounty turns out to be a single can of pinto beans. I think I'll let him keep those.

We exit out the back door into a little alleyway and I tie my hair back out of my face, the heat of the day making my skin slick with sweat. As I tie up my hair, my eyes land on an interesting piece of graffiti on a building across from where we're standing. My feet move towards it before I really take in what it is I'm seeing.

There on the brick wall is the Firefly symbol spray painted in white, and over top of it is a bright red 'T'. The killers have definitely been here, maybe this is the same path they take to get between Boston and Omaha. I hear Joel come to stand beside me and he huffs.

"Damn Fireflies." He mutters, catching my attention.

"The world would be better off without them." I agree, figuring the conversation would end there. I see him turn his head towards me in my peripheral before he speaks again.

"What's your issue with 'em?" He asks and I meet his gaze, seeing a genuine interest in his eyes. I shrug my shoulders and turn my attention back to the graffiti,

"All they do is kill people for no good reason. Bunch of runaway kids who think they're some sort of heroes, they don't even understand what they're fighting for, really." I keep my rant short instead of droning on and on about what issues I have with the Fireflies. Joel nods his head,

"You got that right. But uh, I think they're fractured now. Their leader, she died a few weeks back." Joel says, crossing his arms. My eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Marlene?" I ask, wanting to be sure I heard him right. I met Marlene once early in my pill running career, she was the one who ignited my hatred for the Fireflies. She was one self-righteous bitch. His head nods, confirming Marlene's death.

"You know her?" I nod my head, looking back over to him from the paint on the wall.

"Better off dead. Maybe without a leader they'll all disband." I say, hopeful for the end of the Fireflies. But I know it's wishful thinking. People like that always tend to find something to get involved in.

"Maybe, if we're lucky." Joel says exactly what I'm thinking. My curious nature once again gets the best of me and I can't help but ask him more. I'm itching for any more information about anything he's willing to give me.

"How'd you know Marlene?" I ask, and his jaw tenses up before he relaxes it.

"She was the one who gave me this last job." He answers, and my mind works overtime. My brain conjures up at least five other questions, but one burns hot on my tongue as I put together the figurative puzzle.

"So were you there when she died?" The timeline would add up. I know he just got done with the job she apparently gave him, and if he hates the Fireflies, then maybe he knows more about her death than just the simple fact that she died. His eyes squint as he looks down to me, but I hold my ground. I'm growing rather impatient of his unwillingness to converse and answer my questions when I've answered all of his.

"I was." Is all he says, and I take what I can get. I want to push him further but I know I'm already skating on thin ice. Instead, I turn our focus back onto the graffiti. My fingers rest on my chin as I try to think of how this fits in with the rest of the pieces I have.

"They're obviously working together or something." I say, recalling the note I found outside the QZ. Trying to concentrate, I squeeze my eyes shut and think about every clue I have. The answer feels like it's just out of my reach, like it's right at my fingertips but I just can't seem to get a grasp on it.

With a sigh, I turn to face Joel and tell him we should keep moving. I don't think standing here in this town is going to help me miraculously figure things out, so we should keep going. My body wants nothing more than to lay down and rest, but we have a lot of ground to cover. Maybe tonight when we find someplace to hunker down I can take a look at everything again and try to make some sense of it all.

Joel stays to my side as we walk the second half of the day. Perhaps my distaste for the Fireflies is making him warm up to me after all. Or maybe his feet are also in an immense amount of pain. It would be nice to find an operational vehicle, I don't know how we're going to make the entire trip by foot. But finding a vehicle out in the middle of nowhere is like finding water in the desert.

We must have covered at least thirty miles today, and my body is feeling the effects. The sun has drained my body of water and the dehydration is already making my head spin. My feet are throbbing, my back is so sore and tense I think it might get thrown out of whack if I step the wrong way.

Off in the distance, I see a building finally appear. My finger points to it, and Joel weakly nods in response. Only a little bit farther until we can collapse for the night. With a newfound sense of purpose, my pace kicks up a little but not without the protest of my body. The building turns out to be an old gas station.

Joel and I make sure there are no infected around before we open the doors. Shelves are pushed all around and discarded items litter the floor. Even a place this remote has been looted, but that's no surprise. After ensuring the building is safe, the two of us push shelves in front of the entryways so that we will be able to rest soundly without worrying about the infected finding us. Although, I'm not sure that fear will ever been completely out of my mind.

After the entry points are secure, the two of us collapse to the ground, pushing off our backpacks. I lay completely flat on the floor, and my spine decompresses with a few loud pops. The feeling of not being on my feet is euphoric, and suddenly the linoleum floor of this abandoned gas station is the most comfortable bed I've ever laid on. Though I'm sure my body will disagree with me in the morning. For once, the silence between Joel and I has never been so welcome.

The sun begins setting and I will myself to sit up, knowing I want to look at my clues before we completely lose the light. Out of my bag I fish out the clues and spread them all in front of me so I can see everything at once. My fingers pick at the dry skin on my lips as I re-read everything, becoming completely enthralled in finding answers that I don't realize Joel is by my side offering me some water until he nudges my shoulder. I take the canteen from his hands and tip it back, noticing we are running very low on water.

"Thanks." I hand him the canteen back after barely taking a sip. He puts it away with the rest of his belongings before he sits back on the floor across from me. My eyes flicker up to him and I see him studying things with the same intensity as me. Feeling confident, I begin talking about my theories out loud, maybe this will convince him to say something. I know he knows more than he's letting on.

"Maybe the T group found this letter somewhere and decided to run with it?" I begin with my least favorite theory. Joel frowns and shakes his head,

"No, the Fireflies wouldn't just leave behind instructions like that." He says, confirming a sneaking suspicion I had. I know the Fireflies are, or were, reckless, but even this seems to be something they wouldn't do. They likely wouldn't hand off work that could give them notoriety if they could do it themselves.

"So if it wasn't left behind, then it was given to them." I assume, not seeing another answer to this question. Joel nods his head,

"More than likely. Even before Marlene died, they were runnin' low on numbers." He says, opening up more about his knowledge. I'm not sure if he realizes he's doing it, but I don't point it out.

"But why would the Fireflies have any interest in killing children?" I'm unable to wrap my head around this question. It's obvious in the letter branded by the Fireflies that they want teenagers to be killed. But why? What would the Fireflies gain from killing kids? My eyebrows are so tightly knitted together that I'm unsure if I will ever stop scowling. Joel shrugs his shoulders.

My eyes fall on the map that was found and I stare at the large letter that's situated on Omaha. Why would the Fireflies have interest in killing children, and if they did hand this job off to this group, why did they choose a group so far out west? If they wanted the QZs in the northeastern part of the country to be targeted, wouldn't it make more sense to find some other group closer?

Each time I think I'm unraveling a new clue, there are ten more questions that pop up and it seems answers are in short supply. The worst part is that I know the answers are out there somewhere. My eyes fixate on a star that's located on the map, close to where we are. I point to it and look up at Joel.

"We should be passing through there tomorrow, right?" I want to double check that I'm right. He nods his head,

"Yeah, it's not too far from here. Should get there before the afternoon." He confirms my thoughts.

"Well, I guess we'll be able to see what the stars represent." I say, losing my mental capacity for critical thinking. The exhaustion of today's travelling paired with the unanswerable questions causes my head to hurt.

I put the clues away in my bag and use it as a makeshift pillow. Throwing my arms over my eyes, I block out the rest of the light so I can rest in the pitch black. Before I fall into unconsciousness, I find myself wanting to thank Joel. Without moving my arm from my eyes, I talk to him.

"Goodnight Joel, thank you for coming along with me." My voice is soft and airy, full of tiredness. He grunts in response, probably half asleep himself.

Tomorrow we should be able to find at least one answer, even if it's just a tiny one. Finding out what the stars represent could be a huge part of the puzzle that we're missing.

#joel miller #joel hbo #joel tlou #joel miller tlou #joel miller hbo #joel miller the last of us #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal

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esmeriandreamer · 1 year

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So I've been going through some old roleplays I've done with people, and one of the stories I wrote with my friend is just.. the perfect plot for a Dreamling fic??? Like, it fits these two so well, and I might write it myself- But if anyone in the fandom is inspired by this, feel free to take the idea! and also link me to it please and thank you <3

(Please note: This would be a medieval fantasy AU where there is magic, but the Endless siblings aren't their actual anthropomorphic personifications. Maybe they have minor powers over their domains, or they just have their nicknames, I say go wild with it-)

Okay. Let us set the scene.

Through some shape or form, Morpheus, one of the Endless princes, is cursed to see his first spouse die in a horrific way before his eyes. This, of course, scares away any potential suitor when they find out about this curse, because fuck that, they're not too keen on dying in a horrific way??

So, the king and queen decide on a plan; Morpheus will just have to marry some commoner who nobody would really miss, somebody who would've probably keeled over from illness within a month or three, so the curse will claim them and Morpheus will be free to find someone he wants to marry without y'know, constantly fearing he'll see them die a traumatizing death-

Enter Hob Gadling, an ex-soldier with no family, who the royal guards just plucked out of a local tavern, under the guise of "providing a special service for his country". He gets taken to the palace and is freshened up a bit, before going straight towards the chapel to marry the prince.

Morpheus is very much Not Pleased with all this, and after the wedding ceremony, once they are alone, he tells Hob about the curse. That he doesn't know when Hob will die, could be hours, days, months, or even years, but he will be dying a gruesome death and Morpheus will be forced to watch it happen. So, y'know, he's sorry this guy had to be roped into all this, he seems nice, it's a shame he'll have to die.

Yet Hob seems to take it pretty well, for someone who's been told they are now fated to die in terrible pain and all that jazz. He just smiles and basically goes "Welp, then I'll enjoy the remaining time I've got I guess- Life is still very rich and I intend to enjoy it by your side, your highness."

Morpheus can't help but admire the other's optimism a bit, but he tells himself that no matter what, he will not get attached to this man, because it'll only hurt more in the end. He tries to avoid Hob at the castle, but fate/the Plot keeps steering them back together into the same space, and spoiler alert, the prince starts to like this guy more and more, even though he knows it's gonna hurt when Hob perishes.

And then one day, while out on a ride together or something, Hob gets kicked in the chest by a horse, which would be breaking every rib and undoubtedly puncturing all the possible organs in that region of the body. And Morpheus, as stated by the curse, has front-row seats to the "Watching your husband choke to death on his own blood" show, sitting there all alone.

Only problem is... Hob doesn't die..? Like, he's clearly choking, but the bruises seem to slowly.. disappear? And he slowly stops choking on his own breath?? He even begins to cough and sit up???

Cue Morpheus freaking the hell out because huh???? How the fuck??? And Hob is just complaining that ow, fuck, that hurt like a bitch, can he please get some water?

More incidents like this start happening, to everyone's confusion but Hob, who seems to believe he's just ah.. very sturdy.

Hob's food gets poisoned with something that would've killed three grown men, and he gets violently ill, but a week later he's back to normal, and the spy on the staff who did the poisoning gets exposed because they cannot hide their extreme confusion as to how someone survived a triple dose of Night's Kiss???

Someone's fire spell goes wrong and Hob should've been burned to a crisp, but he's only got some first and second-degree burns, that'll heal, he's sadder about the fact that one of his fave new outfits got destroyed :c

A drop from the tower, the tallest one in the kingdom? Yeah, that one. Geez, it was high, and he has some broken bones, but he'll be okay, bones heal within a month anyway, right? (Right?, he asks, to a horrified but kind of impressed Morpheus, who can't even bring himself to tell Hob no at this point-)

Hob falls into a very strong river current, which sweeps him under and must surely drown him ten times over, but two hours or so later, Morpheus is met with a very soaked and chilly Hob, who climbed out of the river a few miles downstream and look, he even caught his prince a fish or three during his little adventure ^^

It's not until Hob 'dies' in a way that cannot be explained by having a strong immune system or being able to muscle through some pain, like.. I dunno, a decapitation or something, that Hob goes "Wait a second, weird idea, but maybe I'm immortal?"

"YOU THINK???" - Morpheus, on the verge of a nervous breakdown at this point-

And also at this point they realize that wait a fucking second, Hob literally cannot die, and the curse cannot pass on to a second spouse, holy shit, Morpheus gets to keep him- And it'll be cute and whoever/whatever gave Hob immortality in the first place goes "Okay, sure, your hubby can live forever too, here you go-"

Really tempted to write it now, but feel free to steal this word vomit idea of mine if you want- xD

#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #fic idea #the sandman

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cljordan-imperium · 3 months

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Fabron - OC Gifted to @blind-the-winds

FC - Matthew McNulty

Fabron is a metalsmith, a magic wieldier who is able to use his powers to shape and form metal at will. He can create ornate armor that can withstand the perils of battle. It will retain its beaty through heavy abuse because of the mystical powers that he weaves into the craftsmanship of the pieces he creates. Each piece is meant to protect the wearer from harm, and also to indicate their status within the army. Unlike many cultures, within his, the less the armor shows signs of battle, the higher the soldier is thought to be in terms of status. Battle worn armor is the sign of someone of low station, and no one who wears Fabron's armor is ever thought to be of that.

Among Fabron's people, what class of mage you would be is determined around the age of 12. At that time, you are put through a series of tests to ascertain what your strongest attributes are. For Fabron, his were in metal bending and medicine. Although he wanted to be a healer, there were already those in his class who were more adept at healing, so he was moved into the metalsmith category. One of his mentors at the time instructed him to think of the pieces he created as being a type of preventative medicine. He was keeping the soldiers of their people from requiring the services of the healers, and the better he got at crafting the armor, the better protected the soldiers would be.

From then on Fabron studied all of his material hard. His goal was to become the best metalsmith that his people had ever seen. He would create and test many pieces, putting them through his own series of tests to see if they would survive. Even those pieces that were considered quality by the military were often considered inferior to Fabron. It was because of this that it was in no short time that he was the favored metalsmith of many of the elite guard.

It was several years after he had been working as a metalsmith to the army that Fabron suffered his first loss of a soldier. To this day he is not sure what was different about the way he wove and enchanted the helm for the soldier. What he missed or forgot when doing the work. Maybe he had been distracted, or the metal had been inferior and he missed it. In the end, it didn't matter what had been the issues, the soldier still perished in a violent and bloody battle.

While none of those who owned any of Fabron's armor doubted him, nor did any of those who were in queue to obtain armor from him. However, Fabron still felt the failure deep within his soul and from then forward, he would pour more of himself into each piece that he wove. More enchantments, more focus, more craftsmanship of all kinds. Also, before any piece was given to the soldier who would bear it, Fabron would test it personally, putting it through tests that even in battle it would not face. Only those pieces who passed would ever be given to a soldier. One loss was one too many for the metalsmith.

-armor is from various royal collection of Europe dating from 1500-1700A.D.

@blind-the-winds

@saltysupercomputer @pheita @writingmaidenwarrior @thebejeweledwatercat @dreaminggoblin @korblez @toribookworm22 @spookyceph @aziz-reads

#fabron #gifted oc #backstory #armor #metalsmith #writeblr #writeblr community #writeblr connect

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eldritch-spouse · 2 years

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That ask where you wrote about the reactions from the staff to you getting sick, in the ask you mentioned Vinnel getting abandoned in the past? Is there any more information that you haven’t told us yet of his past/childhood and what he was doing before working for the clergy? I always want to know more cus vinnel and fank-e are my favourites :D

TW: Child neglect, child abuse, violence, murder.

Vinnel was your standard slime kid for a portion of his childhood life. He came from upper class parents who, up until that point, seemed to be perfectly loving and considerate.

Things started going downhill as soon as little Vinnel began to show signs of illness. Now, some slimes are late bloomers. They don't learn to control their form as early as the others, need more coaxing, more molds. Yet the more time passed, the worse Vinnel's physical shape seemed to get.

While he was cognitively developing faster than his peers, Vinnel's pretty reddish-orange hue was becoming dull, he could barely shape his own head some days, motor skills and accuracy deteriorating faster day by day. He refused to move too much and would often snap at his own friends, because every part of his body seemed to hurt no matter what he did. His slime rejected the light, the heat stung and the cold stabbed, the air itself felt stifling. He was never in a bright mood anymore, all he wanted to do was hide under his bed and play with his dolls, watch television, trying to ignore the chronic pain, the exhaustion, and the nagging of his own parents.

They told him to focus, to try, to stop throwing tantrums, that he was doing it on purpose because he was spoiled. Tension was high in that household, and arguments were frequent.

The moment Vinnel started developing odd growths in his body, teeth becoming crooked and eyes glassy, the moment his slime started turning pitch black- His parents did something that no caregiver ever should. They gave up on Vinnel entirely.

They ignored him. Neglected him. He lived with his parents, sure, but he was essentially alone. The neighbor's kids were given more attention than him. He was treated like a complete disappointment, a stain left to its own vices. And that was fine for Vinnel, he didn't trust his own parents, didn't want to love them, the little slime only ever felt safe in the comfort of his room, surrounded by the motionless dolls that could never pass judgement, and the fabrics that made his body hurt less as he lost pieces of himself wherever he went.

To this day, he's not sure if their end goal was to hope he would simply perish.

His condition started getting worse enough to the point where he had to resort to drastic measures, seeping inside of particularly large plushies to hold himself together, stealing full body suits to shield his eternally wounded self, fashioning bandages and cloths until he barely looked like a slime anymore. Just a mess of rags wandering around the streets silently. Without any sort of relief from both the physical and emotional distress he endured, Vinnel took to violence as an early way to cope with life. He would hurt anyone who got too close, those who provoked him, and even the poor things that couldn't defend themselves.

As he aged, Vinnel spent less and less time at home, often going entire weeks in abandoned places and hidden corners. People watching, dying inwardly with jealousy. Weeks become months, then years- And he's roaming around aimlessly, slipping on Halloween clown suits, leaving corpses in his wake. No one knows who the killer is because the evidence left behind is too ill to be identified. He becomes a bit of an urban legend. When he's not bringing misery to others, he's trying to pull off the same stunts he used to see on TV as a kid.

Vinnel is eventually picked up by Ludwig, Admin and Patches, when The Clergy's structure is finally set and the three are tasked with finding staff candidates. They happened to stumble upon the slime in an alley. Krulu sees something in him, an unchecked fury, bitterness rotting the monster to the core, a desire to maim and break and make everyone feel the pain he does.

It reminded the higher of himself.

Vinnel is offered a job several times. A chance for belonging, found family, an opportunity to get relief via inflicting suffering upon others, to be himself freely- The slime violently rejected every request, having to be pursued several times until Admin successfully corners him and, a tad forcefully, explains that his pain can be nulled. That the monster can feel normal again, go outside without having to worry about his consistency, doesn't he want it to stop? Isn't every waking second a chronic nightmare? Doesn't he wish others would take him seriously? Of course he does. And all of those can be attained with a simple price.

Swearing loyalty to krulu.

A deal is struck. Vinnel's suit is created.

The establishment gains a very dedicated, jolly and vicious worker.

#Vinnel oc #tw child abuse #tw child neglect #tw violence #tw murder

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zutraeumen · 2 years

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A Winter Vacation In Summer

This is a part of my one-shot book about Raiden called: Ceraunophile. You can find the whole book on these platforms: FanFiction, AO3, Wattpad or Quotev.

Mortal Kombat belongs to its respective owner.

Ceraunophile 🌩 Masterlist

A Winter Vacation In Summer

Everybody had a few things they liked and disliked about each season. Or you knew some who carried a particular kind of hatred only for a certain season.

It mattered not, for it wasn't within their power to change it in any shape or form. If they weren't one of the two Grandmasters of the two rival clans - the Shirai Ryu and Lin Kuei - that is. The two of them have mastered their powers to such an extent that they excluded them like an ever-encompassing aura.

Kind of like you always felt the thrumming of lightning and thunder under your lover's skin when he would let your adventurous fingers explore.

Though you haven't met the famed Hanso Hasashi - previously known as Scorpion - during Special Forces missions, or on any other meetings held by the alliance of Earthrealm's allies, Sonya had introduced you to Kuai Liang.

The time after his forced transformation to a Cyborg, only for his soul to be stolen and reborn into a Revenant had left their visible mark on his soul, but from what Raiden had told you about him when you'd asked, he seemed to have retained his disciplined, humane, and honourable ways just the same.

And although you tried your best to not be nervous or too strung-up in the face of one of Earthrealm's greatest defenders, you didn't expect him to be this handsome, not after everything he'd been through.

Granted, you got your eyes and heart set on Raiden and nothing, I repeat, NOTHING, could compare to him in this reality. But being in a romantical relationship didn't automatically devalue the beauty of others.

You merely held deep admiration and respect for him and his values. It wasn't your place to ogle this man, and you had no qualms dropping it, but you were beyond thankful that he had given you permission to rewind at his place.

Sonya might have let it slip that your lover had a hand in the two masters' resurrection. From the time she had recounted the details of their recent raid of Quan Chi's fortress, shortly after Johnny kicked Shinnok's ass back into the confines of his amulet. It also hadn't escaped your notice how your best friend might have developed a thing or two for the actor as they had fought together against the odds not so long ago.

How times have changed, especially after Earthrealm's defeat of Shao Kahn at the Second Mortal Kombat Tournament, with the promise to free Earthrealm from Outworld's claim forever as a means of replacing the old system of ten tournaments. It had been proposed at the Emperor's behest, after having lost the previous one, he had not gained victory in this one as well.

But that had never been his plan to begin with. Shao Kahn, with the aid of Quan Chi, simply followed with an invasion of Earthrealm instead. They had lost many back then... and you were almost one of them. Had you not landed yourself at the infirmary from fighting the foul things spilling from the massive portals, who knew what other contender would have stripped you of your life.

Raiden, so overwhelmed with all that was happening around him - the visions, apprehending Armaggedon, saving Earthrealm - and so much more constantly wearing him down, hadn't known of your hospitalization sooner than it was all over.

Once Shao Kahn had foolishly attempted to merge the two realms together, against the rules of the Tournament, he was left to face the judgement of the Elder Gods Raiden so often sought counsel from. Their penalty came swift and Outworld's forces were bereft of their Emperor.

It should have been a major victory, but it didn't feel like one. The cost had been too grave as too many of Earthrealm's finest warriors, and allies from other realms alike, perished in its defence. Among them being Liu Kang and Kung Lao.

And it was clear as day, that no one on this whole plane felt the pain most acutely than the divine protector of Earthrealm. Raiden was adept at upholding an image of total control, emotions rarely used to win over his face, his walls were indomitable, but...

In the comfort of your company, he was slowly surrendering to the idea of opening up about his woes to you, just as you had initially encouraged. You were slowly chipping away at his last resolve but he remained stubborn in his belief not to burden you with his problems. As if that would deter you from being there for him as he was for you.

You were his lover, and such a position came with ties and responsibilities, ones you would loathe to sunder. You'd not have it another way. You'd not have him any other way.

Even with the limited knowledge you possessed about their history with Raiden, the Thunder God liked to keep his deeper relations personal, or his feelings for others on that matter. It wasn't a testament to his lack of trust in you, rather, he just had never learnt to express such feelings accordingly. But that was a universal 'men thing'.

So the best course of action, you thought, was to give him time and space until he would come to you out of his own volition. On his own terms. When he was ready. It felt like the right thing to do, but doubts concerned you still.

Sonya, being the bestie that she is, had picked up on your spiralling mood and suggested you take a quick break from all of that. And let me tell you there was no place you'd rather take a breather from the scorching summer in America than the Lin Kuei temple.

It was freezing over here and it took you two days to get used to below zero temperatures again!

The only regret you felt was that your Thunder God wasn't with you, a small break would do him good, but this was about you this time. Raiden knew what was best for him, and with snakes like Shang Tsung and Quan Chi always plotting something behind the curtains of peace, constant vigilance was required!

Your man never did anything by halves, he always followed through - with commitment and responsibility - and not an ounce of levity in him. One of the many things you've fallen in love with when it came to him.

Even though the distance between you weighed heavier in your heart than usual, it didn't diminish the refreshing atmosphere of visiting a new place. The peace that you felt here felt divine, to a point where you had no problem meditating under the timid sun, being covered by clouds most of the time. Though the biting winds were a bit irritating during the sessions, nothing a cup of tea wouldn't remedy afterwards.

At times when it got too dull for your youthful spirit, you took a trip to their training grounds to keep you in shape for duty. The inhabitants of the temple, warriors per se, kept to themselves and left you alone for most of the time, but once you grew interested in anything relative to combat, some denizens had taken to watch you with hints of challenge brewing behind their gazes.

Some even acted upon them once they were done evaluating you as a worthy sparring partner, fighting to test and hone their skills against an outsider. That had given you enough edge to your two weeks visit, other than the occasional back-breaking slip on frozen tiles.

But as of right now, you were taking a morning walk after a healthy eight hours of sleep, far away from the flurried lifestyle in the city. You were in your standard-issue Special Forces quilted jacket, with patted cargo pants and winter boots to keep your lower body warm and cosy against the merciless cold.

The weather seemed particularly bad today. A blizzard was closing in.

Your small eyes squinted, but were left to the mercy of yet another gust of sharp wind, unlike your nose, which you burrowed further into the collar of your jacket. The fingers on your fisted hands would sooner fall off by the way you have lost feeling in them a while ago.

It made the option of turning back to your lovely room much more appealable as your mind began to long for warmth again, but the strength of your inner soldier pushed you through with the hope of slowly acclimating to the temperature... or it just may be a petty scurry.

Turns out, after a few minutes of inadvisable persistence, your guess had been right. Within the following minutes, the clouds departed from the heavens, leaving a baby blue sky to lighten up the periphery, and the wind also turned into a gentle breeze.

You looked around yourself and breathed in the untouched beauty of a winter wonderland you would never have gotten a glimpse of in your city. Without the wind to hinder your body to get warmer, you dared an escape with your hands, finding them warmer from having rested in your pouches for the entirety of your morning walk.

The discomfort that had almost convinced you to take a tactical retreat to your quarters was the last thing on your mind as you saw how much snow had gathered during the previous night, your inner child was jumping up from glee while the reigning adult weighed out all the pros and cons of your next actions.

Doesn't the snow look particularly inviting today? Would be a shame not to leave a memento of your stay here, wouldn't it?

You needed no more motivation to indulge your childish impulses and set out to build a snowman. But like a BIG one! You had to go out with a BANG! A bit like the theatric Johnny would, you imagined.

You began with a ball about the size of your hand that you had squeezed into oblivion, and proceeded to roll it carefully on the snow bed to make it larger the further you went. Only when it reached your belly did you let up and positioned it somewhere so that every time somebody would walk the same way you did, the first thing to catch their eyes would be your snowman.

Working on the torso, the desire for the presence of your lover did cross your mind more than once. Smiling fondly, you pictured how he would raise a perfectly sculpted brow, trying to gauge your motives for playing with snow.

Raiden would undoubtedly feel confused about the purpose of the activity, perhaps scold you a bit for unnecessarily taking the risk of catching a cold, but he would feel ultimately intrigued.

Being lost to your mind's mussing, you hadn't even noticed the two additional globes in front of you, ready to be placed onto your foundation. Without further ado, you picked up the fairly big (and ridiculously heavy) sphere and marched in slow measured steps towards your waiting snowman.

You panted slightly as you deposited the second ball onto the first, adjusting its position so it would stick to the middle. So far so good, you thought to yourself as you double-checked your plain creation. It would be too late after all once you put down the last globe, otherwise, you would have to do that passage all over again and that certainly didn't strike your fancy.

You would settle for no less than impeccable.

Meanwhile, there was someone watching you intently from the shadows of a nearby house. To any onlooker, it would raise alarm to be under the silent scrutiny of a stranger, but those eyes that beheld from the shadows did, by no means, belong to a person who held any malicious intentions towards you.

Quite the opposite, it was just Thunder God Raiden, silently observing with the gaze of a man in purely in love. A lovestruck fool.

Or so Johnny Cage commented the moment he had caught the god's straying glances during his frequent visits to the Special Forces base. Raiden had brushed him off without comment for if he hadn't, he imagined the self-centred human would most likely lead the topic towards himself as he always did. And Earthrealm's protector certainly wouldn't make the mistake of falling into THAT rabbit hole after the last time.

Shaking his head, it was better to dispel the man from his mind so he could continue watching your ethereal form reflected in the pearly white snow. You were truly a sight to behold, with your cheeks and nose tinted in pink and your smile curved into the most Duchenne smile at such random moments that Raiden felt anxious that he might miss one if he blinked at the wrong time.

Sometimes it was those smiles that kept him going. That kept his mourning and regretful heart filled with hope and ease.

However, of all the things he was currently taking pleasure in you was that constant glint in your orbs. The exuberance of mortals. They gave off a feeling of unrestrained happiness and carelessness in equal measure. It possessed also very infective qualities as the stoic god couldn't help but follow after your example.

Raiden simply couldn't grasp how you could be so effortlessly beautiful.

Yet you were also, at times, clumsy as hell, or let's say that sometimes, Lady Luck wasn't on your side.

But your Thunder God would always be there for you, even as you slipped on your way to finishing your snowman. Your man, with the speed of lighting only he was master of, came to the rescue, and before you could end up with a broken spine, Raiden was there to cushion your fall for he as well, fell prey to the icy coating under your feet.

It took you a second to realize that you hadn't ended up on the freezing floor, as you expected to, but rather on the alluring warmth of a person's body. The scent of petrichor was enough of a giveaway to who was your knight in shining armour. With a rushed-out laugh did you turn in your lover's arms, "Raiden!"

Well, this was most unexpected! Had the Elder Gods, for once, listened to your prayers?

Prickling eyes watched from below you, seeking out any possible injuries you might have sustained during the fall. You were hoping for a smile but were only met by a thin line. Whatever he showed, deep within him, there was content to be able to reside within your presence once again. It had been a while after all.

Quan Chi and his Revenants were keeping him on his toes enough as of late, so the opportunity to visit you had not presented itself lately even though he had put a distance between the two as of late. Were it not for his brother Fujin convincing him that he would take up Raiden's guarding duty, he might have not found himself basking in the enchanting aura of the one who held his heart.

"I owe it to you brother. I have neglected our duty for too long. I feel it is time for you to take it easier and leave things in my hands."

His brother had said to him after another rendezvous at the Sky Temple. Raiden remembered arguing against him, that it would be foolery to risk weakening their defences for nonessential rest, and while his head was his strongest advocate, his heart was simply not in it.

And of course, the one being closest to him in existence, picked up on it and struck with tenacious insistence uncharacteristic for the God of Wind. Raiden's opinion had been swayed way too easily. It was difficult to put up a fight when it came to you.

Otherwise, how would he have ended up with you here, at the Lin Kuei Temple?

With your pliant body cushioned by his towering statue, although he didn't mind the cold invading his backside, it wasn't that he could be impervious to its effects forever, so he lifted you with himself to a standing position, which wasn't really that awkward since you were thoroughly acquainted with his profane strength as Earthrealm's protector, but he had never properly swiped you off your feet.

It brought a deeper blush to your stiff cheeks as you curiously eyed your lover for this sudden act of intimacy. The Thunder God had explained to you, fairly soon into your relationship, that any public display of affection was not be shown whilst in the presence of others. For safety reasons only, otherwise, Raiden thrived on your attention.

But you understood. It would put a large crosshair on you. A damn big one at that.

Yet it hurt you secretively - the need for discretion. The darker parts of your mind, which seemed to manifest point when your self-worth hit a new low, liked to whisper you things that you knew Raiden would never say to you. Things like: Raiden thinks you too weak to fend for yourself or you're another burden upon his conscience...

You didn't want to be those things to him, so your drive to grow stronger, to grow into someone your lover could depend on, had become your fresh goal in life. If it would lift a bit of the god's worry for your safety and thus, not wear him down as much, it would be totally worth it. That was why you began training like a crazed woman in your spare time.

Sonya made an excellent sparring partner and you were slowly gaining up on her military prowess, you also detached some spare time to train with warriors of the Lin Kuei to measure your progress. You wanted to get better, not for yourself, but for him.

"Will you hear out my apology, my dear?" The god beckoned your drifting thoughts to himself. His arms held you loosely, not because they were tiring, surely not, but to give you space to answer. As per usual, it was difficult to gauge the god's motive by facial expression alone, so you kept it simple.

"Yes, honey, go on."

Your voice was measured and didn't carry anything that might notify him of any scorn Raiden expected to be met with. Even if it were not so, he would consider it justified for how he had treated you the last month; from distancing himself from your relationship, to avoiding you for most time of a week without offering a grain of explanation in return.

"Words cannot express how much it pains me to have caused you a reason to think you were at fault for my negligent behaviour. It was never my intent to cause you any sort of distress, and I humbly beg for your forgiveness..."

You listened to him quieten all of a sudden, a shadow creeping up his expression as the walls around his guard tightened in response. One that spoke of an ill augury about a ravaging storm, ready to destroy anything in its wake at a time closer to the future that you'd like. And that storm seemed to have started brewing inside your lover's heart ever since their victory. Possibly even sooner but you wouldn't know for sure because you'd only got to see it now.

Fearing the dark place his thoughts had wandered off to, you palmed his cheeks in reassurance. Hoping to be like the Sun that was scattering a grimy gathering of irate clouds. And it did, albeit you were certain that they weren't completely chased away, never to return.

His jaw unclenched at your feathery touch, a contact he didn't know how much he missed until being reacquainted with it, yet it was enough to centre his thoughts on you, and not this thing growing inside of him.

"I- I just..." He would never get used to stumbling over his words in your presence.

"Hey," you gave him a goofy smile and caressed the other side of his face, "there's nothing to forgive, Raiden, I will never stand in your way for some alone time."

It was an interesting perk you possessed, in his opinion, to be able to rob him of his words repeatedly. He often thought of how your forgiveness knew no bounds and hated himself for using it for his advantage at times.

If he could only explain this state of mind he was residing in. This indisposition of his orderly mind but every time he tried to get out a word, his voice seemed to get stuck in his throat and the pressure behind his eyelids threateningly intensified the longer he attempted to speak.

Truth was... the mighty Thunder God... he didn't know exactly what... but it wasn't good. Physically, his body was perfectly fine, but on the other hand, why did he feel these intense aches, almost like a gaping hole, consistently thrashing at his chest as if it were a second heart?

You caught him staring off into space once again, maybe finding refuge in it, but there was a sense of devastation around him.

A glazed look in his eyes as he mercilessly overworked himself and all his brainpower. You know by giving him space you were giving him time to think of a reason why he had set distance between the two of you, and would it be any other guy, your insecurities would have pushed you to press for immediate answers.

You halted any actions, you had to remind yourself that the god had always given you space to shed what had been on your mind, so you were returning the favour.

And Raiden wasn't looking for an excuse. No, no man who would appear this agonized looking for a measly excuse.

He bore the look of a man who desperately sought help, someone to quell the demons raging and causing havoc inside him, but didn't know how to ask and you never felt more called than in this instance.

Raiden truly NEEDED you and you would throw yourself into the Sea of Blood and sink for all eternity rather than let him down.

"My love," you began tenderly, full of love and safety, but also with an edge of sternness to it, "I can tell that this is hard for you. Come with me to my quarters and we will speak more of it."

The meekness of his reaction spoke volumes about his emotional state as he got the hint to set you down. You wanted to crush him into a bear hug, another direct peek at him would cement your thought of action, so you swiftly took him by his hand and dragged him with you.

You knew the Temple well enough by now to navigate the route without the most eyes guarding it, and the two of you found yourself in your small room. As soon as the door was closed, you didn't miss a step in encasing your arms around his frame.

It took him a while to reciprocate but you did your best to silence the yelp he drew from you as he crushed you to himself. Dwarfing you in every possible way as his body began to tremble. It would be any moment now that his walls would crumble away and send a flood of unsuppressed emotions your way.

"I was at fault," he spoke quietly, voice muffled by your hair, but he seemed restless to find more comfort in your body.

And you were prepared to wrestle his demons out of his system no matter how many times it took.

All fight seemed to leave his body as he took off his round hat, falling to his knees in the process so he could burrow his head in your stomach, arms snaking around your butt. His mind had turned into a broken record as he repeated the same sentence over and over again, "My fault. My fault. My fault."

Your long-sleeved shirt became slowly drenched in his tears. Your very heart was breaking with each sob so much that you came close to shedding tears yourself, but not this time, if it would only cause him more distress. You continued to hold him tightly, even when your neck had begun to strain from looking down for so long. Even when your feet became number by the second from standing still.

At some point, you had taken down the cowl he wore, as an attempt to distract you and Raiden from your rampant emotions, and ran your fingers through his white mane. This was your next favourite thing in line when it came to aftercare. On the top being cuddling with pillow talk, and you hoped it conveyed the same message it did then.

You weren't keeping tabs on how long it had taken him to calm down to hiccups, but you figured his knees had to be as sore as your soles and slowly stirred him to get into bed with you. The bed itself lacked width to accommodate you both so in his favour, you had given up lying beside him and opted to sit down by his bedside, but your lover had no plans of giving up your closeness.

It was within seconds that he manoeuvred you to lay on top of him, ironically ending up in the same position as when you had slipped on hidden ice. Your thoughts briefly wandered over to your unfinished snowman, wondering if it was still there, but your focus was back on him in no time.

You contemplated if now would be a good time to say anything to him, or would you startle him from his contemplative silence?

"Raiden, my love, talk to me."

First came silence and you grew hopeful at the lack of immediate rebuttal, and then he began talking.

Oh, you were in for a ride.

The holes in Sonya's story were being slowly filled through Raiden's narrative and you could feel the profound emotions that the god had held in for too long. They were so intense that you wondered how he could have held his composure for this long without breaking down, you certainly would have.

The anguish that gushed out of your lover was enough to reduce you to tears and you couldn't help yourself but feel immense sadness at his loss.

God-fucking-hell, he had to watch Kung Lao be underhandedly murdered by Shao Kahn after coming out victorious from his battle against both Quan Chi and Shang Tsung, then Kintaro. He had arrived too late at the headquarters to save his defenders from being slaughtered by the revived and empowered Sindel, losing Liu Kang's trust for sure this time.

His desperation had run so deep that he even went to Netherrealm to sell his and his allies' souls to the demon Quan Chi in exchange for support against Shao Kahn only to be pitted against the very people he had let down, undead and corrupted, his late son Kung Lao among them. That must have felt like a dagger to the heart.

His trip, however, hadn't been without reward and he had finally figured out the message his past self had tried to convey to him to avoid Armaggedon. Shao Kahn had been 'he who must win' all this time. But Liu Kang, having been overtaken by grief and spurred on by hatred, had mistrusted Raiden and went to face the Emperor either way.

Raiden, having known that if Liu Kang won Armageddon would ensue, attempted to stop Liu Kang, fighting and defeating him. Undeterred, Liu Kang had refused to back down from his goal and that was when the Thunder God made possibly the gravest mistake of his eternal life, he accidentally killed his own son. HIS SON!

Then, oh no, we're not yet at the end, he still had to let this fucking prick of an Emperor win so the Elder Gods could finally use their oh-so-powerful magic to kill him off indefinitely. You didn't expect to be on such a roller-coaster of emotions. You were incredibly high on them right now.

Fury. Sadness. Grief. Pity.

And it all came down to this fucking amulet and its fucking message that was the cause of your lover's pain. Raiden didn't have it currently on him but if it were there at its usual spot on his left pectoral, it would have been decimated in your aggression beyond recognition.

It wasn't the only thing you began to hate with a passion.

The Elder Gods and their stupid policies were officially on your shit list and you had every nerve to bash their godly skulls into their thrones for their passivity, regardless of your lover's worship of them. Your belief had always been dwindling in them, but now it was fully null and nullified. They didn't deserve Raiden's servitude nor your faith.

Another part of you also hated your lover's past self for being so imprecise in his warning. Would it have been so difficult to attach a name to the 'He must win'? Raiden would have been spared so much.

You'd do anything to elevate Raiden of these beyond dark and twisted experiences but you couldn't, and that made you feel powerless, but you could shower him with endless amounts of love and support.

No matter where his mental health would regress in the future. You'd be there for him until the end of your time came. In life, as in death and my word you were now more than ever convinced he was the only one for you. You wouldn't be feeling so intensely and preaching wedding vows if it weren't so.

And now he had finally overcome his fear of letting down his guard and opened a hidden path to his heart for you. There were not enough words you could thank him with nor had anyone bared themselves so fully to you.

There wasn't only an incomprehensible amount of pride and gratitude swelling inside of you for the bravery of your lover, but fright also crept up your heart. Fear of the immense power he had bestowed upon you.

You were feeling ironic, this was what you wanted all along, so why were you so scared out of your wits now that you had his heart in your hand? A better question yet, who wouldn't be? Who wouldn't tremble in wake of clutching something as fragile as a heart?

The tables have turned, or maybe his strong emotions influenced your own, for now, you were the one who now cowered in fear and uncertainty into the bulwark of a man that was your lover. It brought a small smile to your face, knowing that even weakened, the god's mere presence gave you enough strength to face whatever malady bothered you.

Now, you had your small moment, however, that didn't give you permission to further avoid what Raiden needed you to be - his haven.

"Raiden," your voice was thick with lingering emotions but that didn't stop you, "this— nothing —was your fault."

Whose fault was it then, if not his? He asked himself.

Wasn't he the one everyone looked for guidance?

Wasn't he the one who encouraged Kung Lao to fight for Earthrealm's future only to have his neck snapped at the hour of victory?

Wasn't he the one who was supposed to figure out the reason his amulet kept breaking?

Wasn't he the one who guided everyone to an early grave by listening to esoteric visions of the future?

As if knowing exactly what went through his mind, you reaffirmed your statement with an undeniable edge, "Raiden, my love, my heart, no fault lies within you and I need you to realize that."

He looked stunned at your assertive yet pleading tone, but you butted in before he could come up with another reason to convince him that he had any hand in the cruel fate that had befallen Earthrealm's best warriors, "You may be a god, but that doesn't mean you don't make mistakes. We all do at some point, Raiden. I can see why you would hold yourself responsible for the death of Liu Kang, but you didn't raise your hand with the intent to kill him..."

The god didn't know why he so stubbornly couldn't accept your words, but they didn't seem right to him. They were too forgiving for someone who wasn't above killing his own son for the sake of preventing Armaggedon, "But I could have-"

"You couldn't have done more, my love, because you have already given it your all. Everything else has been outside of your control."

Your voice shifted constantly on the spectrum of intensity, and it left you sounding as unyielding as a rock and then by the next second, as gentle as a lover's caress. Controlling it felt like an impossible task to you as of right now.

It dismayed you, how your lover, so quick to paint himself the villain of this tragedy, spoke harshly, "How can it not be?! Was it not me who-"

Desperation showed in the way you searched for his eyes and reached for his cheeks, in the need to convey the truth that you believed and your lover denied, "Because you didn't know any better!"

By this point, you were getting rather frustrated. From the way you seem to fail to convince him. To the unfairness of reality that had bitten a good chunk off Raiden's mind. But most importantly, you were angry at yourself for not realizing his plight sooner.

God, he has been in pain for so long and all you've ever worried about was if you had given him enough space. It was madding, really, how blind you've been to his silent suffering.

"I don't know, Raiden! I really don't have a fucking clue!"

You gushed out in anger falsely directed at your lover, this was probably the worst way you could have reacted but you were overwhelmed, and in a failing attempt to calm down you forced your voice to smoothen.

"I am sorry for snapping at you, but you have to understand one thing: Regardless of your mistakes, I will love you no less than I have before. And it hurts me so to see the man I love put himself down when all he did was protect what was precious to him. Misguided as he thinks his actions may have been."

You sighed, "You didn't wish for their deaths."

And with that concluded, you literally burrowed your face back into his robes in embarrassment over your anger issue and partly because you had never asserted such dominance over someone. Holy shit, you thought, this escalated quickly.

The rant effectively shut him up as he had no points to raise left. Or rather, his stubbornness was defeated by your undying love. And for once he was thankful to have raised the white flag. It seemed although, that he may have laid too much of his burdens at once, rather than have confided in you sequentially from the very beginning, as he should have.

"I-," he gulped down the joint that had been stuck in his throat, he imagined you wouldn't react well to another apology, "I understand, my darling."

You huffed into his robes. Well, this was something new, you had expected him to stick to being adamant about his feelings, but alas, the day just kept turning from one direction to another. So mayhaps, a small proposition wouldn't be any stranger than what had already conspired.

"Hey, Raiden," you garnered his attention easily, red-faced and pouty, and Raiden's grief fled at the overwhelming adorableness of your flustered state. The warmth was impossible to ignore as it rose up his spine.

You looked up from having your head slotted under his chin and asked sheepishly, "Do you want to build a snowman?"

It was uncanny how immaculately you predicted the raise of his brow.

You knew him too well, and he wouldn't have you any other way.

#raiden x reader #lord raiden #mk raiden #netherrealm studios #raiden mortal kombat #fluff #grief/mourning #coping with grief #snow aesthetic #winter #clumsy af #ice

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one-joe-spoopy · 1 year

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Back onto my spooky penumbra shit.

Okay, so, I have some basic outlines for them all. (Courtesy of @things-in-the-walls helping me with these)

Vespa is the same thing as Peter, except she's more substantial than him because she told her one true name and decided to stick to it, thus tethering her to reality in a way he never could (outer rimes are more likely to lose their souls as compared to those from the solar planets) and when Fresh Starts got to her, they pushed her from boogeyman to shade. Turned her into the flickering shape with no form or purpose beyond them winding her up, pointing her in a direction and watching her go. Unlike Peter who's built his entire brand on being a ghost, radiation plus being incorporeal essentially destroys her, so she and Buddy are very lucky to reunite when they do. Just like with Peter, she makes Juno's head hurt but mostly because he's squinting all the time just to see her because, well, she isn't always entirely there.

Buddy's a corpse bride. Well, that's technically not the proper term for her, but it sounds better than calling herself a zombie. The radiation killed her, yes, but the dead are so very stubborn sometimes and she just...got back up to continue her vigil. The metal replacements for her organs and skin grafts help make sure that she doesn't completely fall apart, but they don't work as well anymore, and sometimes you can find her sitting and stitching herself together again. But real talk, Buddy's not sure how long she can keep going as a patchwork monster of a woman because it's really not common for solar people to end up in her current predicament, but until that fateful day comes up she's going to keep going. And it is Jet's handiwork that kept her alive years before and continues to do so today.

So, speaking of Jet, I have decided that he is a wish-granting trickster. Don't ask me why, but that's all that keeps rattling about my skull. Like, he's not necessarily malevolent but it is wise to be careful with what you say around him. He likes pranks and practical jokes, but not the same way as he used to. Neometh plus an inclination towards playing tricks is never a good mix, especially when you're a criminal with very little impulse control. At any rate, Jet's turned his life around and definitely does not fuck with Juno because his reactions are pure gold. Absolutely not. Perish the thought. (I got very inspired by the ifrit's I do not grant wishes.)

Rita is a conduit (is that the word?) and mostly works with Juno, though he's refused her help one too many times. When things go wrong for him it's usually because he decides to hurtle headfirst into danger without consulting anything he sees with her. Rita's also...well, partial isn't the right word to use, because her grasp on technology borders on the supernatural itself. A real gift.

Of course the Ruby 7 is still a shapeshifting alien, no way I'd ever change that.

#spooky penumbra au #toldja i had plans for the others #jet siquliak #rita [redacted]#vespa ilkay #buddy aurinko #ruby 7 #the whole crew's here

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stormxpadme · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 No. 23 - Tied to a table & “Hold them down.”

2035

This was … bad. This was potential knockout material.

From all Logan knew about this asshole keeping his family and him prisoner, the guy's fucked up methods had always easily matched even the ones of Logan's Weapon X torturers at the time, sure. But this, right here … wasn't just sick and fucking agonizing, not to mention the fact that his wife and his other two lovers had to watch with their own two eyes as some 200 years hundreds old mad scientist was cutting Logan open … It was also dangerous on a level Logan hadn't often run into trouble before.

It should technically have been good news that at least, Essex hadn't slapped an inhibitor on him, unlike on Jean, Scott, and Scott's wife who were all frozen in shock in their respective cells, the only occupied ones in that lab rat track lining the operation theater from all sides, like some absurd arena. Being – unfortunately – as brilliant as he was clinically insane, that bastard was too smart to let someone possibly die on him that he wanted to use as a living weapon, shield and for his sick experiments to accelerate his comparatively low healing factor all at once.

That didn't make the nauseating pain of a laser scalpel neatly peeling Logan open from his lower ribcage all the way down to his loins before the unforgiving, ice cold clamps of huge wound retractors started to keep his abused flesh from mending back in place, any easier to bare though. Moreover, judging by the way Logan started to feel dizzy from the enormous blood loss immediately, his voice, thankfully, too hoarse for any more screams after minutes already and not recovering immediately on its own … There had to be at least a weak kind of inhibitor radiation somewhere nearby. This little shit knew exactly what he was doing, and sadly, he had the means to achieve it, too. If none of them didn't come up with an idea to end this dicey situation as soon as possible, Logan doubted he would make it home from this captivity in the middle of their fucking beach holiday in one piece, if at all.

"Oh, right. That." His enemy wasn't busy enough cutting through his organs in what felt like a completely random pattern to not notice the way, Logan's wide-open eyes were wandering through the room, searching the source for this compromised condition, between gagging on the bile, spit and blood that was dripping from his scream-split lips and gasping out chopped breaths through the all-consuming agony in the parts of his body not shielded by his Adamantium. "I think this is what you're looking for, Mister Howlett." His snow-white face the menacingly grinning grimace of a skeleton, Essex held up what he'd prepared behind him on a sterile table for this so-called revolutionary next surgery of his. Some metal device shaped in the same diamond form that was that asshole's goddam brand, sticking to his forehead like a blood mark. On the apparatus' shell, there was indeed not only the lazy red blinking of an inhibitor signal showing but also the golden and blue paneling of a radio signal receiver. "A masterpiece, if I may say myself. You see, the moment I find a suitable place for this feeder between your intestines, it will inject minuscule amounts of a toxin even lethal to a robust system like yours into your blood. With this remarkable healing factor of yours, of course, the damage from that concoction will be continuously repaired; I'm afraid you will be feeling its effects on a non-subtle level nonstop. I am confident that with this new beautiful piece in place, you and I will quickly come to an agreement about your services in my ranks. That is, unless you wish me to activate the crystal's internal inhibitor, the receiver range of which reaches far beyond this continent, I might add, and find out if you can use those fascinating weapons in your hands quickly enough on yourself to not perish to most unpleasant poisoning ... Or …" With a dramatic little swirl, Essex turned to the cell closest to the theater where Jean had sunk down to the ground, with her knees hugged close to her body, her face almost as white as her captor's, staring ahead entirely unmoving.

A sight that was so much worse even than the gruesome pain leaving Logan to writhe in his Adamantium bonds hard enough for them to cut all the way through to the same alloy enwrapping his bones, a disgusting, screeching, clanking sound louder with every second this torture went on.

And Essex very much obviously was in no hurry. "You do, of course, still have the option of asking your wife to comply with all of my requests and put an end to all this. You need to understand, Mister Howlett: My favorite research object over there, or his lowly classified spouse, I do not necessarily require for my current series of tests. And while you would make a beautiful addition to my rebuilt forces, I am a man true to my word when I enter an agreement. You two can put an end to this unappetizing episode anytime by giving me what I desire."

Logan would have snorted if he hadn't been too busy coughing blood for that. He'd, fortunately, got to know his wife better in the course of the decades than to think she was even considering, no matter how far her soul had fled into complete apathy, helping what was one of the most dangerous and powerful enemies both of mutant- and mankind on this planet of all people to burst the mental chains around most of his abilities that Charles and Emma had once placed upon him, right after learning about the bastard's existence.

Of course that had been before both Old Baldy and that Frost psycho had fucked up so badly that they had either gotten tired of justifying their bullshit on Earth and had rather left to fuck certain Empresses of planet-destroying alien Empires full-time or had had to be taken away from Earth with a mental equivalent of a prison shackle by force. Both of which had weakened that decades-old mental hold on that asshole so much that he'd managed to break free and restart his damn army and empire of labs and storages of medical data on mutants around the world. And he was long from being finished.

So far, they'd all been lucky enough to not be hit with the full force of the guy's powers – which Logan seriously doubted they could have survived even if every super-powered being on this damn planet had worked together –, mostly, because everything that Essex had stolen in the course of the centuries from his countless examination objects, was still trapped in that jail of his own fucked up head. It was one of the few things, Logan reluctantly had to give Charles and his blonde partner-in-crime credit for, no matter how many manipulations, lies, and downright ethical crimes it had taken for the two of them to hide this part of their work from the rest of the world.

Jean might not share all of Logan's animosities towards her old mentors, but there was no way in hell she would unleash this creature's full might back onto this world just to save Logan from slavery or worse, even if it would tear her sane mind and heart to pieces. Not her. Not she, who had been forced to do that very thing with another, more cosmic but just as insane being trying to destroy all life in the universe two times already. Something Jean had once told him after her first death pricked his increasingly dazed thoughts in spite of that relieving fog of threatening unconsciousness that promised, Logan would at least not have to feel the part of the procedure that might as well tear him away from his home and everyone he loved there for good. Something about fate ... Something about how Scott would not have been able to save Jean in Logan's place and that maybe the two of them had meant to be together from the start. As much as Logan cared for Jean's and his two part-time lovers, he could only find that his amazingly clever wife had been right once more.

If it had been Scott, tied to this stretcher right now instead of standing completely still there in his cell, watching his arch-enemy with the blazing heat of a dying sun in his eyes but unable to unleash it from them … One of them would have broken, Jean or him. Simply because Scott's body, capable as it was, had not been equipped with the same gift as Logan's. Which meant, Jean wouldn't have had even the smallest hope that Logan knew her to be clinging to right now, even with their link rendered inactive, that she could have got him back, somehow, even if it took decades. Fate indeed.

Essex seemed to tire of waiting for anyone to indulge his sick fantasies in silence and walked back to Logan's stretcher with something almost akin to a shrug, a surprisingly human notion for someone not even possessing the basic sense of empathy by nature and having no problem with that. "I was kind enough to offer. As I was saying: This device that I have been working on since I regained enough of my old strength to break free of the bonds that were …"

Logan somehow managed to turn his head Scott's way in spite of the growing heaviness in his muscles and let out a cynical huff, which brought up what felt like half a liter of more fluids he couldn't tell any longer what they were, ending up in a decorative white and rust red puddle on the ground. He didn't expect them to be able to stop the guy from his most recent insane plan, but at least buying time had in the past more than once made a significant difference. Though admittedly not in situations like this when no one was missing them yet and even if they did, no one would be able to track them down, not with Jean's and Noemi's mental connection cut and Logan's and Noemi's bond being far too weak for such ambitious plans. But if there was one thing Logan had learned from the life by his wife's side, it was hope to the last desperate second because it had paid off more than once. And talking kept him from giving in to the roaring, livid rage of the animal that was his instincts inside because that wouldn't do any of them any good as long as his claws were stopped by Adamantium shackles while he was bleeding out and going into multiple shocks from pain and blood loss and croaking from organ failure all at once. "That guy always talking that much?"

"I wouldn't know," Scott answered, surprisingly soberly for Logan being able to see even from over here that every single muscle of his body was tense. That he was only waiting for the chance to tear his oldest enemy to pieces, in spite of knowing just like the rest of them, even that would only be a temporary relief as long as Essex had his damn clones stationed everywhere on this damn planet and could telepathically transfer his whole mind to any of them within split seconds. Similar to Jean, Scott didn't waste energy, trying to fight someone a hundred times more powerful than him, unlike his wife next door who had been very grimly busy, ever since waking up from whatever tranquilizer they'd all been taken out with at the Caribbean, to manipulate the lock of her cell with hardly more than two nails and a hairpin, as if Essex wasn't even there. As if their enemy didn't just a wave of his weakened but still working telekinesis to shift all damage back into place. Right now, all they had on the asshole was words and spite, and sometimes that had to do. "Charles was nice enough to purge all that narcissistic pathos of his from my mind, as you know. Thank god for small favors." For someone who hadn't remembered Essex existed until five years ago and who, thanks to said installed barriers in his mind, still didn't know anything about him but what Emma occasionally penned down in a few e-mails from her increasingly fuzzy memory, Scott sure as fuck knew exactly how to play that asshole like a fiddle who'd been obsessed with him all his life.

Essex didn't bother to let that gap in the size of the Rockies in Logan's midsection close but his device was forgotten for the moment when he approached his victims' cells with slow, stiff steps, his head held high, his teeth clenching so hard, Logan thought he could hear it even through the cotton covering his senses. "That's correct, young Mister Summers. Your former mentor was thoroughly making sure, your fragile mind doesn't lose itself to insanity before he could exploit your powers himself. The man you claim to have loved so much was only ever interested in what your body had to offer. Correct me if I'm wrong but did he not leave you without as much as a goodbye or lifting those barriers in your head?"

Scott leaned against the cell door with an unbelievably bitter grin on his lips that Logan doubted he had to feign. "Right. Because you are haunting and torturing my family and me solely for our irresistible charm."

Definitely a shrug this time. "Unlike your old puppet master, I was always honest about needing you for your gift. But I richly reward those who are mine. Were you not enslaved by Charles Xavier long enough, Scott? You know I always keep a spot for you vacant in the highest ranks of my army."

Scott turned away coolly. "Thanks for the consideration, asshole. But I think I'm actually really good with knowing only scraps about you."

Logan could swear he could see Essex' tall, strong shape shake in growing aggression that was so much unlike his usual detached demeanor for a moment. "Suit yourself, boy. With these class four telepaths so eager to protect your ignorance no longer around, I promise, you will no longer be able to forget about me." Abruptly turning away, the bastard stalked to one of the hall's dozen cabinets with instruments and came back with a long, thick pole that didn't look particularly dangerous at first sight … Not before one of Essex' hands turned into a harsh fist, his powers reshaping one end of the rod. His blurring sight didn't allow Logan to make out what the sicko was up to this time, not until Essex reached for one of his beloved laser scalpels next and heated his new tool, revealing its now orange glowing, smoking end to be of the same shape the asshole was wearing on his face. A lazy wave of hand later, one of the eerily human-shaped robots in this facility that Essex was commanding with his sheer mind stomped towards Scott's cell.

At this point, the blood loss had become too grating for Logan to even keep his eyes open. He thankfully kept on drifting off, even the hole in his body at this point nothing but lethal emptiness, the turmoil of his emotions dazed too much to decide between dull admiration for his team leader's unwavering strength and frustration about the stupid stubbornness with which Scott had just earned himself a ticket on the agony coaster himself.

But what Logan could make out easily still was that uncharacteristic loathing, hissed tone in Essex' voice that revealed Scott had indeed managed to land a blow himself for once. "Hold him down." That obviously meant, nothing had come from an unfair duel between a very well-trained but dehydrated and exhausted body and a metal shape twice its size with the strength to match.

If Logan was lucky enough, he would pass out before he would have to hear the screams.

He didn't hear Scott scream. He heard Scott's wife talk, for the first time since they'd all woken up in this moldy underground facility that could be anywhere from the equator to Atlantis for all they knew. "Revenge doesn’t become you, Essex."

"Cat … don't." The provocative defiance gone instantly, Scott panted out his warning between groans of pain from whatever bruises the sparring against metal guy had left. With none of those links that Jean's abilities had created between all of them in the course of the years working right now, there weren't a lot of ways Scott could try to keep his not exactly-always-rational partner from some stupidity. Not that he was having a lot of success with that any other day.

"Shut up, kitten," Logan somehow managed to grit out as well with what was left of his voice. Which wasn't a lot at this point.

He doubted it would have made a difference if his lover had heard. "Non-procedural physical alterations, really? And here the woman who has put your ugly mug six feet under for decades won't get tired yapping about how you compartmentalize all your personal sensitivities away from your work."

"I am not reciprocating," Essex returned stiffly, but Logan could hear the asshole had actually stopped on his way to Scott's cell again. When he somehow managed to pry his eyes open once more, he could see a clear hesitation in the way the bastard looked back and forth between the unruly prisoner that he hadn't even given a second glance to so far and his so much more loathed other victim. The pause lasted only for a moment before he straightened his posture again. "I am reclaiming what is mine so that we can all save ourselves these unpleasant encounters in the future. When we first met, you used to know I was inevitable, Scott. It will be easier for all of us if you never forget it again."

"Really. Couple of PhDs, an M.D, the occasional pact with eon old assholes, and this is the best you can come up with." Katja wasn't finished yet, pissing someone off who could squash her like a damn fly, and Logan very much hoped that his favorite kitten knew what she was doing, because for once, none of them was in a good position to pull her fine ass out of trouble. One thing was for sure, she had been spending far more time reading those highly confidential little snippets of information on this bastard here that Emma occasionally sent them from her space exile than Katja would let on, more than one would expect, given that bitter enmity between her former mentor and her. "Hundreds of years spent in the shadow, making sure there's not a single trace you leave on your most prized jewel, because what good surgeon likes to give their patient scars … And now? You sure someone's not being a little petty here? What was that you used to tell people about cruelty for no purpose being ignorance?"

"Oh, I have a very specific purpose in mind for the man that the two of us happen to share, my darling thunder angel." An ugly laugh came from Essex' lips, betraying all his usual noble claims about his only goal being the good of humanity and bringing it to salvation single-handedly. "But I am thinking, you might be right. A reminder to not resist serving science when I am calling might be a lot more effective when Mister Summers here is confronted with the consequences of his noncompliance every day henceforth."

One half turn on his heel and a prompting snap of Essex later, robot guy had slammed Scott's resisting body back against the cell's back wall and shut the door, only to open the one right next to it. Huge, unforgiving hands grabbed Katja around her throat before she could even think of defending herself with her own long-trained athletic maneuvers, knocking the wind out of that terribly small and fragile-looking body by forcing it brutally against the cell's bars.

A cut of a sharp-clawed metal finger later, Katja's top hung from her upper body in pieces. The fight of all that anger that had filled her enough a second ago to challenge one of the most powerful beings in this universe, left as quickly as it had come.

Logan only realized that a new, weak surge of energy had revived his own cells when that ugly rattling of his wrist bones against his cuffs sounded once more, more rivulets of thick red dripping onto the dark-tiled ground, an unhinged growl on his lips that was nothing but a promise Essex' way.

Though underlined with a lot less feral noises, spoken with almost scary emptiness instead, Scott left no doubt that his threat wasn't any less serious. "You lay hand on her, Essex, it's the last thing you'll be doing."

"Maybe you should seek your former partner's assistance with restoring your memories about our common past, Mister Summers." The scornful glee was back in Essex' voice, leaving no doubt about how much this sick son of a bitch really enjoyed his sadism the moment he found a good enough excuse for it. "Then I would not have to remind you how much I dislike getting my hands dirty." His newly heated rod in his hand, not stopping for even another second, their enemy entered Katja's cell.

Through the shadows in these parts of the room and the obstacle of the thick bars, not to mention the veils of tears and sweat and blood and exhaustion in his eyes, there wasn't a lot Logan could make out at this point.

But when Katja's and his eyes did meet for a moment, there was not a hint of the fear, despair, and guilt suddenly in them that was radiating off every of Scott's cells, now that he had to watch his oldest enemy torture the love of his life … with a scenario like this happening for the second time. Only this time, Katja had consciously and willingly chosen it. That bitter triumph on her face didn't even vanish entirely when her scream filled the hollow echo of the room, along with the sickening smell of burnt flesh. This was exactly what she had been going for, and she was facing it with both eyes open like every other challenge in her life.

Logan didn't get a lot of time to be proud of his kitten.

Essex had only just left that cell again with a satisfied nod, leaving his prisoner in a trembling, curled-up heap on the floor when Logan's dampened hearing could pick up on the smallest, quietest click of metal from the direction of Scott's cell.

Instead of withdrawing into her fears and grief as Logan had actually thought for ten dumb minutes, Jean had gathered whatever small hint of cosmic force she had kept behind in her cells after finally being parted from Dark Phoenix for good, to bypass the obstacle of her inhibitor collar, for being able to use her telekinesis on another one.

Before the two halves of the broad metal band had even entirely fallen from Scott's neck, Sinister's current body was blown into a thousand pieces, followed by the one of the robot nearby and two more waiting in the operating theater's corners.

With how completely unhinged at the seams his team leader obviously was, a dangerous glare of red still smoldering in his pupils even after the enemies had fallen, Logan had to give him as much exhausted credit as his failing thoughts could still come up with, for having enough wit left to first shoot the lock on Jean's cell to pieces before even blasting his own and then the one on Katja's door before rushing into that room, falling onto shaking knees to take his wife in his arms.

Those two would be alright for the moment, Logan supposed, though they all certainly shouldn't sit around here for too long, wherever here was, before the next army of robots or possibly even some Marauders would come storming in here. It wasn't like he could have helped his lovers a lot right now anyway.

With the well-known, professional touch, free of even the slightest tremble, of his wife on those cruel instruments in his body, the sickening tug and tear of pressure finally gone just seconds later … But then the real pain started, the animal inside breaking free with a hysteric scream from its leash, leaping forward, wiping every sane thought and emotion but revenge and defense out with pure adrenaline and hot, blind-red rage … Luckily for everyone in the room, the smallest twitch going through Logan's upper body when he instinctively tried to break free from his real bonds once more, had him black out.

***

They must have gotten the most necessary hydration and sustenance into him in the time, however long it had taken the others to blast and shove their way free from whichever fortress of their enemy they'd been in this time. When Logan opened his eyes next, the usual unnerving nausea of missing ground under his feet and the calming, low hum of the Blackbird's engine soothed the last of feral wrath inside of him trying weakly to break free once more but being far too numbed for it from his body still plenty busy trying to repair itself.

Jean's soft touch against his forehead, her gentle kiss against his too-dry lips did the rest to ground him back in reality. "Almost home. Wounds have all closed. A night on an IV, half of Hank's sugar stock, and a bottle of the good stuff or two, and you'll be fine."

"Thank you, Red." Logan pulled her second hand that was holding his close for a brief kiss; that was all his still annoyingly weak muscles allowed for the moment. He needed her to know though, how proud he was of her. How grateful that this shitshow had ended before they could have been parted once more for only God knew how long. And for stepping in before a certain other ugly scene on the other side of the room could have become even worse. "The others?"

Jean let out a sigh of the same resignation and tender admiration Logan remembered feeling for a certain member of their group earlier and nodded to the other side of the jet, the small figure laying there on the passenger bench on her stomach, nuzzling against the caress of her husband on the side of her face, her neck, far from where a huge bandage was covering her shoulder. "She learned a little too much from you for my taste."

"It's not Logan's fault someone here still doesn't know their limits," Scott threw in unusually harshly, ignoring the astonished raised eyebrows from a certain blue furball and an aging Cajun in the cockpit, not pulling back when his wife winced a little but also leaving no doubt whom this anger was directed at right now. "Why …? What the fuck were you thinking, Katja?"

"That you suffered from this madman enough," Katja gave back calmly, her voice, too, still rough from screaming and captivity, but free of any doubt.

"And you shouldn’t have at all." Scott's free hand clenched in his suspiciously messy hair for a moment, another weak red tint in his sky-blue pupils revealing how much this captivity had really hurt him, in spite of walking away from it basically without a scratch. Especially because of that. "Neither of you. You should never have been dragged into this. I should have searched for him alone the moment Emma told me about him."

"Where would you have started looking?" Jean tried to stifle these exhausting, useless new waves of self-flagellation that ran so deeply in this damn family before they could even arise. "Please, enlighten us. Tell us what we missed, what we lacked in our attempts to find something that Emma and Charles buried and burned all traces of decades ago, so thoroughly that Emma doesn't even remember herself."

"I should have done something," Scott insisted, even moving away from his wife for a moment as if he'd feared that Katja's patient caress over his reddened cheek, the agitatedly working muscles of his neck could stop these self-destructive thoughts he sometimes liked to lose himself in so much as they were making the pain inside easier to bear. "Today should never have happened. What you all went through, what you had to see, Jean ..."

"I didn’t." Only Jean's remarkably placid interruption finally had Scott stop, his head tilted in confusion. "It might have escaped your attention, but I was kind of busy. Like, with manipulating the lock of your collar with powers on a class 1 level. Or cutting Essex off from all his clones safe for the one he had ready as an escape this time."

For long seconds, all of them were speechless. Even in the cockpit, no one was breathing.

Logan's senses were still far too exhausted to make out a lot but to see that glistening suddenly shining in Scott's eyes, he didn't need them. He was pretty sure, their lover would have stormed over to kiss Jean senseless if Logan wasn't just doing that himself. "Sometimes I forget you were always the strongest of us," he murmured against her shoulder when she took him tightly in his arms, the soft touch of her hair, the faint smell of roses always lingering on her skin the necessary further input of affection and memory to drown out the last of agony and dread. "Why didn't you take the last one away from him too, though?"

Jean showed a frustrated grimace and an apologetic shrug Scott's way. No, that had not been the last meeting with that son of a bitch yet. But for the first time in decades, hope was at least very justified that it would happen soon. "He would have got suspicious. I couldn't risk that he'd kill the ones among us he thought expendable in revenge. Or torture them further."

"If he'd been gone forever then, that would have been a small price to pay." Though everyone looked at her with a good amount of irritation, Katja lowered her eyes just as little as when she had challenged Essex to keep his dirty paws off her husband earlier.

Neither did Jean, though. "You're gonna have to leave choices like that to us, Cat. We all make our own sacrifices." She briefly nodded toward that undoubtedly very unsightly new mark on her lover's skin that would, thanks to the X-Men's resident mutant healer though, hopefully, be gone without a trace soon enough. In many respects, Essex still underestimated them a lot.

"Scars are something I can deal with," Cat gave back quietly, with a weak grin as if she'd been in Logan's head for a moment. "Losing one of you? Not so much. So do me a favor, Claws … Make sure that asshole never gets you again. I can't promise I'll be that patient with him next time."

"As long as I have anything to do with it, none of you will ever get anywhere near that bastard again. Especially not you, Katja," Scott stated quietly, a rest of regret and anger still thick in his voice that only vanished when his wife pulled him close for a tender kiss. As it turned out in that very same year still, boss man should once more be annoyingly right.

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

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive

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reginrokkr · 2 years

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☾ Thoma is taking the moment to place a crescent shape charm in the form of a necklace around the Twilight Sword's neck. Embellished in gold while the charm itself holds a silver crescent similar to the moon, he draws a content smile at the sight before allowing his hand to settle along Dainsleif's shoulder. "While it isn't much, I do hope this empowered charm serves well on your journeys to come. I've had it blessed by the Shrine Maidens to be a ward from malicious energies. Not to mention with a touch of my own will for additional protections." "I believe in your strength, but I'd like to always keep in mind that in one way or another, I intend to walk the path along with you."

■ ■ ■ Crystal clear surprise reflects within icy sapphire depths since the first moment Thoma braved to ask his permission to step closer to him, with the promise that he has something for him. Out of respect to let the suspense and the giddy stirring of his heart with anticipation does Dáinsleif keep his gaze to the front, stilling himself to not let curiosity get the best of him and look to the small item that comes with the necklace. He takes the lingering hand atop his hand as a gesture of conclusion and so he looks downward at long last. Azure irises widen in a subtle manner as he rises a hand to cup gently the golden white crescent moon that lays atop the palm of his hand, soon to soften with fondness for the gesture born from selfless kindness.

For a moment, he wonders about his charm shape choice when he occupied his mind to decide what may suit him best. Does he remind him of a crescent moon? The thought, though tentative, leaves his mind as soon as it entered. No— that would be too flattering to him were that true.

But deep down in his heart, he rejoices at one line of thought: Were he able to be like the moon, shining the way to the lost in the darkness, then his quincentennial life would be for naught.

Platinum blond locks sway gently with the soft shake of his head to the protector’s words in disagreement. ❝Perish the thought. It is more meaningful than you can imagine.❞ His gaze peels off jade irises to look at the charm once again, his cool eyes softening some more the more he thinks about all the thought Thoma must’ve put on this simple gesture, albeit deep in meaning as the vastest sea. ❝...It’s beautiful.❞

So he had it blessed by the shrine maidens at the Grand Narukami Shrine to ward off malicious energies. For all their journeys are worth, he must have noticed certain tendencies in the relevance of his presence in specific places that contain such energy. To think that despite everything he has seen from his capabilities— from fighting to curative ones... even if that would invite the logic that he would not need any blessing, he still insisted that he is protected when his next objectives lead him far from Inazuma.

The onyx gloved hand encapsulates the silver crescent moon in his gentle fist as albescent lashes flutter to a momentary close to feel its energy. The might of pyro is recognizable to its fullest as Thoma’s essence, especially after witnessing a nigh fall for chasing that tempting power were it not for his guiding voice to remain grounded lest he burned himself to completion. Their journey from the far south in Tsurumi Island to the depths of Arami... all of these memories are engraved in this tiny charm alongside the defender’s will within it. ❝Thank you.❞

So that’s what it is. Even in the distance, you want to be with me.

He almost chuckles at his own jest, better kept in his mind rather than offer it as a gentle tease to the man after he has just gifted him something this precious. Cyan eyes open anew in time to see a single electro sakura blossom landing on his strawberry blond hair, and a new line of thought crosses his mind. The corners of his lips lift in a gentle smile as he reaches out his free hand forward. Unbeknownst to Thoma, a nigh invisible sapphire flame illuminates his hand when it is out of the other’s field of vision to touch one of the forehead protector’s horns with the tip of a finger, thus imbuing it with curative, purifying and fortifying might of a lunar aura in the guise of Irminsul ether that, unbeknownst to Dáinsleif himself, was never lost to him even after several centuries. Ultimately, he removes the soft pink blossom— the forehead protector glistening in response to the now encapsulated energy he gifted to him.

❝So long as petals still fall like snow upon this island, we will surely meet again. Our fates shall be forever entwined like those of the sakura bloom.❞

@scarletooyoroi ✦

#scarletooyoroi #◟༺✦༻◞ What use has the veil of falsehood? ┊Ask.┊#◟༺✦༻◞ Sapphire flames in their wake ┊IC.┊#◟༺✦༻◞ τόμος θ: Λυκόφως οι θεοί που πέφτουν┊Advent of Ragnarök.┊

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denimbex1986 · 5 months

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'...Sydney Newman, the producer who created Doctor Who, famously decreed that the show should not include any bug-eyed monsters. As he saw it, sci-fi was about more than outer space. “I love [sci-fi novels] because they're a marvellous way—and a safe way, I might add—of saying nasty things about our own society,” Newman said.

That was something many episodes of classic Doctor Who – those that ran from 1963 until the show was ‘rested’ in 1989 – did spectacularly well. These ‘pure historicals’, as they came to be known, featured no alien interference whatsoever, and instead saw the Doctor navigating more human machinations...

When the show returned in 2005, with a new Doctor and new production values, so too did the historical episodes, though in its latest iteration they tend to be tinged with the supernatural and otherworldly...

The Fires of Pompeii

Season 4, 2008

Who says: It’s volcano day in Roman city of Pompeii, but the volcano in question shows little sign of erupting. When the Tenth Doctor (David Tennant) discovers that Mount Vesuvius is inhabited by magma-loving aliens bent on taking over Earth, he discovers that the historic eruption is no natural disaster at all; he has to be the one to cause the catastrophe that destroys Pompeii.

The real history: Vesuvius erupted and destroyed the nearby towns of Pompeii and Herculaneum in AD 79 – precisely when is a matter of debate, and our best testimony comes from letters written by Pliny the Younger 25 years after the fact.

What we do know is that eruption was cataclysmic, producing a cloud so thick as to blot out the sun. Within 24 hours, Pompeii and those who remained in the city were buried under three metres of ash and debris; on the second day of the eruption, Herculaneum was swallowed by pyroclastic flows.

Pompeii remained buried for some 1,500 years. Today, it provides a remarkable window into ancient Roman life.

There’s another very small piece of real history in the form of the sculptor Caecilius (played by future Doctor Peter Capaldi). He is based on a very real Roman who perished in Pompeii – and star of the Cambridge Latin Course, a figure familiar to anyone who learned high school Latin in the UK – the banker Lucius Caecilius Iucundus.

The Unicorn and the Wasp

Season 4, 2008

Who says: It’s 1926, and the Tenth Doctor (David Tennant) invites himself to a dinner party in a country manor, where the guest of honour is none other than Agatha Christie. But when one of the guests turns up dead in classic Cluedofashion – offed with the lead pipe in the library, in case you were wondering – they find themselves investigating a whodunit with the queen of crime herself.

This being Who, the culprit is not of this Earth, but a giant shape-shifting wasp (perish the thought). In the denouement, Christie develops amnesia; the Doctor drops her off in Harrogate some ten days later, as history demands.

The real history: The Unicorn and the Wasp is Doctor’s Who’s answer to the mystery of Agatha Christie’s disappearance in 1926 – though she didn’t vanish from a dinner party. On 3 December, she kissed her child goodnight, got into her car, and drove into the darkness.

What followed was “one of the largest manhunts ever mounted,” writes Giles Milton, and the furore only grew after Christie’s car was discovered abandoned. Thousands of policemen were assigned to the case. The Home Secretary took a special interest. Fellow crime writer Sir Arthur Conan Doyle even tried to use his self-claimed supernatural powers to try and locate her.

“It was the perfect tabloid story, with all the elements of an Agatha Christie whodunnit,” says Milton, though perhaps it lacks the satisfying conclusion of a Poirot.

There would be no grand reveal: Christie was found in a Harrogate hotel 11 days later, under the name of her husband’s mistress, with no explanation for her whereabouts – she simply didn’t remember...'

#Doctor Who #The Unicorn and the Wasp #Agatha Christie #The Fires of Pompeii #David Tennant #Peter Capaldi #Sydney Newman #Giles Milton #Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

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thewickedxrp · 1 year

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WELCOME JUNG DAEHYUN

⁠TO THE PROMISE LAND

DETAILS

age / age they appear: 30 / 20 occupation: seafood vender group: none

PERSONALITY

daehyun, or dae as he goes by, is a very free-spirited individual. he goes by his whims, is allergic to anything stressful or serious, and enjoys the fun parts of life to the fullest extent. he abhors any kind of deep commitment but loves forming deeper bonds with individual people. he thinks the soul is beautiful and will cherish any that are particularly special and stand out to him. he will love someone with the full passion of his heart, but he loves to be free as well, free to love as many as his heart pleases. it's difficult for him to hate someone, but easy for him to become annoyed or irritated if someone is being too stern or strict around him.

he can be vain, skin deep, and get caught up in the physical aspects of beauty, but when his heart is touched he has the capacity to be tender. he is simply hot and cold, bright and soft, like the many shades of pink in the spectrum of colour. he's here to have a good time in any way he can, be it pranking someone, or genuinely trying to help them have a good time. the only thing he can't stand is someone who refuses to loosen up and have fun.

HISTORY

jung daehyun was born to a sweet couple on jeju island. sweet, because they were so sweet on each other that the difference in race meant nothing to them. the rare occasion of a fae and a human falling madly in love enough to settle down together was fateful and forbodding. his mother, the human, was a stall owner in the local market, while his father, the fae, was a fisherman. together they made a living that supported them and their son, but life was just a little too easy, now wasn't it?

the fae are independent, which is both a blessing and a curse. a fae can do whatever they please, but they lack the protection that the numbers of a group provide. hunters are one of the few things dae hates in this world, as they took his father one day without a word. him and his mother found his boat with some of his caught fish even still in it washed up on shore, but no sign of his father. there was no evidence of what had happened, but he knew. he knew exactly who had come for him and exactly what had transpired.

his mother wasn't accepting of the event, her heart couldn't accept that her love was gone. it didn't surprise dae that his father's charms had this affect on her heart, which soon gave way to grief. she grew weaker and weaker as the days and weeks passed. within a few years she had perished completely, leaving dae all alone.

the lose of his parents taught him some harsh lessons - life is short, so live it to the fullest. love is dangerous, do not get too attached or you will wither. there are dangers in the world actively seeking to end you, so rise above and live with concern for yourself. protect the weak, who will love and miss you when you're gone. he has learned a lot, and it has shaped him into what he is now - free, fun, and flawless.

#wd:bio #wd:fae #wd: park chanyeol #exo

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katanaski · 3 years

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[Grim reaper Natsuo Todoroki x fem.reader]

"A rose,yes; she was a rose. A rose who wilted, waiting for one who dare to grasp her thorns."

This is my piece for @cyancherub 's wheel of misfortune collab. Thank you for letting me join♡

♡NSFW (minors do not interact;18+only).

♡Wc : 13.4k (porn with plot)

♡Warnings: angst,mentions of death,death of a child,mentions of suicide & depression,promiscuous reader, unhealthy coping mechanism,public sex,female masturbation, mild possesive/jelaous sex,vaginal sex,creampie,fingering,pussy eating,throat fucking,praise,anal.

♡Tags: @simpforsadbois

(Please excuse any misspelling errors,for I beta read my own works.Do kindly let me know if I forgot to tag any warnings or triggers. Enjoy)

It has always been him and nothing else. Time is nothing but as mortals call it " a blink of an eye" to him.

Nobody can escape him, whether they be kings and nobles,rich or poor,he takes all.

Plants,animals,every single thing that lives must die.

Countless mortals have tried to bid their time to keep him at bay throughout the ages. Buying themselves nothing but mere years or months with useless elixirs.

Many worship him,kiss the theoretical ground he walks on. Just as many fear him,fear him for themselves and their loved ones,they try to hide to no avail.

He is constant and unwavering,in this life and the next he remains eternal.

Him and him alone.

How he came to be he does not know, his first memory is standing amongst the shadows. A black tattered robe like that of smoke blowing in the wind adorned his body. He gathered the black of night and formed it into a scythe, long and heavy. The moon reflected in the crescent shape of the blade that mimicked it.

Like roots of an old tree embedded within his being, or like a child knows how to breathe as soon as it's born. He knows what his purpose in this realm is.

Cut down souls without remorse or hesitation, from here on, until the end of time.

He is Death.

For as long as you've been alive you've been seen and thought of as a curse. A bad omen of sorts. Death seems to follow you wherever you go. The first of many to be lost,your mother.Your own Grandmother shunned you. Never quite got to be as close to her as other little children get to be with their grandparents. Sure she was nice,she fed you and took care of you,put you through school and taught you good manners. But you can see the way her smile doesn't reach her eyes when she smiles at you. It's blatantly obvious that despite you being her flesh and blood,she resents you.

It's in the way she looks at you when she tells you " You look just like your mother". Her eyes tired and weary,a hint of softness in her arises,thinking how much you look like the one she lost. They way she's always been a little stiff around you. Never really telling you she loves you. You know she partly blames you for the death of her only daughter,your mom. Having died during labor bringing you into this world. Giving up her own life for you.

The trail of bodies doesn't stop there. All of the pets you've had have died. Mysteriously and unexpectedly. Family members and even friends. By your mid teens is when you really start to notice how people seem to avoid you like the plague. You lose count of the many friends who perished by the time you were in college. Suicides,the most common reason for their passing.

The pressure of proving yourself to be more than enough is too much to handle. The heart wrenching pain you felt when you found your dorm roommate cold and unresponsive, looking like a porcelain doll floating in a pool of red in the tub still lingers. The crumpled letter at the sink,still damp from her tears as she wrote it, her goodbye letter addressed to you,her best friend.

Is after her death that you start considering that perhaps you are cursed. The fact laid out in stone as in your remaining years of college friends and acquaintances leave this world way too soon. The only common factor is that they knew you,so it must be true. Graduating college with no one to celebrate with hurt. Families huddled together around their freshly graduated loved one. While you stood alone,an invisible shield around you as they avoided being close to you at all cost.

You pondered good and hard about who you wanted to be in this world. Your mother's sacrifice is the sole reason why you haven't joined her in the afterlife yet. You should honor her,be the person she would have been proud of. The medical field calls your name like a beacon. Maybe this way you can help those you hold dear,help stay on this earth a little longer. What better way to defy death itself than becoming a doctor,a good one to keep everyone healthy, away from it's clutches.

Your grandmother is nothing but happy to have you away for another four years. So with a mechanical smile she pushes you out the door,practically kicking you out. You're 18 so her duty is done finally she can get rid of you without the pressure of failing her late daughter.

Medical school is nothing compared to college. There's no time to spare on parties and nights out drinking. There's no time for fun. You put yourself through hell trying to become someone people would take notice of. Someone they are glad to be around. You want to be the type of person people seek and look for amidst a crowd and smile at you once they find you. You want to rid yourself of this curse. This gloomy cloud of sadness and death.

The first year is the hardest. Your days consist of endless classes while during nights you keep your nose buried in mountainous amounts of research books. Your brain is too tired to process it all. You don't sleep enough nor drink or eat enough. You feel like you're on autopilot one morning,mind foggy and eyelids droopy with sleep,when your teacher decides it's a good day to start with dissections. After all you think this is the only good thing about your curse,all the death and gore have given you a stomach of steel. Close to nothing revolts you anymore. It's a little comical and you can help but feel a little empathy for your peers,seeing them turn green at the sight of the cold pale bodies atop the gurney. Running for the door to rid themselves of this morning's breakfast.

School does you good,your heart starts to heal if only a bit by the end of your second year. You don't know when or how but people around you are happy and thriving. Noone has passed in more than a year and you begin to hope that maybe this is it,maybe you are finally normal.And this time when you graduate you're not alone, a group of friends surround you.For once in your life you feel happy.

Happiness doesn't last that long, your grandmother passes on your second year of residency. At her funeral is just you,how sad it must be to leave this world and have nobody be there to bid you farewell. After all these years of her keeping you at arms length it is her the one that's alone,the one person she didn't want around is now the only one who cries for her.

You loved your grandmother despite everything,because you know without her you wouldn't be where you are. You're starting to earn a reputation amongst the interns at the hospital. You're more than good at what you do,the best trauma surgeon the small hospital has to offer,so far you haven't lost a patient. You know you're no hero or wizard and you know you can't save everyone but you will try your hardest.

It's a quiet day at the hospital,small accidents that don't require your skills are all the hospital sees for most of the afternoon. Your pager goes off close to 10 pm, an incoming car crash victim is on it's way. Maybe another drunk driver or another street racer,you've seen more than enough car crash victims since you started working here. Nothing prepares you for the gruesome scene before you as they roll the gurney past the main doors. A child no more than 5 lays unresponsive soaking up the multiple cold scratchy blankets under him with blood. The room erupts into chaos and for a moment you freeze forgetting where you are before yelling out directions to your team, now it's not the time to falter,pulling the gurney to the emergency surgery room. The child has multiple broken bones and internal bleeding. The parents seemingly thought driving drunk with their son in the back was a good idea. Now here he lies battered and broken due to his inept father and mother.

There's too much to fix and mend,the amount of blood he's lost on his way to the hospital is too much. Blood transfusions are uneventful,he's femoral artery has been severed by a rusty piece of metal impaled into his tiny leg. There's little you can do,he's far too gone, not even you can save him. You watch the light in his eyes fade and hear the tiny last gasp of air that leaves his little cut up lips before he dies. Your knees feel weak and your body grows cold,you want to drop to the floor and curl yourself into a ball and stay there forever.

But you can't, your moves are mechanical as you declare him dead, you cover his little body with the sheet before going to the sink to wash up. You scrub the blood staining your hands until your skin feels raw, before walking out. Heart in your throat as you tell his mother you're sorry,she drops to the floor when the words leave your lips,she wails,heart wrenching screams that seem to echo in the empty halls of the hospital. Screams that will hunt you from here on out. It was foolish of you to think you could save anybody. It seems you still cursed after all.

He's been watching you for a long time now. An inexplicable force draws him to you that not even he understands. He knows he has dealt you a great amount of pain and if he wasn't who he is he would feel sorry,he would ask you for forgiveness. This is what he does ,what he's meant to do,it is quite unfortunate for you to be stuck in the middle of it all. He wonders what you must have done in your past life to be dealt such a hellish fate,watching almost everyone you know die. It's mere coincidence at first ,he comes to collect a soul and he sees you there,eyes damp with tears. It feels almost familiar for you to be around whenever he shows up now,and when you're not he finds himself looking for you.

He's been "alive" for longer than anybody else. A few mortals have caught his eye on more than one instance;he comes and devours and leaves, not sticking around long enough for them to start wondering why his touch is always cold,or why they can't hear his heartbeat when they lay their heads on his chest. He's fucked queens before,beautiful women who tell him they love him after one night,fools if only they knew who he really was they would be running for the hills.

There's something different about you though,something that all of his years of knowledge and observing human beings can't explain. There's a weird feeling inside his chest whenever he sees you cry. He remembers the first time he felt it,it was the night after you found your friend in the tub, nobody was witness to the way you crumbled to the floor that night but him. Only he knows how pretty you look when you're broken. He has seen you at your lowest,he feeds on your grief but there's also something about the way you seem to shine when you're happy,it makes you even more beautiful.

He has tried to stay away from you for a while,but no matter where he is you're always there. Like now as you put on a stoney face as you cover the small child's body with a sheet. The pain you're feeling now Is palpable. He's amazed at the way you hide it for the rest of the day. It is only when you're surrounded by the darkness of your room that you let yourself cry. He watches how you pull at your hair and pound the bed with your fists,asking yourself where you went wrong over and over again. He watches you until you fall asleep, your pillow is soaking wet from your tears and your eyes are red and puffy.

You lose the shine he was so curious about. You smile much less these days,you keep to yourself and stop answering your friends calls. You rarely go out anymore,just the weekly required trip to the store for groceries and work. It's an unexpected sight to see you crawl from underneath the covers one night.

The steam follows you as you step out of the bathroom after a hot shower. He hungrily takes in your body as you let your towel drop on the floor as you rummage through your closet for something to wear. His eyes follow your hands as you rub lotion on your skin and when they dip to rub at your inner thighs his gaze lowers with hunger. It has been a couple of millennia since he felt the supple soft skin of a woman. They way you prance nude around your room as you get ready and the growing erection between his legs serves as a reminder of how long it has been since he last bedded someone. A couple of hundred of years at least since he last felt the need to be sheathed inside a warm hole. He fades into the night before his need grows larger.

The sound of your voice draws him out from the darkness. You must be crying again,he can hear your wimpers clear as day as he draws near. Crazy how you seem to summon him without even knowing that you're doing so. A mighty being like him,brought down to his knees by a human.

The sight that greets him,would make him lose his breath if he had one. You are crying again,but not in the way he's accustomed to. Your pretty face is partially visible between what's usually well maintained hair,nothing but a bird's nest now. Messy strands are splayed all over the bed and on your sweaty skin. A couple of stray hairs cling to the side of your face he can see from his spot at the corner of your room. They catch at the corner of your mouth,where they're plastered with your drool. Charcoal colored streams of tears run down your cheeks bones,staining your pristine white sheets with your inky tears. Your mascara isn't waterproof like you thought. You're a mess of snot,tears and slobber. You've never looked more beautiful to him than now.

Face shoved into your mattress by the large hand of the man behind you. A giant looking man with wild red eyes and hair the color of raging flames. He coos at your ear with a honey laced voice completely at odds with the way he pushes you back onto his cock by the hips.

"Such a good girl..there you go you're doing so well" the man grunts as he spreads your ass cheeks apart.

"You're fucking amazing..ghnn you're the best". He tells you,his sweet voice doesn't match the hungry way he looks at you. Eyes glued to your core, the thin skin at your entrance stretched taut by the massive size of his cock.

"Ki...Kirishima..p-please." You sound so broken. Death's brow furrows as he looks on,watching the way this " Kirishima" man finds home in your pussy.

"You are perfect" kirishima moans out,hand at the back of your neck as he arches your back up,making him go deeper.

Death sees the way your body trembles at Kirishima's praise. But he knows it's not entirely from pleasure. Kirishima mistakes your wails for ecstasy,how good he must be making you feel with his cock to have you crying like that.

Kirishima envelops your body with his,holding onto you tight. His chest sticks to your back and you feel the wetness from his sweat and yours pool at your spine. His hips press yours onto the bed, shoves his dick so deep inside you it hurts. His breathing grows labored and it's not much longer until you feel him stiffen above you. His cock twitches inside your pussy emptying his heavy sack into your womb. Kirishima gives your neck a gentle kiss and slips his softening cock out of you with care.He might have fucked you harder than he intended to.But that is what you asked of him.

"I want you to make it hurt." You had asked him earlier in the night. Looking up at him from beneath those pretty lashes of yours. Eyes shining like the stars under the dim light of the bar you both met at.

"That was so hot babe" Kirishima goes to put his arms around you. He's a cuddler he's always been even if this is just a one time thing. But he gets the message that you're not,when you turn over in your bed wrapping the sheets around you and scooting to the edge to stand up.

"So I guess that's it then uh...straight to business I see" he sounds crestfallen and you almost feel bad,but you never gave him any indication this was anything more than sex.

"Uhm..I would really appreciate it if you were gone by the time I come out" You steal one last glance at the gorgeous man sprawled naked on your bed. He chews on his lip,brows furrowed,he's got more he wants to say but you don't give him time to articulate his thoughts. The slam of the bathroom's door tells him you didn't want to hear whatever he had to say; he gets the hint.

The sweat on your skin is starting to cool in the bathroom's stale air ,sending shivers down your spine. Arms braced against the sink as you hear Kirishima rummage in your room for his clothes. It's a scavenger hunt,you had ripped his clothes off and thrown each clothing item all over the place,touched starved,dying to feel all of him without barriers. There's a knot on your throat you can't seem to swallow and your vision blurs with a new batch of tears.

Guilt settles deep inside your chest,having used such a nice guy for your selfish needs. He's the type of guy you take home to mom if you had one. The one who always opens the door for you. He's a gentleman with one of the biggest cocks you've ever seen. But he's not what you need. A pity really.

He's too nice of a guy. Back there in your room,in your bed while he fucked you he misunderstood things. Every praise he moaned out tore at your insides. It made you hate yourself a little more with each stroke of his dick. Because if you truly 'the best' you would have saved that kid's life. But you didn't, he's nothing but a memory now,cold and unmoving beneath 6ft of dirt. You hate 'warmth' now. Hate the warmth of the sun as it rises,signaling a new day. Hate the warmth of the blood that rushes through your veins,reminding you that you're alive and he's not. Hate the hot tears that spill from your eyes,hate the warmth of Kirishima's syrupy cum as it dribbles down your thighs.

It becomes a routine,you wake up, go to work,you go home at the end of the day and eat a small meal and take a shower.

Death is always Watching from his spot at the corner. Watching the way you spray your body with mouth watering perfumes,lather your skin with floral scented lotions that make your skin shine as if covered by glitter. You dress in scandalous dresses and short mini skirts that hardly count as clothes. Your eyelids are weighed down by the fake lashes you use and your dark circles are hidden beneath layers of concealer.

You look fake,nothing like the beauty he came to grow used to. You were like a flower. Fresh,blooming full of life,despite all the grief you never withered,until now. You're nothing but a shell of who you used to be.

To think he was jealous of you. Jealous of how full of life you used to be. Jealous of how with your mere hands and knowledge you could give back life in an instant. He doesn't even remember how many souls you snatched back from his cold grasp. For where he is Death and grief,you were life and hope.

He's been watching you silently almost on the daily,he's grown infatuated with you. He watches as you transform yourself with makeup,you turn yourself into a temptress.

Living death by day,femme Fatale by night.

The many years he's been around he's seen humans deal with grief in many forms. Each one of them is no less destructive than the last.

Alcohol,drugs,violence,gambling,self harm,suicide and sex.

You do casual drinking but never to the point where you have ended vomiting your guts the next day. Drugs are out of the question, do your job and your skin is bare of any self inflicted injuries. Makes sense that a love starved person like yourself would drown her sorrows with sex.

Meaningless sex with strangers is your poison of choice. You had Kirishima a couple of times after that first night. You stopped calling him when he refused to tie his belt around your throat like you asked. He didn't want to hurt you, he said. He had fucked you slow,held you tight, giving you measured deep thrust while whispering sweet nothings in your ear. That's the first time you've ever cumed while crying. You never called him again after that.

Death always lingers nearby, your own personal shadow,witness to the fast number of bodies added to your list.His eyes never leave you,not even as you lower yourself on your knees,the tender skin getting scraped by the pavement as you suck off your conquest of the night. He looks promising.

He's a tall lean muscle clad man with spiky wild hair. He had whispered such filthy things inside the bar to you.His hand wedge between your plush thighs teasing your cunt above the lace of your thong. He had dragged you soon after to the alley behind the bar you usually frequent. Not bothering to take you home or anywhere with a bed.

A big warm hand wraps itself around your throat as soon as your back meets the wall. He squeezes so tight you think this might be it. He could be the one to make you feel alive again.

"W..wh..what is your name? You rasp as he latches his mouth against your neck.His canines bite down hard and you hear the pop of your skin more than feel the pain when his fangs break the tender flesh. Warm and sticky,a little trail of blood drips down your clavicle. You moan when with a long flick of his tongue he stops the ruby drops from making it further down.

"Katsuki..Bakugou Katsuki" His gravelly voice and his blood stained lips shouldn't turn you on as much as they do. He could be a killer for all you know. Here on this alley he could do whatever he wanted to you and nobody would know. Your body would be found by a homeless person in the morning and you'll be on the news by midday. The thought makes you clench your thighs together.

Katsuki fucks you nice and hard against the wall. Your lacy thong is at your knees, being stretched by the way Katsuki has your legs spread wide. The underwire from your bra is digging almost painfully under your breast where it's pushing your tits up. He doesn't undress you completely and you're fine with that. A quick fuck with a hot stranger might make you forget why you're even doing this in the first place.

Might convince you there's a real valid reason for the way you're self-destructing.

He's rough and demeaning. He calls you a colorful array of degrading words that have your core tightening around his cock.

"You're such a slut aren't cha..hmm? Letting some stranger fuck you like this where anybody could walk by see"

" where anybody could hear the way you're falling apart on my dick" his voice is barely audible under the slapping sound of his thrusts. Each word he spits out is accentuated with a slap to your ass or a pinch to your nipples. The whole thing is too much but not nearly enough at the same time. You wish there was a bed somewhere,where you could push him down and climb on top of him. Settle yourself atop his godly body and straddle his tiny waist with your juicy thighs.

A bed where he could be splayed in as you lower your dripping pussy down his rigid cock. Ride him until your legs shake and your insides feel bruised. But there's not so this will have to do.

A smelly dark alley with your face and tits pressed so tight against the moldy brick wall your nipples are sore from rubbing against its rough surface. His strokes lose their rhythm and his mouth is shut tight. He stops talking altogether as he chases his high. His cock grows thicker at the base and the veins near his tip rub at you deliciously with every outward motion.

The smell of sex is intoxicating,his sweat and cologne mixing into a mouthwatering sweet musk that fogs your mind.

"Nghh...are you on something? Katsuki asks you as he speeds up. His big hands come to hold the underside of your butt cheeks to spread you up more. Allowing him to bottom out inside your pussy.

You're barely able to moan out a meek 'yes' before you're shoved further into the wall by the heavy weight of his body leaning down on you. Katsuki tucks his head in your neck. He litters the slope of your neck with opened mouthed kisses that make you wetter. His question bounces around in your brain but before you fully register what he said Katsuki is already grunting, shooting hot spurts of cum against your cervix. His blunt fingernails break the skin on your ass,leaving red crescent marks for you to remember him by.

Katsuki is good looking, extremely so. He's blunt and tall and has such a nice cock it should be illegal. But his fox-like eyes are red. A color you've come to hate. The crimson shade of them is a little too similar to the blood you still see your hands covered with once in a while.

Katsuki asks you for your number as you tidy yourself. Pulling up your stretched out thong up your legs. Hoping the flimsy thing will be able to withstand the thick globs of cum until you get home,you doubt it though.The material becomes drenched in cum as soon as it covers your cunt. Katsuki throws a shitty excuse for having cummed so soon. "You have the nicest pussy I've had in a while...when's the last time you did anything uh? You're so fucking thight I couldn't hold it any longer ".

He must really like your neck,his lips not once parting from it while he speaks. He finally pulls away to kiss you all while tucking his semi wet dick back inside his pants. You taste the metallic taste of your blood on his tongue and you think you might be sick. A light push of your hands on his chest has Katsuki looking at you.

You think if you had met him in another lifetime,you could have fallen in love.

His eyes are mesmerizing,beautiful even but you can't help but see the bloody lifeless body of that kid when Katsuki's eyes meet yours.

"You better call me princess..I wouldn't mind drowning myself in you again" he mutters before he kisses you one last time. Throwing you a simple smirk before walking away. Leaving you standing alone in the alley,cold and wet and sexually frustrated.You never do call him.

Death scoffs in the shadows. The man didn't even bother to make you cum. Not once did he touch your silky pearl. If it was him he would cherish that little nub,kiss it and lick it until it hurt.

He understands why you're doing what you're doing. Seeking pain and pleasure with these men,who leave you feeling more empty than before. How many faceless men have drunk the nectar between your legs? To be quite honest he's lost count.

He follows you home like a loyal pup, he doesn't deny his attraction to you now. Curiosity grew into something more. His hunger grew immense the first time he saw every inch of your bare skin.

He's drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

He wouldn't mind burning for you,in you.

You're really are wasting precious time with those incompetent men. Have you even cummed at all since you started your little endeavor? I guess he should be a little grateful to the one called Katsuki.

Thanks to him he's getting quite the show from his usual spot in your room.

You had gotten home,insides still clenching around nothing. Your clit throbbing with need. You hadn't even bothered to shower before digging through your nightstand,pulling out a smooth black silicone rabbit vibrator. You rid yourself of your clothes,your messy thong falling to the floor with a loud splat. The vibrating sound of your toy and the hawk eye view from where he stands got Death's cock stiffening under his robe.

He watches with rapt attention as you throw yourself in the middle of your bed parting your legs,giving him a front row seat view of your swollen pussy. He rubs at the head of his cock with the hell of his palm at the same time you part your glistening folds. Setting the vibrator at the highest setting you glide it up and down your slit coating it with your slick before without any hesitation you shove it hard inside your cunt. Death nearly moans hearing you needly cry out when the forked tip of the toy hits your clit. You hold it there,small flicks of your wrist making it go deeper inside you. Your free hand comes to squeeze at your tits,you twist and pinch your nipples all the while spreading your legs even more. Hips moving I'm a wave like motion as you cry and moan.

Death can't help himself any longer,he's watched you get fucked countless times wishing it was him. Growing jealous whenever a new mouth sucks at your tits and a new cock delves inside your pussy. It should be him, and not them,not a toy either. He could make you feel so much better than any of them. He's learned a thing or two about how to please a woman. He could fuck you so good and throughly you would never dare seek redemption somewhere else. He could ruin you for everybody else. He could become your god.

Inevitably he ends with his cock in his hand. He peels the foreskin back; his calloused thumb rakes over the drooling tip and smears the stickiness down his shaft.Hi eyes never leave your pussy. It's so wet there's a damp spot beneath your ass. He grips his cock harder strokes it a little faster trying to match the speed at wich you fuck yourself with the vibrator.

He bits his lip in order to silence his grunts,almost giving himself up when he sees the ring of white at the base of the vibrator when you pull the toy out of you. He isn't sure if your pussy is so wet is getting creamy or if that's the left over cum from Katsuki you fucking into yourself.

One would think the black silicone was white by the amount of cum and creamy slick that covers it. The sticky substance drips down your slit and into your hand making it hard for you to keep a good grip on it. You clench your walls around it, preventing it from slipping out as you wipe your hand on the sheets. You scoot closer to the headboard of the bed where the pillows are,propping your upper body on them before continuing where you left off.

You suck at your middle and ring finger and run them down your slit. You shove them both inside your pussy right along with the vibrator. Katsuki's cum acts like lube,wet and sticky on your fingers. You scoop it out and drag it over your clit,flicking it in rapid circles that have choking on moans.

There's a creak at the corner by your window,making you slow down your moves. Through half lidded eyes you look over in the direction of the sound,of course there's nothing there but the feeling of being watched again makes your skin prickle. Your heartbeat speeds up and your eyes search for any sign of movement in the darkness of your room.

For a second you feel scared,think about stopping what you're doing and going to bed without taking a shower. But then you remember Katsuki words as he fucked you in that alley.

The thought of being watched in such a compromising position doesn't unsettle as much as it should. The wave of arousal that hits you has you closing your legs a little bit, the toy slipping almost all the way out of you. Your eyes never leave the shadows in the corner. You bite your lip and spread your legs. You imagine the shadows taking form. Your mind conjures the outline of a man with broad shoulders standing there watching you fuck yourself.

One hand holds the toy,the tip of it pistons in and out of you while your other abuses your swollen clit. It starts to hurt but you can stop,it feels so wrong imagining someone or something watching you touch yourself. Maybe they're touching themselves as they watch you. Heavy cock in hand,head thrown back against the wall as they stroke it.

Death wonders what you're thinking about.

Your half lidded eyes stare straight into his,but he doubts you know that. What would you do if he revealed himself to you right now. Would you scream or would you let him fuck you? Maybe he could just take you either way. Nobody would believe you if you said Death had taken advantage of you. Your movements falter and he thinks he's been caught,his hand slows as well,grips the base of his dick and squeezes,he doesn't want to cum yet.

But then your hands speed up,you ondulate your hips as you shove the vibrator in you,you circle your clit with rapid circles. Tears drip down your cheekbones and onto your ears. You never close your eyes,attentive and searching in his direction. He brings his hand up to lick it,taste the saltiness of his pre on his fingers. He covers his palm in spit then wraps it under the tip of his cock. He strokes himself as fast as your fingers circle your nub and then your back is curving off the bed. Your knees meet as you clench your legs. Your spasming pussy sucks the toy deeper inside you as you cum.

"Ghnn ahhh...fuck" the erotic sound of your dragged out moan draws out his own climax. He cups his large palm at the pulsing tip of his dick. He tries his best to catch the thick creamy seed,but it's too much. A few drops end up on your floor. He doesn't worry much; they'll be dried by daybreak. Sweat covers his brow,his cock is still twitching in his hand as he lets himself be swallowed by the darkness.

He thinks the time has come to show you who you really belong to.

Your week after having met Katsuki drags on. The days feel like years,you're practically dead by the time the weekend comes. You are still searching,hunting for somebody that can make you forget.

Saturday you're dressed to kill. A skimpy black dress that clings to your body like a second skin. You choose it simply because it's backless,there's no need for a bra. You hope the way your puffy nipples are still clear to make out under the fabric will help you snare somebody faster. No need for panties either,you won't risk another pair to be ruined like last time. The classic little black dress every girl should own,pretty and sexy,easy to get out of.

You hop bars this weekend. You Don't want to run into an angry blonde demanding why you never called. Nice is an understatement ,Katsuki was great,a good lay. You don't hold it against him for having cummed so soon,you still believe things would have turned out different if there would have been a bed around. You thought long and hard about whether you should have called him or not. You ended up deciding against it. The conclusion being that if given the chance Katsuki could have fixed you for a while,but in the long term once he was done with you,he would have left you more broken than when he found you.

So here you are,a new bar,new faces,new possibilities. 'Devilry' is a fitting name for a place like this ,exactly what you're looking for. You make your way to the bar counter, making sure to sway your hips this way and that, you notice a couple of curious eyes follow you as you go, never leaving your ass until you sit in one of the barstools. Your lips lift at the corners, good,it looks like you won't have to do much but wait until one of the men approaches you.

Like a Venus trap attracting her next meal you wait patiently, the sweet scent of your perfume saturating the air.

An hour goes by and still nothing. Not a hello or a goodnight. Not even a sleazy pick up line.Zero,none,nada. If anything the bar looks emptier than when you first arrived. Maybe you should have given Katsuki a call.

Another hour passes, there's 3 empty mai tai's glasses in front of you. You're nursing your fourth when you start to drown in self pity. You should have stayed home tonight.

The bar is quiet for a Saturday,places like these are way livelier close to midnight. Nothing but the sound of clinking glasses as the bartender cleans the counter can be heard. A couple sits at a barely lit corner,the man's mouth is attached to the woman's neck, who giggles and tells him to stop; ' somebody might see' she laughs. Please the place is dead, they could sneak and have a quick fuck in the bathroom,God they wouldn't even need to be discrete about it. It's not like somebody is around to see.

The air suddenly drops a couple degrees,a chill runs up your spine,and you question not for the first time your choice of clothing.

There's that familiar sense that you're being watched again. At first during your years in college you thought about the possibility of it being a stalker. But no matter how much you looked around and searched there never was somebody there. It took a while but you grew accustomed to the feeling,and accepted it.

It makes you feel not so lonely after a while.

A silent companion following wherever you go.

"Is this seat taken?"

From your peripheral vision you see a man take a seat next to you before you even answer. And you feel colder for some reason,oddly similar to standing next to the freezers at a supermarket. He smells like nothing at all,just the faint smell of worn leather tickles your nose. He sits by you for a while in total silence. He doesn't strike up a conversation or even looks at you. He simply sips at his drink,oblivious to your inner turmoil. Do you really look that bad tonight? You usually snare a man within the first thirty minutes after you walk into a bar,or club. Your self esteem drops with each ticking minute that passes by in silence.

Soon enough you find yourself sniffling and you bite your lips when you feel them tremble. You close your eyes when they start to feel misty with budding tears. You're not and will not cry at a bar next to a stranger. You won't stoop that low. At least not here,you'll wait until you get home,where you can scream into the void,where you can cry your heart out.

"Though day?"

He finally speaks,a hint of anger underneath the smooth tenor of his voice . He's still facing forward like you. Trying to find the answers to life at the bottom of your drinks.

You scoff "More like though life".

You don't mean to sound as harsh as you do when you utter the words. But you do,you think he didn't hear you when he doesn't respond after a few minutes.

"There's no easy life...if you want the rainbow you have to put up with a little bit of rain"

You know he's right,nothing in life is easy,but common isn't this a bit too much? Your life has been nothing but hell on earth. A downpour.

"What do you know" you chug your drink down, flagging down the bartender for another.

"Absolutely nothing" there's a hint of humor in his voice now. It makes your blood boil. You breathe hard through your nose ,and exhale slowly out your mouth. Trying your best not to lose it,not yet.

He wants to play psychiatrist ok, you'll indulge him,it's not like you got anything better to do anyways.

You turn your body towards him on your stool. You pull the hem of your dress down your thighs. Wouldn't want to give him an eyeful, you don't even know where this is going.

He turns on his seat too and when you look up to meet his eyes you swear time stops. You don't think you've ever seen a man as beautiful as him. He robs you of your breath as his eyes look straight through you.

The smell of leather from earlier makes sense now. He's wearing an old worn leather jacket,black shirt and black pants. A lone silver chain hangs loosely at his neck. The color black suits him makes the pallor of his skin stand out. He's big,a mountain of a man with broad shoulders. His white hair seems to glow under the Neon lights signs of the bar. And his eyes grey in color remind you of the dark ominous clouds before a storm. Enticing, beautiful and mysterious.

"Ok,I'll humor you,what do you suggest I do then hmm?" You stare at his nose,there's something about his eyes that unsettles you. He looks at you almost as if he knows you.

" You could talk about it" He says in a nonchalant manner, bringing his cup to his lips but never drinking from it.

"OK, first off,what is your name? And second,do you really think 'talking about it'

will make me feel better?"

"Natsuo,the name is Natsuo. And you won't know unless you try right?"

He introduces himself as Natsuo,no last name short and simple. He went through multiple scenarios in his head about how he would go about introducing himself to you. He couldn't quite come up to you and say "Hey there I'm the Grim Reaper,God of Death, nice to meet you" You would have thought he was crazy. Even crazier if he told you he had been looking at you since you got here. But to be fair he's been watching way longer than that. Waiting for the opportunity to present itself for you to finally see him,here in front of you and not hiding in the shadows.Finally after all this time you're looking at him. Well at least the version of himself he wants you to see.

It's obvious you like what you see. He's no fool and can tell you're struggling to keep your eyes from roaming his body. It was quite amusing scaring all your other little suitors away. With a simple glance and at his discretion he would allow them to see the real him,the one underneath the flesh suit you're currently drooling over. Like dogs with their tails between their legs,they scrammed. Leaving you alone and defenseless,a lamb ready for the slaughter. It took a lot of effort from his part to not rip their souls from their bodies the minute their eyes landed on you. But that can be easily fixed later,when you're asleep and satiated;when he's done with you.

"Do you think 'talking about it' it's going to bring back those I have lost?" You whisper. Your fist comes down on the counter hard making your glass stumble. Your heart squeezes painfully and new moisture gathers at the corner of your eyes.

"Nothing can bring them back,they're gone and I'm still here,life is not fair" You should have paced yourself with your drinking. You tend to ramble when under the influence,but you don't necessarily want to pour your heart out to a stranger. That's not why you're here.

"I'm sorry,look I don't mean to be rude but really;but like I said it's been a tough day"

You're tired both physically and mentally,and by the looks of it you'll be going home alone. Another night you'll have to cry yourself to sleep.

"It can't be all bad,can it?" He sounds serious, the humor in his voice gone.

"How do you know"? With your eyes zoned in on your glass, and your heart in your throat you listen.

"We'll I don't, I've always been alone. I don't know how it feels to lack something. I've never experienced loss or grief because I never had somebody I cared about to lose in the first place".

Tears spill from your eyes while you listen to him,you bring your hand up to your face to wipe them clean before he notices. Your heart aches for him,but you also envy him.

You would give up everything to rid yourself of the awful wretched feeling of sadness.

"But isn't grief a form of love too?"

You look at him quizzically,not understanding what he means. How can an emotion like grief and pain be compared to love?

" Your love for those you care about is still strong and present even long after they're gone,if that isn't love then what is?"

You really look at him now. He looks no older than you but he sounds wise beyond his age. You wonder for the first time tonight,who exactly is this man. He feels familiar,like if you've seen him before,like you know him too.

"Hmph..are you some kind of doctor..who are you exactly? You wipe your tears ,a small smile tugs at your lips. You never thought of it that way. But he's right in a way,your loved ones,your friends and even the child,everyone you've lost over the years is still here in a sense. As long as there's somebody to remember them,someone to keep their memory alive, they're not completely gone.

"A doctor? Nothing like that..I am merely a traveler of sorts" Natsuo keeps his answer short and cryptic hoping you don't ask anymore questions. Grateful when you don't.

"Well?"

"Well what"? You ask,licking your lips, tasting the alcohol in them.

"Did talking about it make you feel better?" He tilts his head,raising an eyebrow and giving you a pointed look.

You snort. As far as company goes he's not so bad. He's handsome too,you wouldn't mind taking him home. As long as he keeps his mouth shut.

"Ehh..still feel pretty shitty,is that the best you can do?" You rest your chin on the lap of your hand,hiding your smile. Shifting a little closer to him and looking at him from under your lashes.

Natsuo chuckles then,for such a little lost lamb,you sure are feisty.

"No- I could do more,so much more" He holds your gaze,while his middle finger runs along the rim of his glass slowly.

"But I don't know if you're up for it"

You swallow thickly, your eyes leave his in order to focus on the way he strokes the glass with the pad of his finger. You shift on your seat.You draw your knees together tuckin your hair behind your ear.

"Try me" you say,bringing your eyes back to his.

Natsuo can't barely contain his glee. 'You poor thing' he thinks as you pay your tab. You have no idea what you've signed up for.

Your apartment is just as you left it,unkempt,things lay around where they don't belong. You scrunch up your nose and turn to look over your shoulder at Natsuo who follows behind you. Navigating through the mess that is your living room.

"Sorry about the mess I uh-"

"Don't worry about it" He interrupts you as he steps over a medical book on your way down the hallway to your room.

"Right,uhm this way" Your jittery for some unknown reason. It's not the first time you've brought a guy over,but there's something about him that feels different.

You can't help but look over your shoulder at him a couple of times before you make it to your bedroom.

Once inside you walk over to your vanity setting your clutch on it. By the time you turn around he's already towering behind you. A couple of inches apart. You look up at him a lick your lips. A small gasp escapes you when he brings one of his hands up to your face. His fingers, a whisper of a touch on your soft cheek are cold. Goosebumps rise all over your body and your nipples harden beneath your dress.

"Do you have any restrictions,anything you're not fond of? Any preferences? A safeword? He cup your cheek and you lean into his touch. You take shallow breaths through your mouth,kissing the heel of his palm when he lifts your face to look at him.

"None...you uh..You're free to do whatever you want with me. Mercy, mercy is my safe word".

Whatever he wants uh?

He cranes his neck bringing his face down and closer to yours.

There's a storm in his eyes,the gray color of them darkens until they appear to be black. Like a black hole they suck you in,you're unable to look away from them. Even as Natsuos retreats his hand from your face. The sound of his belt buckle echoes in your room as he undoes it. Slowly drags the belt out of the loops at his jeans,he undoes the button and pulls his zipper down. Your eyes grow heavy at the sight of his boxer briefs. And your mouth goes dry when his now loose jeans sink lower on his hips.

"Got it, now be a good girl for me and take off your dress"

Surprising yourself, you do exactly what he asks. You reach back between your shoulder blades to reach for the tiny zipper hidden under the seam of your dress. You pull it down and it sounds so loud. Everything sounds so loud even the sound of your breathing,your heart beats rapidly inside your chest and you wonder if he can hear it. You pull the thin straps of your dress down your arms slowly,not once away from him. Even as he shrugs off his leather jacket.You hold the dress from falling by holding it close to your breast with one arm.

"Show me" Natsuo says with a nod of his head. And if his eyes are a storm his voice is thunder. It drops an octave,it sounds rich and masculine. It makes you tremble.

Your dress drops to the floor and Natsuo drinks you up with his eyes greedily. It is not the first time he's seen you naked but you don't need to know that. He's seen you naked countless times already,there's not an inch of your body that he hasn't seen before. Still each and every time he finds himself at a loss for words. Of all the beautiful things he has seen since he came to be, you are by far the most striking.

Natsuo reaches for you. His fingers trace slowly up your sides,up the side of your breasts until his palm cups your mounds. He shifts the weight of them in his hands, lifts them up and pushes them together.

He takes a step and then another,slowly guiding backwards until your bed hits the back of your thighs.

He leans closer to you,his face coming closer and you lick your lips waiting for his kiss. Only for him to turn his head slightly until his lips brush your ear.

"Lay down,keep your feet on the floor and spread your legs"

Again you do as you're told,you take a seat on the bed,leaning back and ever so slowly you spread your legs.

This is where he,Natsuo the God of Death,kneels before a mortal for the first time ever.

He takes a hold of your shin and lifts your leg over his shoulder as he peppers it with kisses. You hold your breath anticipating what's coming. You find the slow way he touches you and the lack of words spoken between you two ,insanely sensual. He devours you with his eyes,and no matter how much you swallow the dryness in your mouth won't leave.

Natsuo rakes his hand up your inner thigh,pulling it to the side to spread you more. He settles the wide expanse of his shoulders between your legs. He traces your slit up with his thumb,his cock swelling inside his jeans when he feels the sticky moisture coat his digit. His dick grows harder at the sound of your rapid breathing. It twitches at the sound of your gasp when his thumb puts pressure on your clit. He nips at the tender skin of your inner thigh. Kisses at the sides of your pussy lips. Your hips buck but he holds you steady by the hip with his free hand. He's strong and gentle and the combination is driving you wild.

He uses his thumb to spread your pussy lips. Strings of your arousal breaking as glides his thumb up and down. Much like he was stroking his glass at the bar he now circles your core,dipping the tip of his thumb inside you, gathering your slick and bringing it to your throbbing clit.

Your glistening cunt becomes his favorite flower. The folds of your pussy, the most beautiful blooming petals he's seen,shiny with your nectar. It makes his mouth water.

"Is this all for me..hmm? Natsuo's thumb pulls the hood of your clit up and his nose bumps your nub when he asks. The heady smell of your cunt makes him groan.

He licks a long strip outside your lips and you try to wiggle your hips wishing he would lick you a little bit more to the right.

"I said,if this is all for me" His teeth nip your skin and you grind yours in pain.

"Yes"

Your jaw goes slack when Natsuo lowers his mouth on you. He flattens his tongue,scoops the wetness up and sucks at your clit all in one motion. You clench your teeth harder together,holding in your voice until Natsuo notices.

"C'mon let it out,let me hear you,I want to hear how good I'm making you feel,understand?" He sucks at your thigh,your blood vessels pop and a red mark appears.

"Tonight you're mine"

All you can do is nod. He looks feral between your thighs. He smirks, he thumbs your clit at the same time he sinks two long fingers inside you. The stretch makes you screech and he grins.

"Good girl" his whisper is drowned by the squelching sounds your pussy makes as he fingers you. Each twirl of his tongue on your clit sends delicious tremors all over your body. He spreads his fingers inside you,spreading you,if you intend to take his cock he has to get you ready. He didn't think you'll be this tight with all the fucking you been doing. Especially not after the last two men you welcomed inside your legs. But you are and can't wait to change that.

The pleasure is too much to bear. You're barely able to keep your eyes open a couple of minutes at a time. Squeezing them shut whenever he dips his tongue low and into your cunt. Licking your walls and his fingers as he continues with his assault. His knuckles rap against your puckered hole with each stroke. Tearing long moans from you.

Natsuo puts a hand under your ass planning on lifting you to change the angle at which he eats you out. He wants to get both his tongue and fingers deeper inside you. But as soon as he does he sees the red crescent marks Katsuki left on you a couple of weeks ago. They taunt him,and suddenly he's not in your room with you anymore.He's hiding in the shadows watching Katsuki plow you into the wall,giving you said marks.

The room turns cold as his mood changes.

He looks down at his fingers as he takes them out of you and in place of your slick he sees the thick white of Bakugou's cum coating his fingers. He turns green with jealousy and he sees red. He will have to pay this Katsuki a visit pretty soon.

"I thought you said you were mine" you hear him rasp close to your pussy. You whine wishing he hadn't stopped. You chuckle, you did say that but it's part of the role play,did he really think you mean it? You play along,hoping he'll put his mouth back on you if you tell him exactly what he wants to hear.

"I am. I am yours Natsuo" your voice drips with honey,but he only pushes away and goes to stand up.

The room spins as Natsuo flips you on your stomach. Perhaps he's not getting his point across,this isn't a game for him,apparently you didn't take him seriously when he said tonight you were his. He'll have to explain himself in a way that you can understand.

Natsuo reaches behind his head,yanking his shirt up and off of him. He pulls his jeans down his legs and steps out of them,throws them somewhere in your room. He grabs you by the hips and yanks you up until your ass is in the air and your face is smothered by the mattress.

The bed sinks with his weight as he settles behind you.

" If you're mine,then what are these?" His fingernails scratch at the indentations and you arch your back more.

"It's nothing,he was noth...ahh" You yelp when he slaps the curve of your ass,not having expected it at all.

"It doesn't matter,I will do much worse" He shuffles closer to you, pulls you back by the hips a little and nudges your legs open a little bit.

"W..what are you doing?" You stammer.

"I'm getting to know you" He says as he spreads your pussy with both thumbs. "Getting to know every inch of you that now belongs to me"

You choke on a moan when without another word he shoves his entire tongue inside you. It feels longer than when it was lapping at your clit. You grip your sheets hard until your knuckles turn white.

Three thick fingers replace his tongue. He fucks you with them,his pinky bumps your clit and his thumb taps the rim of your ass.

He places small kisses along your spine,on your shoulder blades and behind your neck. You moan and trash and soon you're throwing your ass back onto his hand. And when you're in the precipice of an orgasm he pulls away. Taking his fingers out of you and putting them in his mouth to suck the clean.

Natsuo flips you back around,watching amused as your legs tremble. His cock grows harder at the way you lick your lips and your eyes focus on his hands as he hooks both thumbs at the waistband of his briefs,pulling down revealing a puffy patch of white curls atop the thick base of his dick. A final yank and his underwear falls to the floor. His cock too heavy to stand on its own,hangs between his legs. Precum drips out his tip onto the floor.

He climbs onto the bed, crawls his way up your body ,caging you in with both his arms on either side of your head. He keeps your legs open with his thighs and the hefty length of him settles over your hip. His cock is hot and wet and sticky. You want it inside you so bad.

Natsuo latches his mouth on your neck,the coldness of his lips help numb the pain when he sucks hard at the flesh. He gives you a collar of reds and purples before working his way down. He kisses your sternum,the valley between your breasts. His large hands cups your tits, lifting them up. He curls his tongue around your nipple and sucks it into his mouth. He twirls it around and opens his mouth wide,shoving as much of your breast in his mouth as he can. He suckles hard,smearing your skin and his chin with his saliva. He takes turns sucking at your tits,paying equal amounts of attention to both.All the while his dick continues to poke and drip on your hip.

He pulls away to sit on his shins,shifting closer to you and spreading your legs with his muscly thighs. You whimper when he takes a hold of his dick. It's thick; even his own fingers can circle it entirely. You know it will hurt but right now you're too drunk with lust to care. Natsuo pumps his dick a few times and ever so gently he glides the length of it between your messy folds.

He smears his precum on your clit with the head of his cock and you moan.

"Ghnn..do you always get this wet baby?" He raps between clenched teeth.

"Tell me who else gets you this soaked"

"Natsuo please…" you mumble incoherently between moans.

"Shh.. I know..I know..I'm going to fuck you now. I'm going to fuck you so good you'll forget everyone before me"

He lines himself with your core and then without warning sinks half of his girth inside your dripping cunt. The stretch hurts and you think that if he goes any deeper you'll rip at seams.

"Fuck,you're so tight and so wet" he rocks his hips slowly,taking his dick out until the tips is the only thing that connects you both. Spreads the slick on his girth to the rest of his length. He takes a hold of your legs and pushes them out and up.

"Your sweet little pussy was made to take my cock" he grunts out before filling you up entirely.

"This pussy was made for me"

His thrusts are relentless, the force of them makes your whole bed shake. The aggravating creaking sound of the springs of your bed harmonize with the thumping knocks of your headboard against the wall.

You clench your pussy down on him when he thrust up hard,the tip of his dick nudges your cervix and you settle both hands on his abdomen to prevent him from going deeper.Your head is empty all you can focus on right now is the feel of his twitching cock inside you.The numbing cold of his fingers makes your body shiver. And the sweet pain of being stretched so wide makes you wetter.

He looks ethereal between your legs,his hair is disheveled,two pieces hang loosely over his forehead partially covering his eyes. His mouth hangs open as he pants. The storm in his eyes still raging on.

Natsuo thinks you're his favorite mortal.

The only one to ever take the whole length of him. Your cunt is so wet and tight but he wants to claim you completely. Your puckered hole looks awfully tempting and he won't let himself cum until he has claimed every hole in your body.

But before that he needs you to cum on his cock.

You're fuller than you've ever been,near bursting. Your body feels like it's on fire and Natsuo does nothing but fan the flames when he starts rubbing your puffy clit. He leans his weight down on you and you feel small and vulnerable. He holds your gaze as he fucks into you at a steady pace putting just the right amount of pressure down on your silky pearl that has you seeing stars. There's the tightening pull at your navel that tells you you're near the edge. So you lift your hips up and meet his thrusts.

"Yeah, C'mon baby just like that,you deserve this,you've been through enough...fuck...c'mon be my good girl and cum on my cock"

You find yourself sobbing both from pleasure and redemption. Who would've thought an unknown man who you know nothing about would have you reevaluating the choices you have been making as of late. All this self destruct,all this self hate got no room in your body right now. You experience an epiphany as you come apart on his cock. Death is a part of life,and Natsuo was right, grief is love. The fact that we suffer after the ones we love leave this heart is a testament of our love for them and for life. With a cry and tears spilling down your cheeks you cum,your arms hold onto him tightly and your body arches into him and he doesn't flinch in pain as you carve your gratitude in the form of angry scratches on his back.

" There you go baby,let it all go. I got you" Natsuo kisses you sweaty temple as you come down,your body gradually relaxes and your inner walls yield the crushing grip they have on his dick.

Natsuo rolls both of you over on the bed,sprawling your boneless body over his. His cock is still inside you,hot and throbbing. You want more,you want so much more and now you find yourself really wanting to be his. Your orgasm has the opposite effect on the fast growing flames in your core. You're still sensitive, but that doesn't stop you as you sit up. You straddle him,maneuvering your body so his cock stays buried inside you. A light rock of your hips makes Natsuo hiss,his hands cup your ass, give it a squeeze before they settle on your hips. Helping you grind on him,your puffy clit rubs the drenched patch of his pubes and you whine. You could cum again from just this,but really do want more.

If he says you're his,he might as well claim your body in any way it's possible. It has been a while,it'll probably suck tomorrow when you try to walk but you threw the last two fucks you gave the minute his mouth latched onto your cunt.

You lift yourself up and off of him. You moan as his dick slips out of you and slaps his abdomen with a wet splat. His pubes shine silver in the dim light of your room with your cum.

He's been so good to you,you want to thank him. Without further you work your way down his body,you map his body with your lips as you go,etching to memory the taste of salt on his skin.

You kiss his belly button,his happy trail tickles your lips as you go lower. You lick at the carved v at his hip,down to the base of his dick and he involuntary thrusts up in the air.

Your mouth is hot when it wraps around the tip of his cock. Hotter than the flames of purgatory. He's never been or seen heaven but he believes it must be something like this. With your mouth wet and hot around his cock. You little nimble tongue cleaning up the mess you made of him. He can help but groan and grip the back of your head with one of his large hands. Pushing your face down on him,until he feels the thigh passage of your throat flex and shrink when you gag.

"That's it,you can take it,there you go"

His words of encouragement spurt you on,taking a big breath through your nose,you will your throat to relax. You feel the veins on his cock pulse as you flatten your tongue on his length. 'I've gotta show him how thankful I am" the mantra in your brain as you take him down your throat. It's a suffocating feeling,different from being choked,your nose starts to run and you sniffle with every bob of your head.

He directs you with the hand at the back of your head,up and down then holds you in place and thrusts into your mouth four,five times before pulling you off of him. Frothy slobber connects you both when you come up for air. Natsuo grips the base of his dick calls you 'his good girl' tells you how good your hot mouth feels as he smears his precum and your saliva all over your chin and cheeks,you kiss the tip with every swipe over your swollen lips.

Natsuo fucks your throat until the roof of your mouth itches. The sheer size of him irritating your throat and making your moans sound husky. He relents,and let's go of your head,you come up coughing and choking on your own spit. Everything from his navel to his mid thigh is wet.

A mess of your own creation.

You want to kiss him so bad,let him taste himself and you on your tongue.

But there's a void inside you that only he can fill. So you crawl your way back up his body.

Natsuo sits up and props himself against the headboard, back cushioned by a sea of pillows that smell like your shampoo.

He meets you halfway, pulling you forward until your breasts are being squeezed by his pecs. Stomach to stomach he can feel every breath you take,can feel the way your lungs expand as he holds you close to him. He kisses the slope of your neck,admiring the artwork his mouth left on you earlier. Blues,purples reds that he wishes would stain your skin forever.

You reach behind you for his cock. It's sticky as your juices are starting to dry on it. You give it a couple of strokes before pushing it between your ass cheeks with the pad of your fingers. You rock on his lap back and forth. The fat globs of precum act as lube,the tip of his dick catching the rim of your ass whenever you lift your hips too high. The wet glide of his length against your asshole is mind blowing,it sends tiny shocks of pleasure straight to your clit.

"Natsuo..I - I need you".

The sultry way you utter those words gets Natsuo harder. Makes his drip a little more.

"Fuck..I need you more" His voice is so heavy with desire you barely recognize it. You need him inside you now. You tangle your fingers in Natsuo's ivory hair and bring his face closer to yours while grasping his cock at the base,lining yourself with it. Your eyes search his,which are already looking at you. Leisurely sitting down on his dick,you gasp and bite your lip when you feel the sting of the fat head of his cock breach you. It hurts,it hurts when he unconsciously twitches making you lift yourself off of him with a hiss.

"Shhh..You're doing so well..you can do it..remember? You were made to take all of me"

You try again,this time you hold your breath and push gently when you sit on it. It still burns but once the wet tip of his cock slips inside you the pain is replaced with blinding pleasure. Natsuo's moan is music to your ears.

"Ghhnn..fuck there you go..you take my cock so perfectly" He groans,his lips a whisper away from yours.

He holds your hips in a crushing grip; grinding you down on him.A couple more inches ease their way inside you and you wail. It's too much,he's too big,but you need it all. Your eyes water and tears cling to your lashes when with one deep breath and hard pull on his hair,you sink the rest of the way down,your puckered hole burning with the stretch. Pussy clenching around nothing as he fills you so completely.

'That's it...fuck baby..how does it feel..how does my dick feel inside you tight little ass?"

'Ahh...s'too much,I can't...I can't"

Natsuo could cum from the heat of your insides alone,but he wants - no he needs you to come again before he does. So he sucks his thumb into his mouth,smothers it with saliva. Completely unnecessary seeing the way your pussy gushes out slick with each clench of your ass,he circles your clit with tight fast circles that have you screaming.

It would be so easy to pull you down on his cock. But he wants to see the way your features twist with bliss when you take all of him.

"Go ahead baby. Take it. Take what you want,what you need. Take what you deserve"

His words of encouragement send you reeling. You let go of his hair opting to use his shoulders as leverage,and do just as you're told. You take what you want. You fuck yourself on his cock,let yourself enjoy what you been craving. Sex with Natsuo is animalistic, utter abandon as you impale yourself on his cock over and over again. He groans and moans and grips your hips a little tighter when you speed up. You're full in a way you're not used to,you haven't felt whole for a really long time,but here with Natsuo you feel like you've found the piece of you that was missing.

The wet slapping sound of your tights on his lap turns you on. Is obscene and dirty and you're making a mess of your bed but you don't care. You stopped caring the minute he decides to fuck into you. His mouth licks and sucks at your tits as you bounce on his dick.

"Ahh I asked how does it feel?" He mutters and pulls you down hard on his lenght,his mouth too busy suckling your nipples to speak clearly.

"God-sgood..you feel so good" your voice is a needy slur.

He is so deep inside you,hitting a spot that has you seeing stars. You can't do anything but cling to him as he fucks you into the shape of his cock.

"Natsuo i-"

"Go ahead baby cum..cum for me"

He can tell you're close by the way you're panting and the tiny little tremors of your walls around him. He's close too, he's going to give you all he has to offer.

You ride him at a frenzied pace,there's no rhythm to the movements of your hips. No technique needed to have his cock drag on the one spot you need him. There's not a crevice inside you he's not occupying.

You definitely want his number after this. Maybe you'll ask him to accompany you for breakfast in the morning. You hope he stays the night,you hope he wakes you up at dawn with his mouth on your cunt. Or perhaps you'll rouse him from his deep slumber with wet kisses to his stiffening cock. You want to see how his grey irises change color when the first rays of the sun hit them. You want to hear his voice,raspy from sleep as he tells you good-morning.

You want to get to know him,he said he was a traveler didn't he? You would like to know which places he's been to,what kind of things he has seen on his travels.But before all that you want to see him cum.

So you ride him,ignore the numbing pain in your ass and focus solely on the euphoric way he fucks you.

Natsuo has never known what love is,he's never understood the emotion,all he knows is that it's unexpected and fleeting. But if love is anything like devotion he thinks he might love you. He is a God but he wouldn't mind praying to you,kneeling down to you and kiss your feet if it means he gets to feel the tight clench of your pussy forever.

He thinks he loves the way your warm skin glistens with sweat,he thinks he loves the feel of your nails digging and scratching his shoulders,his chest and his back. He thinks he loves the wails and moans that fall from your lips when he throbs inside you. He loves when your back arches and your body curves against him,when your toes curl and tears spill from your eyes when you unfurl and cum undone on his cock with a broken whisper of his name on your lips.

You trash on top of him,body seizing in ecstasy. And the molten heat of your tight hole hugs and milks his cock,making him impossible for him to hold back. He holds you tight and yanks your face to his. His mouth opens and slants over yours, his tongue wrestles yours into submission and you swallow his groans as he cums. Cock spasming as he empties months of want inside you. Coating your insides with his sticky white spunk.

After, when your body stops shaking and his dick has stopped twitching ,he pulls out. Your body tries to suck him back in as he slips out with a pop. His cum runs thick down your slit and onto his thighs and yours. Natsuo kisses you slowly,he nips and licks at your lips. Maneuvers himself to lay down on the bed bringing you down with him. He tugs the crumpled blankets over your cooling body and wraps his arms around you. With your cheek against his chest and your head tucked under his chin you let sleep take you.

Natsuo watches you sleep in his arms. By revealing himself to you,he has made a big mistake. Like star-crossed lovers you both are destined for doom. For Death has fallen in love with a mortal,and you have been kissed by him.

And nobody escapes the kiss of death.

#natsuo todoroki #natsuo #natsuo smut #mha smut #bnha smut #bnha natsuo #todoroki #grim reaper natsuo #wheel of misfortune #natsuo x f!reader

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cellydawn · 3 years

Text

sans IS gaster (OR the sans theory masterpost pt. 2)

Part 1 || ❤️ || Part 3

(drawn by me, color by @magenteel)

Previously, we discussed: Sans and his hand in the destruction of a world, his connection to Ice-E and Deltarune, and how he relates to Gaster. We’re going to continue the thread we left off on.

Section III - Gaster (Cont.)

Snails are mentioned too many times throughout Undertale for them to not be of any significance. As it turns out, they are pretty important in unraveling the mystery behind Gaster and Sans.

When you enter the area with Napstablook’s snail farm, you’ll notice that Sans’s theme is playing despite him not making an appearance.

In one of Papyrus’s phone calls, he mentions that Sans recently bought snail-shaped pasta and says “He’ll probably fill them with hotdogs and slime.” Toriel also owns a book called “72 User for Snails”. Track 72 in the Undertale OST is “Song That Might Play When You Fight Sans”. That’s multiple times that Sans is likened to snails.

Snails belong under the taxonomic class Gastropoda. Gasterpods.

These long pauses between words and phrases are not unlike how Gaster speaks.

Here is Gaster speaking with us in the opening sequence of Deltarune. And...

Now. Let’s move on.

(More under the cut.)

Mus_smile is the track that plays in room_gaster. This is my personal opinion, but the character that is the most strongly associated with smiles is Sans.

And Sans is certainly intelligent enough to be the prime suspect for being Gaster. The proper name for his namesake is Comic Sans Microsoft, or Comic Sans MS. MS can also be used as a suffix for the name of a person who has a degree in a Master of Science.

Sans also owns quantum physics books. The subject of Gaster’s scientific research is revealed in Entry #17: “photon readings negative”. Photons are described as a "quantum" of electromagnetic energy, and are of course within the realm of study under quantum physics.

Gaster, like Sans, is brilliant yet slow-working. Slower than Alphys, who is repeatedly noted to have nothing to show yet as the royal scientist in the eyes of the people and is shown to slack off constantly.

Gaster is implied to have perished, and I suppose he did, in a way, if these speculations do end up being correct. However, there’s something more to this statement. Ghosts are sort of in the realm of being not-alive, and Sans and Napstablook have a surprising level of comparability.

They both:

Get likened to “garbage”

Have connections to snails (Napstablook runs the snail farm)

Speak completely in lower case

Pretend to sleep and say “Z’s” out loud

Have black “sclera”

And the black sclera is also a topic of its own; it’s equated with the status of being brought back to life. Being “determined”. (See: Asriel and Undyne)

Undyne is especially suspect due to the strange right-eye-phenomenon she has in common with Sans, with spears shooting out of hers. Spears that are actually colored light blue, not unlike Sans’s eye.

To recap:

Sans and Gaster are heavily involved in Deltarune

They have been displaced from time and space

They have connections to snails

They are both doctors with knowledge in quantum physics

They both “fell” into the abyss

They both talk similarly

They are both slow

They are both characterized by their smile

They are both some degree of dead

Sans is Gaster or a significant piece of him. Sans has Gaster Blasters because they belong to him. If all prior conjecture proves true, he is and will be responsible for the destruction of a world or THE world within Deltarune. After all, the Latin definitions of “gaster” and “sans” are to destroy and to be without, respectively.

That brings us to the next subject: why is Sans Sans? More specifically, why is that his name? Why even change his name?

Below is the Japanese version of the fun event with Sans’s phone call. It features completely different dialogue from its English counterpart.

Am I Licca-chan? (Select No) Then from now on call me Sans. I need to check every once in a while. I won’t know when my name has changed.

“Licca-chan” is a well-known Barbie-esque dress-up doll in Japan, so popular to the point where it is even used as a synonym for other dolls from different companies. Perhaps it implies that Sans is adaptable due to Licca-chan’s nature as a doll and how she is in a constant state of change to reflect the times. It also seems to be a pun on “liquor” because Sans was talking about beer in the English version. I tried to scour the Japanese fandom for clues, but they also seemed stumped. If anyone has any ideas on what this could mean, please let me know!

Regardless, “Sans” doesn’t seem to be his actual name. Perhaps his true name was Gaster...?

Additionally, If the player changes the name of the fallen child via going into the code, this message appears in the stats menu. The vernacular is very Sans-like, with his frequent use of question tags at the end of his sentences (I counted 14 huh’s from Sans).

Finally, let’s talk about the number six. We know that it’s Gaster’s number--All of the explicitly Gaster-related fun events trigger for fun values in the sixties, Gaster’s stats are all comprised of 6′s, Gaster’s “typer-value” is 666--you get the idea.

The concept art Toby drew for the Alarm Clock’s character screen features what is presumably Sans and the number six.

“The Choice”--the track that plays during Sans’s judgements--is “Undertale” slowed down by 666%.

Section IV - Angels and Demons (The “Why”)

In modern day culture, 666 is closely associated with the devil. The Book of Revelation (13:17-18) asserts that 666 is “the number of a man” (this is important, and we’ll come back to it later) and is “the number of the Beast”. The Beast is mentioned as “coming out of the abyss”.

Sounds a lot like someone else we know, doesn’t it? And how fitting for Sans, the one who judges our sins and demands us “to burn in hell”.

But if we go further, the Beast of Revelation is described to have seven heads representing seven kings. The beast itself is an eighth king who is of the seven and "was and is not and shall ascend out of the bottomless pit, and go into perdition."

Chara is an eighth of the seven fallen children.

There’s something Chara, Sans, and Gaster all share, and it’s their association with demons.

Here is an excerpt from the Cutting Room Floor:

Among the four strings in version 1.0, the last one, designated by variable “demond”, stands out for two reasons.

The letter “d” is separate from the other letters denoting the demon variables--the rest, “x”, “y”, and “z” are in sequential alphabet order.

The speech pattern of the last string is different from the others. It has that signature question tag at the end of the sentence that a certain character is known for.

In version 1.001, the strings clearly reflect Chara’s speech pattern. This time, all the variables are in sequential order from “a” to “d”.

Pieces of dialogue at the near-end of a genocide route from Chara and Sans. Recall that Chara is using the same “Now” from earlier with Gaster and Sans.

Chara makes a reference to Banana Yoshimoto's book “Kitchen”. Take note of the page number.

Chara is also linked to the number nine. It’s the highest achievable stat in-game. It’s the stat of the locket and real knife. It’s how much damage Chara deals. It’s also the number six flipped upside down.

The connections are undeniable.

And yet, it goes further. Let’s take a look at how Christmas comes in to play.

In Deltarune, there are a few references to it, the most foremost probably being the importance of Noelle Holiday as a character. We also get Lancer’s laugh and the joke with “Krismas”.

Back to Undertale, there is significant Christmas iconography represented by “Gyfmas” and Gyftrot (bearing a strong resemblance to Photoshop Flowey, the DT Extractor, and Gaster Blasters).

What I’d like to focus on is Santa. Papyrus describes him as “a chubby, smiling man who loves to surprise people.” From the thank you note addressed to Santa we find in Sans’s room, we can assume that Sans is a Santa, at least to Papyrus. It’s pretty fitting, since Sans can be described as someone who “knows if [we’ve] been bad or good”. Maybe he can even tell if we’re sleeping or awake with how the Dark World appears to be linked with sleep and dreams (please read my theory on Sans being a Darkner for more on this).

So we can reasonably conclude that Sans presents himself as a friendly, child-oriented figure, in-line with the nature of Comic Sans, a font for children, and Ice-E, a mascot of a company marketed towards children.

…

Santa is an anagram of Satan.

…

To recap: Gaster’s association with the number 666 marks him as a “demon”. Chara and Sans are also called demons and similarly have connections to the number 6. This is more evidence that Gaster and Sans is or used to be the same people, and Chara has some form of correspondence with them.

I failed to mention before that there is actually a second Beast of Revelation “from the Earth” with "two horns like a lamb”. From the “earth” like Flowey, with horns like Asriel.

Asriel is most likely the “Angel” depicted in the prophecy within the scope of Undertale; he’s named similarly to Azrael, an angel of death, and one of his attacks is literally called “Angel of Death”. He also bears a striking resemblance to the Deltarune in his God of Hyperdeath form.

Surprise, surprise, he and Sans also share parallels.

Let’s start with their introductions. “Flowey the flower”. “Sans the skeleton”. It’s a similarly alliterative greeting and they’re both using fake names.

Mirrored dialogue yet again...

…and similar meta-commentary.

These three characters--Sans/Gaster, Chara, and Flowey/Asriel--they have all fallen. Gaster fell into his creation. Chara fell into the Underground. Asriel had “fallen down”. (Sans and Papyrus are also the only sibling pair other than Chara and Asriel. I won’t talk about Papyrus in this part though because this thing is shaping up to be too long already.)

What does this mean for Sans? I have a personal theory.

Above the entryway of the Judgement Hall, there is a reversed Deltarune. The triangles are inverted and the wings are more bat-like. In the room where only Sans appears, the same room that plays a version of “Undertale” slowed down 666%.

I think Sans is a candidate for the Angel prophesized to destroy the world in Deltarune. I think he is Sans Serif, a seraph. He fell into his experiment and became a “fallen” angel, a demon.

The Angel’s Heaven mentioned alongside, on the other hand... Heaven can also be used to refer to God. Dog is an anagram of God.

Sans has many, many connections with dogs, especially one Annoying Dog. More on this next time.

Part 1 || ❤️ || Part 3

#undertale #deltarune #undertale theory #deltarune theory #sans #gaster #cellytheory

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

Death and an Angel part 13

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Ahsoka takes Din on a journey through the past.

“You should know though, you might not like what you see.”

Din shakes his head, dismissing the warning. “What’s one more nightmare?”

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,958

Warnings: angst, swearing, character death (canonical, but with my own twist), made up planet name that is ridiculous, dialogue heavy, plot plot plot, backstory

Author Note: Good lord this is soooo late coming out. To anyone who sent me an encouraging message I am beyond grateful because I really needed the encouragement to finish this segment. I hope more than anything this segment gives more answers than it raises questions (although reading your theories is both awesome and entertaining so keep them coming too!)

Links to Part 1 and Part 12 and Part 14

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

“Who the fuck is Moff Gideon?”

Ahsoka looks at Din, her brow furrowed deeply. He’s seen the expression on her face enough times to recognize its meaning: this is the face she makes when she is about to reveal a message directly from the universe itself. As an Oracle, she is the only immortal who can glimpse details of the past, present, and future. She has a soft spot for mortals, sharing the few precious snippets the universe allows her to with them in the forms of riddles and vague prophecies that never fail to give Din a migraine with their crypticness when he hears them.

“Moff Gideon is a Seraph who grew discontent with his position amongst immortals,” she says at last.

“Is he the one responsible for keeping my soulmate from me?” he asks, voice as harsh and unforgiving as the environment surrounding them.

“He is responsible for many sins.”

“I don’t have time for your vague answers,” he growls, hands twisting into fists. “You tell me not to kill this Seraph, then in the next breath claim he’s a threat. I am not a mortal who will be entertained by riddles, Ahsoka. You summoned me here to talk, so start talking. Tell me what you know.”

The Oracle’s mouth purses into a thin line. Nearly a full minute passes before she speaks again. When she does, the calmness is no longer natural, but forced. “Telling you what I know would be impossible.”

“Ahsoka—”

“But,” she pitches her voice higher than his protest while narrowing her eyes disapprovingly, “I am capable of showing you. You should know though, you might not like what you see.”

Din shakes his head, dismissing the warning. “What’s one more nightmare?”

She reaches forward, pressing her index and middle fingers to the center of his visor. If not for his helmet, she’d be touching the space directly between his eyes and instinct tells him the positioning isn’t random.

“We’ll start at the beginning,” she says, but her voice has changed from its usual cadence. It is ancient and youthful, a harsh scream and a hushed whisper all at once.

Din has only the slightest of seconds to process this in addition to the way her facial markings start to glow and her eyes flash white before he finds himself standing in the midst of a crisis.

There is mass hysteria every direction he turns. People screaming in terror, pushing each other and tripping over those who have fallen in their haste to flee an unseen threat; whole buildings are crumbling, sending flaming debris and shards of glass raining down upon the streets as smoke billows into the sky. The edges of his field of view are blurred, like he’s looking at everything through someone’s glasses, and it creates an ache behind his eyeballs. Fuck, is this what it’s like for Ahsoka when she experiences visions?

‘You remember the Fall of Mandalore, don’t you, Death?’ Ahsoka’s voice resonates from deep inside his brain, as if she’s fused her consciousness with his.

His jaw tightens when he says, “Of course.”

‘Oh, look. There you are.’

Sure enough, when Din looks forward he sees himself moving swiftly through the crowd, unaffected by the chaos as he stoops to reap the soul of a woman who’s had her skull caved in by the stampede of frantic civilians. He wonders how many others can say they’ve had an out-of-body-experience such as what he’s dealing with right now: reliving a traumatic event all over again while observing himself the same way a stranger would from a distance.

“Why are you showing me this?”

‘Because it’s important,’ Ahsoka answers, and the image of her frowning face enters his mind unbiddenly. ‘The universe has a plethora of endings imagined for every civilization, but it is the individual choices of the community that act as stepping stones bringing them closer to a specific fate.’

“Mandalore was always meant to fall apart. It was just a matter of how, not when,” he surmises, voice devoid of emotion. His words are punctuated by another fiery blast from a nearby complex, followed by an ear-piercing wall of a terrified child.

‘Precisely. But the same cannot be said for an individual’s lifespan. There are consequences if someone perishes before their time has come. You should know that better than anyone.’ There is a hint of accusation thinly veiled in her tone that has his body tensing reflexively.

His location shifts, shapes and colors mixing together without warning before another scene gradually comes into focus. It’s a large chamber with sparse furnishings, but its beauty is tarnished by the copious amounts of glass littering the room as every single one of the ornately designed windows have been shattered from the force of the explosions outside. Din knows before he even lays eyes on the throne he’s inside the royal palace because he first sees the familiar face of his most trusted reaper standing next to a blond-haired woman. Both women have such strikingly similar facial features nobody who sees them side by side can have any doubt they are related.

Whereas Bo-Katan dons gray-and-blue armor with a jetpack strapped to her back and two blaster pistols holstered at her sides, her sister, Satine, wears a garnet colored dress with a gold belt wrapped around her slender waist. In this moment, the sisters differ from each other as much as night and day; one a military leader, the other a pacifistic duchess.

“You need someone here to protect you. We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with and it isn’t safe for you to be alone,” Bo-Katan argues, crossing her arms over her chest as if to intimidate her sister into submitting.

“Our people are scared and defenseless, Bo. They need your protection during this crisis more than I currently do,” Satine says, voice soft but firm in a way only those deeply involved in politics can master.

Bo-Katan glances out the broken windows at the burning city, stubborn loyalty to protect her sister warring with her duty to protect her people. “Then at least send a message to Obi-Wan to come here.”

Satine shakes her head. “Bo—”

“I know things are strained between you two right now—”

“That’s a glaring understatement.”

“—but he’s one of our best and most loyal guards. He’s proven more than a dozen times he’ll fight anyone who’s a threat to you.”

“I don’t need the reminder of what he’s done for me.”

Bo-Katan places a hand on the blonde’s shoulder and squeezes it when she says, “He’s the only one other than myself I trust to protect you if you were to encounter danger.”

“Just because I’m committed to peace does not mean I am incapable of looking after myself.” Satine reaches behind herself to detach a weapon that had been clipped to the back of her belt. She clicks a button on its hilt, emitting a white blade shining brightly like a beacon amongst the dark clouds of smoke tainting the air.

Din’s breath catches in his throat. “Is that…?”

‘The Lightsaber of Mandalore,’ Ahsoka confirms. ‘Made by the Armorer herself.’

The Armorer is deeply respected by both mortals and immortals alike. As the goddess of metalworking and blacksmiths, there is nothing she cannot forge and infuse with grand powers. However, she is exceedingly cautious about choosing who is a recipient of her creations.

Din is one such recipient, having been given his armor of pure beskar when the Armorer realized how dangerous his touch was to mortals. He remains eternally grateful for the gift not only because it prohibits unwanted physical contact, but also because it is invulnerable to damage or rust like other types of armor. Ahsoka’s dual sabers were also made in the Armorer’s forge, specifically designed for the Oracle’s grip alone and meant to protect her during her journeys throughout the galaxy, but in contrast to the white blade of the Lightsaber, the blades of Ahsoka’s weapons matched the same blue coloring as the stripes on her lekku and montrals.

According to the legends Din’s heard, the Armorer created the Lightsaber for the first ruler of Mandalore because she was impressed with their culture and strong military, and it was passed on to each new heir to the throne over the centuries. When wielded in battle, the Lightsaber made the user invincible against enemy attacks as it siphoned off energy from the souls of those it sliced through.

Throughout the long history of Mandalore, Satine was distinguished as the only ruler to avoid warfare as she sincerely believed negotiations and treaties could solve any problem quicker than bloodshed.

As such, Din isn’t surprised when Bo-Katan raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Did you forget who you’re talking to? I know you wouldn’t use the Lightsaber even to cut a piece of fruit.”

Satine sighs through her nose, sheathing the weapon once more. “Fine. I’ll contact Obi the second you’re gone.”

“You better.” Bo-Katan leans forward, pressing her forehead against her sister’s. A gesture of affection within their culture. “I’ll see you soon.”

And then she’s gone, flying out the nearby window and diving straight into the fray. As a mortal and as a reaper, the redhead is fearless in the face of danger. Some might consider the behavior reckless, but Din’s always been impressed by her dogged tenacity to achieve victory no matter the difficulty of her mission.

Din looks back at Satine. Now that she is alone in the room, she is able to freely express her distress at the unfolding situation, looking as if she’s aged ten years within the blink of an eye. She fiddles with the comlink around her wrist, seeming hesitant to call this Obi-Wan fellow like she agreed to.

‘They haven’t realized it, but they’re soulmates, ’ Ahsoka murmurs, low and melancholic. Hearing it makes Din’s chest constrict with unease. ‘They fought recently and parted ways upset with each other. Unfortunately, she dies before they can resolve their miscommunication.’

The next sequence of events play out startlingly quick, as if Ahsoka has chosen to suddenly jump forward in time. His eyes struggle to absorb the fleeting details—the doors to the throne room being blown open; a Seraph in black armor emerging from the smoke; his voice is unique, velvety and thorny at the same time, as he addresses the duchess by her full name Satine Kryze; Satine attempting to stall as she subtly taps at her comlink, only for the tactic to fail as the foe teleports closer, eliminating the space between them.

“You have something I want,” he tells her, seizing hold of her throat. “You may think you have some idea of what you have in your possession, but you do not.”

One of Satine’s hands claws at his face, attempting to gouge out his eyeballs with her nails, while the other reaches for the Lightsaber. Her fingertips brush against its metal hilt just as he throws her to the floor. The impact knocks the breath out of her lungs, eliciting a strangled gasp, and shards of glass dig into her exposed skin, dotting the pale flesh with beads of blood.

Gideon—Din doesn’t need Ahsoka’s input to know this, for who else could the Seraph be but him?—places the heel of his boot over Satine’s neck. He doesn’t apply pressure yet, but the action in itself has the duchess squirming with panic, hitting at his leg futilely. There is a red light on the comlink flashing insistently, indicating someone on the other end is speaking but they’ve been muted.

“Give me the asset I seek.”

Through clenched teeth, Satine wheezes, “It belongs to Mandalore.”

“I thought you might say that,” Gideon replies, feigning disappointment. “However, in case you haven’t noticed Duchess,” he gestures towards the windows, “Mandalore is dead. My accomplices have made sure of that.”

“You’re a coward for hiding behind others. You don’t deserve the Lightsaber.”

There is a sudden change in the atmosphere, air turning impossibly frigid and crisp.

“I deserve it more than anyone,” Gideon says, angry enough he is trembling. The Seraph’s stance shifts, and although Din has witnessed every type of brutal death imaginable, he flinches at the sound of Satine’s neck snapping beneath his heel.

Gideon rolls her lifeless body over and rips the Lightsaber off her belt, a satisfied smirk on his face. He disappears as quickly as he arrived, reward in hand, and an eerie silence envelops the room. It’s almost as if the palace itself is stunned by the loss of its ruler, struggling to make sense of the merciless act of violence.

Time skips forward again, showing a young bearded-man dressed in military armor clutching at Satine’s body, pressing his forehead against hers as he weeps. Over and over he keeps murmuring apologies for not being quicker, for failing to be there when she needed him, for never saying he loved her.

“How do you know Satine and Obi-Wan are soulmates if they never matched?” Din asks, feeling like he’s intruding on a private moment despite not actually being there.

He thinks of a similarly phrased question he’d asked his angel on their way to Sorgan what feels like entire lifetimes ago: how will I know it’s my soulmate? Her eloquent response remains embedded deep in his memory, safely stored away along with every other moment they’ve spent together. Longing twists like a knife in his side as he allows himself a second of weakness to look at the soulmate marking on his palm.

‘I saw the life they were going to share,’ Ahsoka tells him. ‘Satine Kryze was not meant to die here. She and Obi-Wan should have both survived the Fall of Mandalore, settling down happily with each other elsewhere in the galaxy. Gideon’s greed altered their destinies.’

The palace fades away to reveal a much older Obi-Wan, gray-haired and wrinkled. He’s in Mos Eisley; Din recognizes the crowded spaceport instantly having taken his ship there for repairs numerous times over the years.

‘The universe puts a lot of effort into making sure soulmates match with each other at a very precise moment. Even if the match is rejected, the individuals still had an important impact on each other’s lives. Timing is the most important factor for a soulmate pairing, and if it’s off then the universe will attempt to fix it.’

Obi-Wan stops to help a woman who’s accidentally dropped her shopping bag, contents spilling out onto the sandy ground. She thanks him as he offers her a polite smile, both of their attentions on each other’s faces and not their hands. More specifically: their marked hands. There is the barest brush of their fingertips as they reach for the same item before an invisible blast of energy erupts from their touch, splitting them apart and sending every person and thing surrounding them flying in all directions.

The shock on Obi-Wan’s face matches Din’s own beneath his helmet. He remembers his angel telling him after the failed match with Omera what happened on Sorgan wasn’t the first time an event like that occurred, but she hadn’t been privy to the details. Her superior had told her she wasn’t high enough ranking which Din had thought sounded like a load of bantha shit at the time.

“Ahsoka, what is the meaning of this?” Din asks the questions quietly, but there’s an audible coating of frustration that he knows she won’t miss. “Satine’s dead.”

‘You didn’t reap her soul,’ Ahsoka says. It’s said as a gentle reminder, but it nevertheless has Din feeling like the ground has disappeared beneath his feet as realization dawns.

“I...didn’t.”

A quiet sigh echoes through his head. ‘I forgot how ignorant you can be. You can’t reap a mortal soul that transforms into a new entity.’

“She’s a Cupid,” Din murmurs. Either that or a reaper, but he knows each of his reapers like the back of his hand and Satine isn’t nor has she ever been one. He shakes his head, thinking of Obi-Wan finding Satine’s body in the throne room. “That doesn’t make any sense. Obi-Wan clearly loved her.”

‘Rejection can sometimes stem from a misunderstanding. Satine’s last living encounter with Obi-Wan was him saying so long as he was part of the royal guard they had no future together. She perceived this as him denying he cared about her, not knowing he had made plans to retire in order to ask for her hand.’

In front of Din, Obi-Wan rubs at his soulmate marking while staring at the mess around him, lines of unease and confusion creasing his forehead.

‘You asked, what is the meaning of this moment?’ Ahsoka continues. ‘It’s one of the universe’s attempts to reconnect Obi-Wan and Satine so they experience their matching as they were intended to.’

“But they’re of different statuses,” he points out needlessly. “She’ll outlive him.”

‘Yes, but the matching of soulmates not only influences the lives of the pair, but the lives of other people as well in ways both obvious and invisible. Think of it as a ripple effect.’

“Did the universe’s attempt work?” Din wonders. “Were they ever reunited?”

‘When Satine awoke as a Cupid, it was a surprise to both her and Gideon. Rather than kill her a second time, the Seraph chose to inflict a worse fate. She became the first of her kind to have her memories erased. However, he’d never previously used his ability on another immortal before, resulting in him nearly wiping her entire mind clean. The universe is capable of many miracles, big and small, but every attempt of reuniting the pair failed. It remains the universe’s most profound regret which is ultimately the reason why the universe brought you to Trinomliaxeros without your armor so that history wouldn’t repeat itself.’

There is a strange, heavy feeling that suddenly inflates within the confines of Din’s chest like a balloon. It’s different from the rampant anger he can still detect simmering beneath the skin of his human façade. He tries to shake it off, focusing on his breathing and the desert heat emanating from the twin suns overhead, only to slowly realize that what he’s feeling is fear.

Within his memory he can recall just one other distinct moment in his existence where he felt this spine-chilling emotion, and that moment was experienced on Trinomliaxeros.

“What did you just say?” His voice sounds shaky even to his own ears, but he can’t find any energy within himself to care.

A long stretch of silence fills his head; it’s the fragile kind, too, preventing him from snapping at Ahsoka to answer lest she become angry at him and yank him out the vision entirely.

‘Twice the timing of a soulmate match has been disturbed. The first pair affected was Obi-Wan and Satine. And the second pair was...’

“Ahsoka,” he says when she hesitates to continue, but any additional words he can think of saying catch in the back of his throat.

‘The second pair was you and your angel.’ Another pause of silence, shorter but no less meaningful. ‘Only fifty years ago, she wasn’t an angel.’

This is what Din remembers from Trinomliaxeros: feeling a pull so forceful, impatient and unanticipated it drags him across the galaxy in his civilian clothes, arriving to find the planet engulfed in smoke, unable to see his hand in front of his face, even without his gloves on. Finding skeletal remains burnt to blackened crisps with the souls inside shaking and traumatized, practically leaping into his outstretched hand, knowing either the afterlife or damnation would be better destinations than lingering there even a second longer. Explosions in the distance, bursts of flames as intense and hot as the sun, greedily consuming everything in their radius.

Out of the smoke and darkness, a survivor. A girl, covered in soot and sweat, colliding with his chest. The dead are calling out to him, pleading for him to reap them, to save them. Their voices swirl around his head, clawing at his brain and pounding against his skull. Shoving the girl aside, one foot in front of the other, letting his powers guide him to the next soul. Her voice cuts across the distance, a plasma bolt striking him in the back. We’re soulmates, she says.

His breath stills in his lungs. Fear spreads like a virus through his bloodstream, slipping beneath his defenses, turning him into a stranger within his own body. The declaration is a lie, an impossibility, a delusion. He has no match, hands unmarked, flesh poisonous and lethal. His words, too, are weapons themselves. Sharp, ruthless, desiring to wound her as she’s wounded him. You could never be my soulmate.

And then he’d left her.

This is what Din remembers. But, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly it hurts, I’ve remembered everything all wrong.

Phantom hands gently press against the sides of his helmet, offering comfort without caring about the dried blood. He keeps his eyes shut, knowing it’s just a manifestation crafted by Ahsoka in his head. ‘Don’t blame yourself. This was the only viable outcome the universe could produce to ensure the bad timing would be remedied in the future,’ she says, but it does little to lessen the weight on his chest. ‘Your rejection saved her life. It granted you both a second chance of a first meeting.’

“How did—” Din struggles to string words together, to fucking breathe. “She—She knew. What we were. How…?”

The Oracle puts him out of his misery. ‘She found out the way all soulmates do: through touch.’

Din’s eyes fly open at that, and he has to blink a few times to bring everything into focus because there’s him and his angel right in front of him, frozen mid-collision. She’s grasping the sleeves of his coat to keep her balance, the palm of her marked hand touching his wrist. He stares at the point of contact for a moment, then barks out a laugh, hysterical and strangled sounding.

“That’s not possible.”

‘Soulmates can’t kill each other. She’s always been meant to withstand your touch.’

Din swallows thickly, staring at his angel’s face. He hates the question forming on his tongue, but it will haunt him the rest of his life if he doesn’t ask it. “In your visions, when I meet her at the right time, what happens?”

'You’re different by then, less broody and more accepting of the notion you could be loved. You have a soulmate marking,’ Ahsoka tells him. ‘You fall for her hard, even before your hands brush. You love her throughout the entirety of her lifetime.’

“And...when she dies?” The words taste like blood in his mouth.

‘Don’t torture yourself, Death. That timeline doesn’t exist anymore.’

For one brief, fleeting second Din is actually grateful Gideon altered their destinies. However, in the next, he’s trying not to let the fear gnawing at the back of his mind increase as it belatedly occurs to him that the universe is not as infallible as he’s always believed it was.

He wishes he could see Ahsoka, if only so he could glare at her directly. “Everything you’ve shown me has only further convinced me Gideon deserves death. Why have you asked me to promise not to kill him?”

'Do you remember what happens after this moment on Trinomliaxeros?’

Din frowns at the change of subject. “I continued to reap souls.”

'Yes. And then?’

He huffs a frustrated breath through his nose. This is Ahsoka, he thinks, at her most annoying. But, as much he loathes admitting it, this is also the most helpfully transparent she’s ever been. Today may be the only time she trusts him enough to share her visions. He owes it to her to be as open as she’s being with him.

That being said, he’s still wary of the memories he’s kept in the distant, shadowy corners of his mind being pulled into the spotlight. “Tell me we’re not gonna talk about the kid.”

‘We talked about the universe’s biggest regret. It’s only fair we talk about yours too.’ Ahsoka has found the crack in his armor he’s tried so long to conceal, peeling it open without remorse.

She doesn’t spare him time to argue. All he does is blink and he’s looking at his past self locked in a staring contest with a little green-skinned child who is propped up inside a floating, orb-shaped pram.

Of all the buildings and homes on the planet, only its temple had remained untouched by the destruction. Din didn’t know if it had been the structure’s own holy foundation keeping it standing or if it was the personal choice of the mastermind behind the attack, but he’d been drawn to it regardless, finding souls there to reap whose hosts had differed from other victims in that their throats had been slit. The walls of the temple were adorned with intricate murals depicting immortal figures and religious events of ancient history, but before he could observe the artwork closer, a quiet coo had stopped him in his tracks.

When he opened the pram, he hadn’t anticipated finding a baby of all creatures. When their eyes connected, every background noise abruptly ceased. Even the voices of the dead fell silent. Rather than rouse his suspicions, Din had felt only a sense of peace he usually only experienced in the midst of hyperspace travel where the stars were his voiceless companions.

An unspoken conversation transpired between the two of them, one Din still can’t translate into words all these years later, but it concluded with him knowing he would take the child with him.

Din had reached for him unthinkingly, the child lifting his arms up in eagerness to be held, but self-awareness kicked in right before contact and Din retracted his hands away so fast it startled the child into crying, brown eyes filling with tears. Panicked, he surveyed the room, looking for something to put an end to the wailing, before looking down at his own coat, experiencing a lightbulb moment.

“Alright, kid, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Watching his past self shrug off the coat, Din remembers it had been his favorite of his civilian clothes, well worth the cost for its soft fabric and length. He managed to successfully swaddle the child, ensuring his arms were safely tucked away to prevent him endangering his life, and Din exhaled a quiet breath of relief when the tears dried up almost immediately.

However, the ensuing silence wasn’t as peaceful as the previous one. Both past and present Din turn at the sound of distant shuffling echoing off the temple walls from another room.

“Ignore it,” Din tells his past self. “Just take the kid and leave.”

But his plea goes unheard and the past remains unchanged. Ahsoka is silent inside his head, either because she knows he won’t accept any more comforting words or because she thinks he’s undeserving of them for choosing to leave the child behind in his pram, closing it when he starts to whine again, so Din can go investigate the noise.

Din exhales a quiet breath, fingers twitching restlessly at his sides as he watches himself stalk through the temple halls, checking each room he comes across. It’s strange, seeing himself from this perspective. The distanced viewpoint allows Din to glimpse new details he hadn’t been capable of noticing back then.

Such as the reappearance of a familiar Seraph emerging from the shadows to stab him in the back.

Here’s one of the perks about being Death: he can’t be killed. That fact doesn’t mean there haven’t been attempts though. As Death, people sometimes look at his armor as a challenge. Like if they can fire a shot or throw a knife at just the right angle, it’ll wound him and allow them to live longer. Simply put, all those people are idiots.

When he looks like a regular, unintimidating civilian, he’s also been involved in violent predicaments where someone’s attempted to mug him or where he’s tried to save someone else from a similarly sticky situation.

Armor or no armor though, he’s always walked away from these encounters completely unscathed.

Well. With the sole exception of Trinomliaxeros where he was mostly unscathed.

It wasn’t the first time Din had been stabbed before. Usually knife wounds felt like a mild pinch. More irritating than painful, similar to a splinter stuck in one’s thumb. Once the weapon was removed, the damage healed within seconds, leaving behind no scar or proof he was ever attacked.

Usually, is the keyword to note here.

Ahsoka freezes time right when the blade of the Lightsaber is driven straight through the center of Din’s body, bone and flesh as easy to slice through as melted butter. His agonized expression—eyes screwed shut and lips open in a silent scream—would be comical if Din didn’t remember the exact emotions he was feeling in that moment.

Instead of a pinch, it’d felt as if thousands of invisible hands were pulling and scratching at him, attempting to strip apart his human exterior layer by layer—peeling off skin, scraping away muscle and bone marrow, seeking to reach the core of himself where his powers resided.

‘Looks like it hurts,’ Ahsoka says. The return of her naturally calm and neutral tone of voice seems almost cruel given the frozen, graphic display.

Din again wishes he could glare at her. “Is this funny to you?”

‘The transformation of the Lightsaber into the Darksaber is anything but funny.’

Lost in recollection, he failed to notice until now how the blade of the Lightsaber has changed in color from white to black. It’s the same inky hue that absorbs the brown in his eyes, that had dyed his veins during the execution of Hess.

‘The Armorer specifically instructed the Lightsaber only be used against enemies. As a neutral entity, you are, by definition, no one’s ally or adversary. By stabbing you, the saber became corrupted. It is a consequence Gideon still has yet to fully realize the monumental repercussions of.’

Time resumes, Din’s past self collapsing onto the floor, pressing a hand to the throbbing hole in his chest, attention too consumed by the franticness of his powers struggling to repair the trauma to notice Gideon lingering behind him. The Seraph’s stunned look of shock lasts barely ten seconds, morphing into one of deep contemplation as his gaze flicked between the weapon and Din, before he vanished.

When Din recovered enough to stand, he teleported back to the child’s location at once. He needs to get the little guy as far away from here as possible, somewhere peaceful and safe. His planning came to an abrupt halt upon finding the pram open and empty, his coat shredded and scattered about the floor in pieces.

“Gideon took him.” It isn’t a question.

‘Yes,’ she confirms. ‘The child was the intended target of this siege.’

“Why?”

‘He’s...very special.’ There is something about how her voice hitches when she says ‘special’ that has Din’s instincts prickling with alertness, but he holds his tongue. ‘Gideon considers him a tool he can take advantage of.’

The ugly, tight mass of anger swells inside of him and presses against his lungs, resulting in a low growl slipping out of his mouth. He curses his own ineptitude. If he’d paid more attention, hadn’t allowed himself to be wounded, he could have subdued Gideon and spared both his angel and the child from being captured.

“I warned you once upon a time, there would be consequences if you released your darkness,” Ahsoka says, her voice no longer emitting from inside his head. The vision fades back into reality the same sudden, jarring way one wakes up from dreaming. It takes all of Din’s self-restraint not to perform a full-body shake. “Your control is slipping as your rage increases. It’s making you not think clearly which is exactly what Gideon wants. That is the reason I am asking you to promise you will not kill him.”

Put like that, Din no longer thinks her request sounds quite so outlandish, even though he does still remain in the dark as to what consequences exactly will unfold. Ahsoka has remained stubbornly tight-lipped about the topic from their very first encounter, claiming the universe is adamant she can only share the details with one other person and it isn’t him.

“He deserves to die for all he’s done,” Din says quietly, but he’s self-aware to know his resistance is beginning to crumble.

“Between you and me, I think so, too,” she admits in the same low tone. Her ocean eyes are dark and stormy, reflecting her internal turmoil. “But rules are made for a reason and we would be fools to carelessly overlook the consequences of breaking them.”

The accusatory note from earlier has returned with a vengeance. He’s not surprised—of course the universe would utilize the Oracle to express its disapproval—but aggravation still thrums through his veins.

“Hess played a hand in my soulmate’s fate. He called her a whore.” Din’s upper lip twitches with the urge to snarl. “I don’t regret what I did to him.”

Ahsoka sighs. “I was afraid you’d say that. When you swore your creed, you promised the universe you’d only reap a soul when their host’s time has reached its destined end. By killing Hess, you not only broke a sacred rule, you also broke your creed.”

Din recoils, feeling like he’s been stabbed with the Lightsaber all over again.

“...What?” The anger is gone, extinguished by the weight of the revelation. Confusion and wariness are quick to fill the void. “What does that mean?”

She looks away then, but not quick enough to hide her troubled expression. “I...don’t know.”

He blinks, mind scrambling to understand the implications. “Isn’t that your purpose? To know everything?”

“For the very first time, the future’s unclear to me,” she murmurs, eyes briefly turning cloudy as if she’s trying to take a peek at the potential timelines right then and there. She shakes her head a beat later, frowning. “There are many choices left to be made, each one capable of influencing the fate of the galaxy. It is not possible at this time for me to predict our upcoming reality, let alone your consequences. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Din says, because it’s the truth and he doesn’t like seeing her crestfallen expression. Fuck, he might actually consider her a friend after all.

Whatever happens, he thinks to himself, it can’t be any worse to deal with than being separated from his soulmate. If he can survive this, he can survive anything.

“The last promise I made was broken.” He bites back a wince at the memory of his angel’s pinky promise. “But if making another one is the only way you’ll take me to my soulmate, then you have my word. I won’t kill him.”

A ghost of a smile pulls at her lips before she grabs hold of one of his vambraces. “Take me to your ship. I will guide you to her location.”

“You don’t trust me to go alone?” he asks, unsure whether to be amused or indignant.

“No,” Ahsoka replies bluntly.

Din huffs. “Fine.”

“I may not be able to see much at the moment, but I know it’s never wise to turn down support. You’re going to need us.”

“Us?”

“It’s Bo-Katan’s choice to make, but you and I both know she’s never been one to back down from a fight. Especially once she learns Gideon is her sister’s murderer.”

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