#immortality and eternal loneliness fucks you up. And they fucked him up too
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6 for the 400 yrs old dude
6) Worst personality trait
I'm between his controlling nature and the fact that he no longer feels compassion.
His controlling nature because I've met enough people with this and it's toxic and annoying as fuck. You cannot control everything no matter how hard you'll try. Not your job, not your health, not your wife/husband, not your destiny. But controlling people still try because they feel insecure if they don't hold the reins. And that's what Aleksander was.
And his lack of compassion since he doesn't feel regret, sorrow and pain for what he does anymore. When he kills, when he hurts people he doesn't feel them. It is understandable since he has become numb to these feelings after spending an eternity of living. But still it's not good at all.
#it's both frustrating and sad for us the readers to see a person unable to feel pity or genuine kindness#immortality and eternal loneliness fucks you up. And they fucked him up too#I understand why he's controlling and lacks compassion. But sometimes even I get mad at him for these two characteristics#ask game#anon asks#the darkling#pro darkling#aleksander morozova#pro aleksander morozova#grishaverse#shadow and bone#grishaverse trilogy
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As immortal beings, by definition, Crowley and Aziraphale don't have to worry much with mortality.
Sure, they are surrounded by it constantly. After all, they live amongst humans, and they watch the few friends or acquaintance they make through the ages come and go systematically. They are aware of mortality, of death, they just don't think much about it in regards to themselves
To them mortality is not scary. It's just another step in the humans' lives when their eternal house is decided. It's something natural and unavoidable. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if Aziraphale has helped some humans cross to the other side more peacefully.
My point is: As immortals, they are aware of mortality. But they don't think much about their own unless they are thinking about being caught by Heaven and Hell, but that's just a what if. An hypothetical. A real one at that, yes, but not reality yet.
Now, the bookshop fire.
In this moment, Crowley is punched in the face by the mortality of immortals.
Something he doesn't think that much about just falls into his lap by the hand of no other but Aziraphale.
Suddenly he is faced with utter loneliness. The ending of a life that, technically, should be eternal. A life he took for granted for more or less 6000 years.
In theory, he has always known both him Aziraphale could die. By their bosses' hands. By the end of the world itself. But it's very different to think about it in theory and living it.
Crowley wasn't prepared. This happened suddenly.
He was on his way to find Aziraphale, possibly to apologize again over the stupid shit he said and talk about the whereabouts of the Anti Christ, and suddenly a day that was actually not going that bad anymore (aka escaping Ligur and Hastur with little to no collateral damage) turns into his worst nightmare.
For 6000 years he has had the theory, and suddenly he his gifted with reality.
And the last thing he had said to Aziraphale's face was that he wouldn't even think about him when he left. You bet those last words started playing in his head as soon as he saw the fire.
And there's a whole hidden layer there: it wasn't just his best friend that went up in flames, which in on itself is already painful as fuck. No. The man he has loved for 6000 years also was destroyed.
Coming to terms with your own mortality as a supernatural being and the destruction of your companion since Eden would drive anyone into shock. Would be ingrained in their brains like a new trauma. The new notion of how actually fragile life is gifting you a whole new perspective.
No surprise Crowley probably has PTSD with fires. Or that he has nightmares about that day often. Or that he forbade Aziraphale from having anything fire related in the bookshop and convinced him to buy electric candles and a shit tone of fire extinguishers. Or that his mind went into "Fuck this, let the Apocalypse come. I'm too tired to deal with this anymore". OR that his first instinct was hidding in a random bar and getting sloshed out of his own mind to try and put the pieces all together. (Like, cmon, my man was about to open his third bottle)
The actual relief he must have felt when he found out Aziraphale was only discorporated must have been fucking abysmal! Like taking a cold shower after a fever! But you bet his encounter with mortality has changed him. You can't go through something like that and remain the same. And he didn't.
Imagine how he must have felt when Beelzebub told him about the Book of Life. The fucking flashbacks he must have had. No surprise the first thing he did was drive to Aziraphale, apologize and agree to his dumb plan of helping Gabriel. Anything to keep him under his eyes. At least if they go down then, they will go down together.
Or so he thought, innit? We know how this story ended.
#tw death#good omens#crowley#aziraphale#ineffable husbands#aziracrow#david tennant#michael sheen#anthony j crowley#gabriel good omens
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I'm curious on your take on the Ratman and ratlings' relationship with animals. Do you think they'd keep any and risk becoming attached? I feel this would outwardly effect Jack the most considering his love for all the weird shit they got in Australia but I think Arthur is also the type to be really hurt by the loss of a pet. But in a dad way. Like he'll begrudgingly take in the fucking cat one of his kids brings to his home out of the rain and the animal ends up being his partner in crime. He's stone-faced when it passes away and it takes a while for the pain to subside but he doesn't let it show for even a second. I don't imagine Matthew could handle the mental load of losing a beloved pet. Alfred is too fucking busy to properly care for one. Zee probably has a few birds whose babies she cares for for generations maybe a kiwi lol
TW for pet death
Alfred has had horses his entire life. He's got a ranch in his name somewhere where the descendants of the pair of horses, Liberty and Justice, that Matt gave him during the Civil War live. Justice got shot out from under him in 1864 but he went full Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie, dropped dead of idk, the shits and when he was feeling better Liberty was getting her hump on with a local stallion so he just made a ranch there and their descendants still fuck amongst the grasses or however the prairies work. Liberty is immortal because fuck I already killed one horse this post and I'm already emotional.
Matt... He just kept trying. Nations have semi immortal pets. All he wanted was a goddamn friend. François gave him a lap dog when he was little. It died in its first Canadian winter as was often the fate of anything smaller than a terrier. He tried a newfie. It drowned. Finally, around the 1780s he had a little black and white working dog he named Sel et Poivre who lasted a decade. But eventually he got ripped up by a wolverine and Matt was damned to eternal loneliness until Arthur had mercy on him and got attached enough to the wee fat house lion he named Flufferton he didn't die. Matt's best friend for awhile and favourite heat source at his father's. Cue 1980 with Canada finally getting it's full independence and Jan dropping him like a hot rock and Alfred got him a Samoyed puppy in the aftermath. I've called this dog Kuma, Bud and Buckwheat before. The neighbor backs over him by accident! and Matt low-key has the worst mental breakdown of his life like he's 20 seconds from getting the axe and ending up in grippy sock jail. Then the pupper pops up licks him and Matt has the happiest sob fest for like a solid week. Finally! Immortal pupper. No more perishing.
Jack is a fun example because he's very in tune with the circle of lire and his favourite pet was a tortoise named Harriet he's had on and off since 1830 when she died in 2006. So when she finally died of natural causes he was absolutely fucking devastated. Didn't get out of bed for a week after the funeral, cried his eyes out every time he saw a turtle or tortoise for years. She was his baby since he was a baby. Closest thing to losing a childhood dog a nation can express. He had plenty of snakes and spiders and dogs that passed on and they made him sad but oh Harriet 😭.
Zee has a budgie named Pavlova that Jack got her when she finally dropped the family name. Just so she can say she owns Pavlova. It spent a week with Uncle Matt during hockey season and went back to Mum telling everyone, "Give your balls a tug, tit fucker" and making nondescript sobbing sounds. And the singular devotion with which New Zealand intervenes in its bird's well-being? Oh yeah, they're her children. Entire genomes of Kiwi-birds and Kakapo and Kea. She personally hunts rats that threaten their population like it's 1916, flashlight between her teeth, knife in one hand, Arthur sweating like mad somewhere. Bird watching is something she and the old man have in common so he probably does jokingly call them her grandchildren. Zee gets beat in the shin by a screaming kiwi-bird, and he just picks it up like, "Now that's no way to treat your mother, lad! Mind your manners." Before it toddles off and any on-looker is just pure, what the fuck.
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heya do you got any oc's or anything? like funger oc's n stuff? i'm obsessed with oc's
*since this post mentions her relationship with pocketcat, implied csa warning. also she's depressed so suicide warning ig*
Also. this is 2k words. waow.
Not specifically funger OCs, but I do have a self insert character that I've put in the funger universe!
(the hair is supposed to be black btw it looks more brown to go better with the colour pallette)
I welcome you to- uh. Right. *Turns to face her* You don't have a name. It's been what, fuckin' 3 years? You still haven't decided anything? Oh, now it's kinda maybe meaningful for your character to have no name? Poetic shit? Yeah sure. *Turns back to face you* So, no name. For our sakes, I'll call her Unnamed Girl(ie). UG for short.
She was a human that suddenly got snatched from Earth and put into a white void. And she was trapped there. With memories of nothing. Why she has no name. Well she has some vague memories of her previous life, like her being fatherless, she doesn't remember any names, faces. Just some interactions.
We dunno what the hell happened to Earth nor her, really, all we can assume is that there's probably some sadistic ass higher being that's putting her through that shit? Watching her suffer every moment here. But, we never got to know. They don't really matter to us really, they've never showed up. Not important.
In the white void, she also gained. Some sort of Godhood? She got powers of some sort. So that's one upside. Downside with this is that she's immortal. And as you see, a white void. Is well. A white void. Nothin in it. Sure, she's made a room for herself to get comfy but then you start to go insane with the fact that you're isolated and that there's no one to talk to and you have no purpose in life and that it feels like you were an unwanted part of the universe that wasn't meant to ever be existing but yet you still do, and then erm she can't take it anymore and tries to. Off herself. Multiple times, in fact!
Too bad for her, immortality exists. Or perhaps better called, eternal youth. She hasn't aged since she got here. Perpetually 12, what a hell to be in, huh buddy? Fucked up thing to add on, the way her immortality works is that she suffers the wounds, damage, pain, before her body starts to regrow it back. (Usually like a minute but if she pushes it, it can be instantaneous.)
After a few days in the white void she starts conjuring up friends in her head to try and combat the eternal loneliness. Barely works. She's got three guys in her head, that talk to her from time to time. They're pretty flat and 2D in personality, UG really isn't that much of a creative girl.
(Oohh tumblr compression...)
So, with these characters, let's show you how horrible she is at naming, hm? We got the furry one, Kats. Sadistic and mean one. Guy with the hat is Meowzerz. Cheerleader, also tries to advise UG to be kind. Gas masked fellow is Koolmeow. Wild card, she does whatever she finds fun. Mostly burning things up.
Really shitty names for those last two. No wonder she hasn't picked a name for herself if these are the names she gave these mfs.
...
Well, fuck. Friends aren't really friend-ing great unfortunately. What to do?
Oh, lookie that. That's a buncha.. games and anime. Huh. Well, might as well get through them. All this white is awfully boring.
So after some days of hell, she got to see stories she's vaguely familiar with. Must been stories she experienced back in her previous life. Entertainment is entertainment.
With nothing else in the void really, she gets heavily attached to these media. Filling her time with making fanart and obsessing over the characters. Three in particular she got attached to, but only one of them is of importance considering where we're headed to in this timeline.
Ahh the cat. The horrid horrid cat. I mean she's a young child, having a man tell him she loves her even when it's just a character written by someone else to be a creepy piece of shit is. Well a charming and interesting specimen such as him sharing affection? She can't help but reciprocate back.
With all the time in this non-existence, she makes a whole shrine of shit. Plushies, posters, figures. She loves recreating his likeness and having something physical to hold. Well, she is most well versed in digital art. That she does remember about herself. She was an artist. And most of him is drawn in a computer over and over again. She has no other way to show her love other than to put him in silly situations and emulate how he reacts. Yes I do mean fanfiction. She has a lotta files of just art of him she made, you don't wanna know how big it is.
Even besides him, she's pretty enamoured with this world of Funger. She'd much rather go through that hell than this hell. At least you can die there. And things actually happen.
...
Oh? We can finally go out? After all this time?
You really did get to find a way out, Kats?
It's.. Ahah. The multiverse thing does actually exist, doesn't it? This.. this is the dungeon...
...
Ah, so much explaining her backstory and I haven't gotten to her personality! Well she's. Seriously mentally ill for one. Isolation for god knows how long and all that. I can only conclude Depression or some variation of it for now, though there is definitely another mental disorder at play here. Erm. We might never know. I don't think she'll ever go to therapy or a psychiatrist.
Due to her being in that void for so long, and with barely any memories, there's some things that she's real bad at. Of course, she retains her memory of how to walk, how to speak and communicate, and most basic human things.
However, this bitch cannot social interaction. How unfortunate, my friend.
She can be very blunt and clear with her words. Oh she also has this stupid thing where she's either really crass and informal or just talks fancy and with a thesaurus. Fucking weirdo. can't talk normal ever.
Next note, she has no respect for anyone. That's not to say she doesn't appreciate anyone's company, she definitely likes a good amount of people. Thing is, since she saw this all in a game she played and saw as fiction. Little dolls for her to play with. She never really got to get out of that thinking. Also that with her being some sorta higher being? Yeah, she thinks a little high of herself. Sometimes. Sometimes. (She also think she's the worst thing ever that existed lmao)
Adding on, she also possesses no self respect. No shame. No dignity. No regrets about anything ever. She just lives on. She's a very YOLO it is what it is kinda gal.
UG has a very normal perception of love. She thinks of violence as a sort of love language to her, she just wants to rip her beloveds to shreds. She also has an intense hatred for the cat, despite him being the one she loves most. The hatred plays along with her obsession of the cat. Also. Um. Yandere. yeah. She's obsessive. Isolation and all that. Makes you intensely crave affection and attention. And also being a child. Forever. Yeah she's quite an attention whore. (self label)
Other effects from the isolation also happen to be extreme boredom. She wants to do anything. In her life. And hey, she's got a lot if it to spare.. plany of time. It is mildly boring her that she knows she's most likely gonna win any battle with enemies but still, the experience of fighting is pretty banger. The adrenaline... Thrill seeking. Ahh... She loves fighting.
So um, with those last two paragraphs, she does normal things to both the party that dared step into the dungeon, and the termina contestants. She's normal about them. She is both heavily protective and extremely violent murder maim.
Ah, next thing! She's quite the contradictory thing. Mental disorder again, she can go from one extreme scale to another. Like her love and hatred, protecting her allies to killing them. High self confidence and self praise to self loathing. Sometimes a little bit of a hypocrite. She's weird.
Her morals are. Eh. Eh. Again, she both cares about everyone's lives yet is also apathetic. She doesn't mind murder too much, as she'll dirty her soul a lot through experiencing the funger universe. This. Image.
Everything might as well just be a game to her.
With all o' this. There's multiple timelines of her doing many different things because of how much she can vary and still be in character (well to me, at least). She can do so much. Silly girl.
--
That's all I can think of for now about personality! Little tidbits about her powers before onto the brief timeline. She has some future telling. If the future is far, she can see more possibilities it can go in, not giving an exact determined route of what will happen. If the future is soon, as in, will this guard swing at her right arm or her left arm in 5 seconds? She can check and the future will be certain, that it will be her left arm that will get cut if she doesn't prevent it.
Most of her powers stem from the other media she watched during the isolation period; she rarely uses the Gods' powers in funger purely to fuck around with it and also confuse smart asses. (enki)
--
After finding an escape from the white void, she wakes up in front of the.. dun dun dun... funger dungeons...
She does what any sane person would do and explores with glee.
They aren't really all that scary to a creature like her, only serving her to activate fight mode and get a rush.
She recruits everyone possible with her knowledge of these dungeons, and decides to change some things.
She approaches Pocketcat as she is done with her journey. There are no more battles to fight. No more exploration to be done in this dungeon. She is satisfied. The girl wishes for Pocketcat to eat her, since she hasn't tried that method of killing herself. (Also because she is crushing hard on this man and she knows he loves her too)
He instead gives a different proposal...
...
Remember how she's a sort of 'god' (but not in the funger way) and has OP ass powers? Well there's actually 2 drawbacks to them.
First one, it is quite exhausting. It is also exhausting just living and breathing in fact, but that's the mental disorders. She can go on long without rest but she will be extremely fatigued if she pushes. And my, she pushes a through a lot.
Second, there's one thing that nullifies her powers. Fear. But ah, with a soul like hers, it is quite difficult for her to fear anything. With problems in her way, she either brushes it over, gets enraged, or drowns in sorrow. How on earth could anything scare her?
Ahaha... Well a few actions made by a specific person could scare her...
(he soo gets off being the only one that can get her into such a submissive state, btw)
The one thing keeping her heart from total darkness, now entirely painted black. What a sad soul.
...
So, he didn't kill her. big whump. Fine though, she thinks about the termina festival in 350 years. She wouldn't mind living for that long to see more silly people. Plus, the dungeon took a lot out of her. A lot more magic she used than usual. This period will be... A nice and long break, she thinks positively. One hell she has endured in here, she will prepare to live through and enjoy another. Plus, if it's all adrenaline rushes, how is she meant to savour Termina?
She occupies her time by living with Pocketcat, and.. His usual activities. She joins in on his child murders from time to time. Not as fun as killing monsters that are fully intending to end her life but snuffing another life is still somewhat satisfying, nevertheless. And hey, fun bonding activity, right?
She also does the same as she did in the void, making a bunch of art and stuff. But this time, she actually has someone she can show it to! Speaking of the cat, they do typical lover activities time to time. Dates, and stuff. Doing things together. Fun!
Both of them had their fair share of isolation for a long period of time and needless to say, their 'eternities' are much more lively and worth living through with a like-minded being by their side.
She also.. has a little fun with the contestants before they enter the worst period of their life..
(This part is totally not because of recent events) After spending 350 years with Pocketcat, she picked up some of his mannerisms to her misfortune. Her hand feels like it should be doing something within conversation, so her subconscious makes her jack off a ghost dick. She's gonna have a fun time with talking to people.
...
Now we're at the festival, one meant to end all festivals! And boy it'll end more than just festivals, alright! Hehe.
At the end of this festival, she has one plan.
And that is to finally rest.
She will not be returning from this trip.
...
So, some stuff were left vague because. well. yeah. I don't fully expect to write this into actual fanfiction, but no worries, I'll reveal the gist of what happens at some point. Whether I actually can find it in me to write it out or just make a post about what happens, we shall see.
Extra stuff to mention:
This is basically her. In every universe she visits.
You can check out the '#unnamed OC core' tag to see. More of her vibes.
I also got a playlist.. of her..
(Also, since this is a self insert about half of the traits mentioned are. me. so. yeah. I should try getting diagnosed for something but idk man I can't find shit)
Got any questions! Feel free to ask anything!! >:3 Hell, I'll even answer in character for fun.
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Emotional loneliness & the subconscious
One thing we must never forget with Genos.
He will always pay back with dividends whatever action has been taken against him. Be it with hatred, revenge or with his utmost loyalty, support and love.
Maksaa kalavelat takaisin potut pottuina.
(Potut means potatoes, potut pottuina means with equal measure)
(Kala means fish, velat means debt, kalavelka means grudge borne from unfair treatment)
So because Saitama lovebombed Genos with the divine power core, Genos will pay it back hundredfold. He's just that kind of guy, prone to extremes.
Just surely as the moon orbits around the earth, does the earth orbit around the sun, it's the universal law that Genos cares for Saitama. You'd have to erase his personality and himself entirely for this to not be true. And man, do the forces that be, try to do exactly that. It's like he can tip the scales of justice in his favour, a balance breaker in this regard.
So, the time to perform is night because OPM God is practically breathing down on everyone's necks and surveying the battlefield from below and above this time around and he wants to wring out some riffraff.
There is very much plenty hints, the chapters are throwing an overabundance of clues around. The amount of subliminal hints, metaphors, allegories, idioms, visual cues, wordplay, etc. is extremely staggering and it's done on purpose to appeal on subconscious level. Murata-sensei and ONE throwing all eggs into the basket for a homerun.
I feel like I'm constantly becoming big brained by looking at new chapters and making all these possible connections with my brain and trying to predict future outcomes lol.
It's like blaring warning sirens if you're suddenly aware of it.
There are many things one can start to predict in OPM. So OPM God can play chessmaster with everyone's emotions as the puppet master he is and get desired results.
But there is...one person that is completely utterly unpredictable...and that person is Genos. Nobody can completely understand Genos and his line of thinking.
Nobody knows what the fuck Genos is doing right now, for instance. We can only make educated guesses.
Except for one thing: he can't turn away from justice. Because he loves people too much. An emotional vulnerability that can and will be exploited. One he is not personally logically seeing.
Large amount of monsters are being released in an area with lots of civilians and being actually called on duty? Trust Genos to race to the scene, no matter what.
And in this it is also a race against time, who can seal the deal with who first. Who can emotionally connect with who first with their emotional loneliness.
Because everyone in this small area, are probably Super Empaths, also known as Heyoka Empath and emotionally lonely in their own ways. They keenly feel when others feel and bleed when others bleed and they can't turn this off. Emotional wounds bleed heavily.
And once you make a deal with OPM God, the God of Death or enroach upon his territory within the preternatural spiritualism, you aren't running away that easily. 4 people in the area are practically glowing with divine power.
What it means is becoming immortal and spending the eternity with this guy. Dead or alive. Sorry Future Garou, your sacrifice was most valiant. OPM God rewrote the script for that, because he did not want Saitama to give Garou therapy and emotionally connect via that, since Garou would've ended up just ranting about everything and confessing everything.
(Also denotes quite a bit about that there will be rivalries between individuals)
(Cough death note)
(Nice Ninja village leader and Blast ref here)
Like a jealous lover, it wants all the pieces to himself. Probably for some eternity in torture kind of thing. Oh and Genos and Bang have to die, naturally.
So yea, the dimple reference would match, just wants some company because it's alone in the dark...but actually horrifying af. Eternity in pure despair ay...
(I'm so sorry Homeless Emperor, Orochi...)
There is one thing that Saitama is vulnerable to, it's his emotional loneliness. Trying to become a hero to find some kind of intimate emotional connection with a person with similar values.
A heart displaced is a heart swayed.
The choice Genos can make where he chooses to place his heart into, will make it complete or shred it to pieces. The twilight zone between night and new dawn of day is still up. In the front is the sun of the new horizons and behind...the shadow of the looming death, The torii gate.
This race is also portrayed in the OPM ED1.
youtube
A race for Genos to connect with Saitama's heart first with his love, before anyone else does and doing so would protect him as well, because they are safeguards to each other's hearts. Monsters outside and inside exploit the desire for kindness, compassion, love and other emotions and when the heart is full, that's when the monsters can no longer find footing.
In short, Genos has to show that he absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, loves him whole-heartedly and confess. So Saitama can show his own vulnerability, his weaknesses like his suicidal ideation and make him strong enough to withstand emotional manipulation and exploitation that OPM God will do, is doing, to him. And in turn, his heart will also find it's home in Genos.
Cuz, Saitama is playing chicken with his own emotional blind spots. They will soon catch up to him and everyone else. Insecurities, unreliability, immaturity, self-confidence, anger, feeling weak...maybe even rebirth.
Saitama just does not have the guts to confess yet himself, he's far from certain about what he actualy feels since INFJ are slow and steady like the turtles racing against the rabbit in love business...but time is running out too fast to actually wait for the turtle to win the race because the rabbit fell asleep.
Dawn of the Last day, 24 hours remaining.
Saitama would just chicken out. Like bugs bunny under the rock face. Get second thoughts from not being absolutely certain that his emotions are reciprocated and shy away with his insecurities.
Saitama has a bucket list to go with him, so there's that.
jänistää (jänis = bunny) (jänistää = chicken out and run away)
livistää arkuuttaan (chicken out and run away due to shyness)
luopua aikomuksestaan uhkaa koettuaan (give up on doing something due to a perceived threat)
(Ah the Tanabata)
You can see the deformity in Saitama's eyes when he goads Garou into trying to hit him by appearing vulnerable while looking at him directly in the eye and seeing a glimpse of his soul. I don't think he likes that at all, since he's not the violent sort.
And oh, does this paint a clear metaphor, about what else can be found from the blind spot, upon the forehead, if he were to delve far too deep into the rabbit hole of his own psyche.
No wonder he's uncertain about Genos. There's definitely some kind of preternatural phobia or something involved. About the third eye/mind's eye. Definitely eldritch.
(Think Shimazaki from Mob psycho)
--
So, how does one Seal the deal with a God anyway?
A gesture in agreement, probably a hand gesture (since spiritual people seem to be doing that a lot) but also a sentiment with emotional attachment to that specific emotion, I would say. And wholeheartedly agreeing with the sentiment.
Genos already made a deal with a god by becoming his disciple and got an impartation of power; access to Saitama's emotional strenght via his empathy.
To seal the deal completely?
I mean, what else can it be but a kiss on the lips and a love confession from this utterly infatuated idiot.
To wake up the sleeping beauty like in the fairy tales. How romantic to soulbound with someone for all eternity. And cursed when their fates get twisted and they never find each other. Romantic tragedy, Romeo and Juliet.
I say idiot fondly because it's exactly what he would want right now, but Saitama is not ready if he were to get a sudden influx of feedback loop of emotions. He would not know where he begins and Genos ends, like two people living under the same egghead, if he hasn't build up some mental walls first. Individualization would be almost impossible. The shadow snuck too close for comfort.
If Saitama the antenna, that makes Genos the wi-fi signal. As in the mural.
Oh and Genos is definitely not ready yet either, he needs more mental strenght first to handle it. Saitama's emotions, his divine power, are strong af. He would probably explode.
I can predict about as far as Genos arriving to the scene...but it remains to be seen what kind of actions he will take.
He will probably end up doing something stupid or crazy though. But he will have to, to flip the webcomic script on it's head.
That will determine their fates. Because Saitama will need affirmation that he's not going to be left in emotionally lonely hell when the time comes. And neither will Genos, because Saitama would not allow it.
Clear skies, full hearts, can't lose.
(The most hilarious and unpredictable thing would be for the romantic comedy to begin and Saitama and Genos make out in the base, in front of everyone else without any inhibitions, because Genos has the unholy hots for sensei and by sealing the deal, have this feedback loop.)
(Saitama would totally fall for Genos and even cosplay villain mafia boss if he had to and become anything at all for Genos.)
(ONE gonna go "Keep the change you filthy animals." when he feeds the shippers. But also because he's the biggest troll and it would be fucking funny to see the oldest joke in the series utterly dismantled and watch the fireworks.)
(Looks quite a bit to me that you're swinging that way indeed and walking in tandem. I don't believe that horsecrap saitama lol, nobody does)
(Tbh those also look like socks and or heels to me...Saitama & socks = sensuality and heels would def be sexuality.)
(Hehe Genos fighting for his love against opm god because Saitama is the rose bride from utena ahahaha, that would be some tug of war)
(Funeral suspenders btw)
#opm#one punch man#saigenos#genosai#emotional loneliness#subconscious#romance#opm god#preternatural#supernatural#soulbond#empathic link#saitama#genos#garou#super empath#emotional vulnerability#emotional blind spot#long#opm meta
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Quote time!
'Cake is eternal'
'Was it just the dreaming of my heart?'
'Dress me all in flowers white, so no mortal eye can see'
'Sing with me a tiny autumn song, with the melodies of the days gone by'
'Call my name from the heart'
'Forgotten phrases, tender and sweet'
'Clinging to affection, we somehow do learn to live'
'Running and reaching for the light'
'And I'll show you who I am, if you come where I go'
'In blinded night we are singing a glorious cry for freedom'
Okay let's see... :D This got unreasonably long so i'm putting it under a cut, sorry!
"Cake is eternal" - this is absolutely a crack fic. Maybe a bakery AU of some kind? I just can't decide what fandom or characters
"Was it just the dreaming of my heart?" - ok so for some reason what my brain went to was Beren and Lúthien fic, centering on Beren as he is dead, clinging onto the world, somewhere in Mandos, even though he's feeling the almost irresistible pull on his mortal soul to leave the world, because he can't leave yet because she asked him to wait and she promised to come and say goodbye right?? he can't leave until he sees her one last time, but at the same time he's dead and death does things to you so he's no longer really that certain of how much of what he remembers from life was true
"Dress me all in flowers white, so no mortal eye can see" - okay i know you've asked this before and fuck if i remember what I replied then. But right now I'm thinking immortal Merlin fic, with him through the years, through the changing tides of the mortal kingdoms and societies, slipping through it all almost unnoticed (and possibly going slightly mad with loneliness)
"Sing with me a tiny autumn song, with the melodies of the days gone by" - oohhh, this has a Tolkien vibe somehow. Maybe Aragorn and Arwen, long after LOTR, looking back on their lives?
"Call my name from the heart" - hmm... I have no idea why but I'm kinda thinking some kind of Garashir slowburn? idk anything else tho
"Forgotten phrases, tender and sweet" - again no idea where this came from, but maybe some kind of Glorestor fic? Like starting when Glorfindel's still newly come to Middle-Earth, and maybe he didn't have too much time to adjust to the whole "after thousands of years I'm alive again" thing, and he definitely hasn't had the time to process the fact that living comes with constant new feelings, new experiences, not just slowly sorting through and making peace with all the feelings and experiences from before you died, so he's still kind of reeling a bit and figuring things out again... and then, because Glorfindel was never one to do anything little by little or halfway, he goes and falls head over heels for Erestor and has to try and figure how love (and specifically communicating that love) works again
"Clinging to affection, we somehow learn to live" - so I don't really go for that very often, but somehow I'm thinking of Maedhros and Maglor with little Elrond and Elros? Maedhros and Maglor are all kind of worn down and burdened with like, everything, and Elrond and Elros are small children just torn from their home and family and friends, and it's all kind of a mess... but there's a bit of affection, a spark of something, some care for the twins, from Maglor, and maybe if they all hold onto it they can figure something out, maybe two kinslayers half-mad from their trauma and the Oath can live for a little rather than stumble forward after a terrible and seemingly unattainable goal, maybe two kids torn from everything they've ever known can learn to live, can grow up to make something of themselves, if they all just care for each other a bit and find a little affection for each other?
"Running and reaching for the light" - somehow (probably because i've already gotten myself into a tolkien mood and there's that whole metaphor about moths and candles in Athrabeth, lol), I'm thinking of an Andreth/Aegnor fic where Andreth doesn't submit so easily to the fact that Aegnor rejects her despite loving her, and maybe Aegnor isn't all that convinced about their love being impossible either, and Andreth goes after him, to stay at his side, reaching for his flame... and I don't know if that saves him, or if it ends in tragedy anyway (maybe she just dies at his side, when Dagor Bragollach comes. Or maybe she outlives him despite everything), but at least they have a while together, at least they get to love each other, whether or not it's enough to change their fates
"And I'll show you who I am, if you come where I'll go" - tbh no idea and my brain is out of idea making juice now, sorry ':D
"In blinded night we are singing a glorious cry for freedom" - I'm absolutely sure you've sent this to me before and I'm not sure what I replied then but right now what I'm vibing with is a Merlin AU where for whatever reason Merlin doesn't end up in Camelot (or at the very least doesn't end up as Gaius' apprentice, and doesn't end up really being involved with the court) and ends up sticking together with druids or just with other people who have magic instead, all keeping their heads low and fearing being exposed, but hoping for and working towards some kind of change nonetheless
Thanks for these, this was fun!
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someone new.
summary: there's an art to life's distractions.
pairing: eventual hades! loki x persephone! reader
warnings: implied smut, alcohol consumption
a/n: here it is, the first part of foreigner's god. as said in this fic's masterlist, these will not be chapters, but rather short stories and one shots that can be read separately or as one whole piece. it's up to you.
i plan to base each part off of one or two hozier songs. this is inspired by "someone new".
is there a right way to fall in love?
that’s what loki asks himself every day — well, every night — when he spends his free time at bars and gatherings. populated widely with fellow gods, goddesses, and spirits of many colors and passions; these bars are perfect places to find someone new.
being the god of death, however, puts loki at a bit of a disadvantage. yes, the stereotypes are, unfortunately, true. loki is dark, a little antisocial, and very quiet. beautiful in appearance — death is seductive, at least to the willing.
‘the willing’ being many a spirit, many a dryad or goddess or creature who wants bragging rights, or a little nightly thrill. ‘that’s right,’ they say, ‘i had a little dance with death last night.’
loki doesn’t mind the mornings when his temporary partners talk about the nights, but he always cringes when they mention that accursed french phrase — la petite mort. it’s a joke to them. a mockery.
yet, they stay, and sometimes, they come back for another little death.
the spirits and goddesses never make a big impact on him. he is with one for a night, then another for a night, and so on. he falls in love every day with someone new and it’s a bore. a bore and a drag.
dark caresses don’t do much to numb the pain: the pain of loneliness and solitude. the ache in his heart is constant, tearing at his mind whenever it can. alcohol can't do much either — all gods have a very high tolerance. mead was made for them.
so loki is left with no escape besides those that come from the willing. little deaths. they make him feel loved.
no...
no one loves death. some crave him. but they don't love him.
that’s the common theme running through loki’s head every time he takes someone home with him, or goes upstairs with them to the top floors of the inns he’s at, where the bedrooms are. it’s a distraction.
however, the cycle ends when, while pointlessly wandering around his usual bar, he sees someone new one night. you.
you radiate this... this warmth that he’s never felt before. everyone around you seems to be affected by it too - they don’t treat you as the life of the party, but they do gravitate towards you like birds to a nest.
and you’re quite shy, but infectiously happy and cheerful. you’re so beautiful, with your bright eyes that he knows are wide and filled with wonder, and your lovely skin that he knows is so soft. and your smile that he knows is so comforting to all who see it.
to everyone else, you feel like they’ve just wandered into a happy memory, or a sun-lit room that’s pleasantly warm and golden. you feel familiar. ordinary, but lovely all the same.
to loki, you feel... feel like something he’s only experienced in dreams. so, really, he’s never felt it before in his immortal life: something warm and alive and... and anticipatory. like there’s new things about to come up to the surface — flowers, new animals, maybe. you give off a sense of... he can’t describe it well. a slow and joyful awakening something.
and you also feel completely and utterly powerful. unstoppable. he’s terrified of you, and yet he’s drawn to you. you’re so fascinating, strange. not as if you could end the world, no, that’s his own job. but it’s as if you can bring the whole world to life, raise it back up again after the chaos fades.
you feel like spring. like rebirth. like new life.
and that’s when it hits him.
persephone. he’s heard the name passed around before, but before now, he has never seen the face behind the name. something about this sparks some fear in him: how would persephone, goddess of spring, daughter of demeter, react to seeing anyone even remotely like himself?
for a moment, he’s grateful that you’re not looking at him; you’re actually looking at the table, at the drink you’re sipping. there’s a look on your face that isn’t bored, nor afraid. maybe... observant.
people are around you still. not crowding, but not interacting with you either. it’s like you have a bubble around you, keeping everyone from getting too close. maybe it’s your doing but maybe it’s theirs. honestly, you’d think that dryads and gods and goddesses and spirits of all forms and colors and subjects would be more accepting.
he pities you. you seem lonely.
loki takes a few steps forward, betraying his own fear. like the red sea, the crowd parts. some are bold and unafraid, and they give loki varying looks: disgusted, seductive, snarky. you don’t notice him until he sits down in front of you, at the other end of the table.
“hi,” he says calmly. he manages a small smile. “you’re new here, aren’t you?”
your eyes lift to lock with his own. immediately, you recoil just the slightest bit. he knows what you’re thinking: wait, that’s hades! god of death... wh-why is he talking to me?
“it’s alright,” he soothes. “don’t worry. you’ve probably heard of all the stories: gods kidnapping and doing terrible things to goddesses and spirits and dryads. i’m not here to do any of that. i promise.”
with a single, somewhat confused blink, you nod. “m-my mother has told me a lot about that stuff,” you say slowly, as if saying anything too revealing will somehow alert demeter and get you in trouble. “she’s... she’s terrified...”
“what is she terrified of? that those terrible things might happen to you?”
“yes,” you say. “she’s told me that she’s had nightmares in the past. specifically about you. how you’ll kidnap me and take me to hell to live with you.”
he laughs at that - a rich, amused laugh that takes the shivers out of you. “that’s bullshit. overprotective mothers, yeah?”
you shrug. “she loves me.”
“and are you afraid of me, princess?” the last word is whispered. his voice extremely soft - it’s a curious question.
he notices how you lick your lips. “no,” you say. he notices how your eyes flick all over him. “no, i’m not.” and you seem truthful.
“smart girl,” he says with a grin. “i hate liars. there’s not a god on in the world that’s ever been truthful. well, besides jesus. yahweh. whatever you wanna call him.” loki leans back, crossing his hands behind his head and bringing his feet up to the table. “your father, though... he’s the worst of ‘em. having children with other women, including your mother, while hera has to sit by and watch, and then lying about it.”
“we’re gods,” you say. “i'm not trying to justify things but... we’re far from perfect.”
“damn right we are. we’re fucked up. good. we can agree on something. most days, people think us gods are... perfect things. role models. and, maybe some are. but not us. not the gods of olympus.”
he pauses, takes a swig from a beer bottle that was not in his hand a few seconds ago. “i was wondering if you wanted to do what humans do.” loki winces at the awkwardness. “when they're... y'know. interested in someone.”
“you're interested... in me?” you ask, incredulously.
“yeah, i am.” one sip of beer has loosened his tongue. or maybe that's just his confidence soaring now. “maybe this hasn't been the best introduction to things but i would love to take you out sometime. show you things.”
“my —” you swallow. “i'd get in trouble.” you shrink away just a bit.
his smile fades and it's replaced with a sadder, more sincere look. “the best things in life have risk to them. it's time i show you that.”
and really, he does feel sorry for you. it's your first time at a bar, you're lonely. no friends as far as he can tell. an overprotective goddess mother.
“think of it this way. i think you're very pretty and i like your honesty. i would like to help you see the world, and to have a little fun, since your mother has obviously never let you do anything in your very, very long life.”
“i'm twenty—one.”
“and now i'm wondering if demeter actually has you tell people that, as if you're a teenage mortal.” loki shakes his head, disappointed. “that's pathetic. you're a bajillion years old. you're a goddess! you should be able to do whatever the fuck you want, right?”
when there's no answer from you, he sighs. leans forward to sit normally, putting both of his elbows on the table and pointing his hands at you. “alright. i'll roll with it for now. you're twenty—one. i guess. you can drink. you can go out alone to bars and other places. you can meet new people. you're an adult. think about that.
“so, again. i think you're very pretty and i wanna show you around. get to know you. would you like to do that with me?” he raises his eyebrows a little, waiting for a response.
it's an eternity before you can win a battle in your mind. slowly, you nod, giving him a smile. “yeah,” you whisper. “yeah, i would. thank you.”
“don't thank me just yet, sweetheart. i haven't shown you anything yet.” he gets up, pushes his chair in.
before he leaves, he winks at you. “call me loki. it's... not as dreadful... as hades. and... what do i call you?”
you say your name, your voice quiet.
“much better than persephone, i think. it suits you. we'll keep in touch, ok?”
“okay,” you say. butterflies are flying rapidly in your stomach.
loki leaves you there. he'd much rather take you back to your home himself, but that would be too risky for the time being. for now, he walks out of that bar feeling like the king of the world.
#foreigner's god#loki x reader#loki#loki fanfic#loki x reader smut#loki x reader smut headcanons#loki x reader drabble#loki x reader headcanons#loki x you#loki x y/n#greek mythology au#mythology au#hozier#loki odinson#hades and persephone#au#alternate universe#marvel cinematic universe#loki au#loki drabble#loki fic#marvel#mcu
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Logyn Meta: Loki & Sigyn’s relationship in the Marvel Comics
Photo Source (by Sexy-Salmon): https://lokisergi.tumblr.com/post/70164902295/siege-loki-problems-it-almost-looks-innocent
Other Logyn Meta’s: https://dailylogyn.tumblr.com/tagged/logyn-meta
Did you know Sigyn was in the Marvel Comics long ago? Did you know Loki had a wife?
Oh...that’s probably because Marvel wanted you to forget their terrible writing mistakes concerning this great Norse Couple.
Let’s dive into this exploration of history where the Marvel writers realized they fucked up on telling a perfectly good couples story, and in the process, setting off a spark of rebellion that caused some retconning and a group of fans to demand justice for both Loki & Sigyn -- not just as a couple, but as their own individual beings.
#JusticeforSigyn #JusticeforLoki #JusticeforLogyn
Where it First Began (Meeting & Marriage of Lies):
In September of 1978, Thor #275 came out featuring the first appearance of Sigyn, Loki’s wife from Norse Mythology. She was introduced as a beautiful Asgardian Loki had randomly come across while looking into a crystal ball inside his castle, wanting to find some companionship to fill his loneliness.
However, when Loki came with riches and jewels to offer her in exchange for her hand in marriage, Sigyn outright rejected him, stating she would never take someone as vile as him, even stating she was already engaged to an Asgardian Warrior part of Odin’s guard -- Theoric.
Unable to accept this, Loki came up with a plan to have her fiancee killed during a mission, resulting in the Trickster taking on the disguise of Theoric in order to take Sigyn for his own. Despite having slightly suspicions of her lover being more romantic than before, Sigyn didn't notice that her lover wasn’t exactly who she thought he was.
Now comes the day of the wedding as Odin marries the happy couple. This was when Loki finally revealed his true self and what he had done. Odin tried to null the marriage, but it was against Asgardian law for even the High Father to do such a thing. Hence, Sigyn accepted her fate as Loki’s wife. This caused Odin to name her the Goddess of Fidelity.
Where it’s Heading (Cargo of Incantation-Fetter’s Arms):
Loki being Loki, he did some shit that ended up with him being imprisoned in a tree by Odin, something that infuriated Sigyn, resulting in her trying to take control over Donald Blake to use over the All-Father as a way to free her husband from his punishment. However, it didn’t work out, resulting in a bunch of other crazy shit happening and putting Thor on their trail.
After Balder was killed, Loki was put on trials for his crimes and received yet another punishment that Sigyn had to protect him from -- having burden over the fact she was “the evil’s wife.” Just like the classic Norse tale, she holds a bowl over his head, shielding him from snake venom and leaving to empty it momentarily when it became full, resulting in Loki cursing her.
Also, Loki and Sigyn had a child -- Narvi, but they died young, being used as the binding to imprison Loki (following the Norse myth too.)
Some more crazy shit happens and now Odin has shackled Loki to Sigyn so he doesn’t cause anymore trouble. Loki of course is not pleased about this one bit. Having had enough of this, he went to Odin demanding to be released, only resulting in him being banished to an outpost.
There Just Might be Hope????:
Some more shit happens again, resulting in Loki being stuck in an astral form and bound to a suit of armor so he could reside in Asgard thanks to Sigyn. A fight happens with Thor, Loki and Mephisto, putting Sigyn in danger. This is when for the first time ever, Loki ends up having a tender confession of love over Sigyn, asking Thor to save her since he could not.
It’s unknown if this is just Loki putting on an act or being real, but you know how the Trickster God can be.
After the battle, while Loki had released Sigyn from her marital vows, his wife swore to always be there for him when he needed her.
And that’s the last we see of Sigyn’s regular appearance in the comics in 1996. She makes a cameo in Avengers: Unleashed #1 in 2019, but it’s nothing more than a flashback to her time of helping Loki.
A Hypothesis & Notes on their relationship in comics:
The whole entire plotline consisting of Theoric and Loki killing him in order to obtain Sigyn is just something most of the fandom doesn’t like. Not only does it objectify Sigyn, but it makes Theoric a Pointless character to introduce anyway, only used as a tool for means in which Loki can get Sigyn, when honestly, he could have done so in a different way.
I like that they stick with Sigyn being the faithful wife of Loki (that’s who she is), but they honestly don’t give her any agency in this besides that trait alone. The writers don’t even let Sigyn be her own damn person! She is SO MUCH MORE than Loki’s loyal wife. SHE IS A FREAKIN GODDESS! I know there is more we can do with her.
Instead of pulling the ‘woe is me, my husband is evil and I’ll just go along with it’ card, something else could have been done. LIKE LITERALLY, ANYTHING ELSE! We know Loki can be a troublemaker, but Sigyn knows how to deal with his shit. She isn’t some damsel in distress here! It’s another reason Loki likes her.
Couples can bicker in times, it’s normal in marriages and relationships, but to have Loki whining about how much of a burden Sigyn is is just....WHY? I mean, you went after the woman and killed another guy for her. This is what you wanted! *shakes head at writers*
I will give them kudos though for some of the stuff near the end when Loki actually starts displaying his true feelings of love towards Sigyn. And sadly we only got a little taste of that...and we aren’t even sure if it was an act or Loki being real.
THE FACT THAT SIGYN ISN’T EVEN IN THE COMICS ANYMORE SINCE 1996. She’s only mentioned, but it’s just as a tale, not as an actual person who USED to be his wife. They literally killed her off. EXCUSE ME! #JusticeforSigyn (We’re still waiting for her in the MCU...)
NORSE MYTHOLOGY TIE-INS:
There were some moments in the comics between them that they writers took from Norse Mythology with them. Thought It’d be important to list.
Loki’s Punishment of snake venom dripping onto him while Sigyn holds a bowl to collect it and shield him.
Narvi being Loki & Sigyn’s son who was killed and his insides used to bind Loki for his punishment.
Sigyn being Loki’s wife.
DIFFERENT WRITERS, DIFFERENT CHARACTERIZATION:
As is the case with everything out there, if you have different writers working on the same project, there is bound to be a difference of characterization and interpretation, resulting in OOC moments or just something completely different altogether. After researching and pondering on this subject, I FULLY believe this is what has happened with Loki & Sigyn’s relationship in the comics. Let’s take a look at the evidence I’ve found:
For the comics Sigyn’s creators were Roy Thomas, John Buscema and Tom Palmer.
Loki’s creators for the comics were Stan Lee, Larry Lieber, Jack Kirby, Violet Barclay, and honestly, many others.
My favorite quotes on them from the comics:
Wait? Despite the crappy writing, I actually have quotes I like from the comics? GASP! I call these the only positives from the comics of their relationship.
“My Sigyn-- the love of my immortal life...”
— Loki, Thor Annual Vol 1 #19
“Aye-- For only Sigyn, of all in the realm eternal, feels love for Loki. And among all Asgardians, only for Sigyn does Loki feel...”
— Loki, Thor Annual #19
“Sigyn loves me-- just as she is the only thing in the nine worlds that I truly love.”— Loki, Thor #483
Photo Source: https://www.zerochan.net/1262293#full
Fandoms Wish for MCU & Future Appearance Justice:
Fans would like to see Sigyn make an appearance, not only in the MCU (Marvel Cinematic Universe), but also the Marvel Comics once again. They would like to see Loki & Sigyn’s characters done justice with proper writing, especially regarding their relationship with each other.
This is why there is plenty of fans out there writing Fanfiction, making Fanart, Roleplaying and even Cosplaying them, giving their interpretation’s of what their relationship would be like. This is THE VERY REASON this blog and @sigynappreciation was created to help spread awareness and unite fans who feel the same way.
These characters are very near and dear to our hearts. Some of us even worship them in our religions. We would like to see their relationship grow and portrayed in a way that helps fill the pieces of the missing puzzle to how they came to be in Norse Mythology.
CONCLUSION:
Although their relationship in the comics usually leaves fans grimacing, at least we got to have it explored. Who knows if Marvel will ever touch anything with them ever again, but at least it’s brought together a small community that continues to go strong -- and honestly, that kind of unity is what Loki & Sigyn would want.
So imagine to your hearts content! Draw that fanart! Write those fanfictions! Dress up in that cosplay! Be those characters! But just remember, you have a family here to love and support you.
SOURCES:
Sigyn’s info on Marvel Database: https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Sigyn_(Earth-616)
Loki’s info on Marvel Database: https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Loki_Laufeyson_(Earth-616)
Sigyn on Marvel Universe: http://www.marvunapp.com/Appendix/sigynthor.htm
Logyn on the Shipping Wiki: https://shipping.fandom.com/wiki/Logyn
Loki & Sigyn’s relationship through Media: https://www.alehorn.com/blogs/blog/norse-mythology-loki-and-sigyn
#logyn#loki x sigyn#loki and sigyn#Marvel Comics#Loki Laufeyson#sigyn#logyn meta#Constancy & Chaos (Logyn)#justiceforsigyn#justiceforlogyn#justiceforloki
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Strings Pt. 2
Pairing: Rosalie Hale x Fem!OC
Summary: in which the true queen of vampires found love when she least expected.
Warnings: ...Light Angst? Slowburn and mentions of death,trauma and depression
Timeline: Breaking Dawn - Post-Twilight
Word count: 4, 200 words
!Extra long chapter!
GIF isn’t mine
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
The witch couple somehow got Rosalie to agree to their terms, much to her distaste. She still doesn’t know what it is that irks her about the couple, she does not trust them, at all but, she trusts Carlisle. Plus, right now, they have more important matters to attend to.
Various thoughts run through Rosalie’s head, as she stands in the vast snow covered field. She may not show it, but she worries for her adoptive sister as Alice strides through the field handing Aro her hand for him to go through her thoughts and visions.
“Now you know. That’s your future, unless you decide on another course.” Alice states when Aro dropped her hand in shock
Rosalie stands rigid, observing silently as she glares and snarls at their “Royalty”, eyes pitch black. She knows in herself that she would do everything for her family, even if it costs her, her life. She stands there, watching as another hybrid walks into the field, she watches as they question him, She watches as Bella sags slightly in relief knowing that Renesmee is immortal and finally, she smiles knowing that they’ve won as the red-coated vampires blurs into the distance.
Joyous screams of victory rips through the air as she joins her family as they rejoice, happy that they did not have to fight the Volturi today. Together, they walk back to their house where their witnesses say their farewells and leaving.
“We won!” Maggie squeals are she rushed into Rosalie’s arms with Emmett trailing behind her
“Yeah, Yeah. Now I have to suffer an immortal life with the smell of wet dog wafting through the air.” Rosalie smirks
“Hey! I heard that!” Jacob complains
“Tsk. You were supposed to.” She retorts as she walks to Carlisle who was holding Esme in his arms.
But as she was walking, she was suddenly thrown into a void, cold, dark, and starry? She was confused as she looks around, panicking when she couldn’t move.
“What the fuck is going on?!” She tries to move her body but she couldn't, she then feels her body get thrown around like a rag doll.
“This is worse than being forced to ride that death machine. What was is called? Rollie? Roller coaster?” She grumbles in her head as she wills herself to not puke. She didn't even think vampires could still be nauseous.
That went on for what seemed to be hours before she was finally dropped into the ground. Opening her golden eyes, her orbs seemed to hyper focus on the gigantic trees and the creatures that live in it. Her ears then pick up the sound of groaning, turning her head, she sees the rest of her family sprawled all over the forest floor.
“Oh my God! Amore! You didn't have to paralyze them that hard!” Veronica thumps Amore in the head.
“I sincerely apologize for what she has done. We needed to take you far away from Forks, The Volturi Coven changed their minds and decided to ambush you and your witnesses. Fear not, your witnesses have been teleported to their homes safe and sound.” Veronica explains while still glaring at the pouting Amore.
“What was that anyways?” Edward groans as he sits up'
“Teleportation. I needed to paralyze you, that lowers the chance of you losing a limb.” Amore explains while Veronica cast a cloud of blue upon them, seemingly healing their “injuries”
“Cooooool. Can we do it again?” Emmett brightens like a child getting a puppy for the first time.
“No.” They all deadpanned at him making Veronica and Amore chuckle.
“Well, I suggest we get going now, even with our speed, it's still a long way to run.” Veronica dusts herself off as she and Amore help the family up and the still dazed shifters.
“Long way to run where?” Jacob asks, utterly confused.
“To the palace of course.” Veronica smiles
“It's high time you guys meet the Queen.” Amore smirks and winks as she speeds off, followed by Veronica then the Cullens and then the Black Pack.
Anastasia pinched her temples in pure stress, the Cullens were coming to visit and everything was in utter chaos. Mud was smeared all over the walls, broken dishes and glass cluttered the floor as little children run past her, screaming her ears off.
“Lance, darling. Clean this up before I rip someone's head off. Make sure this place is spotless before the guests arrive. Get the pups back to their mothers, the children back to the village and contact Maxine, there's a few shifters accompanying the Cullens. I'll be in my lab.” She orders her personal butler who scrambles around trying to get people to help him.
Anastasia ventures down, down until she reaches her own personal laboratory where she herself develops her own type of blood. She's repulsed by the thought of drinking from a clueless human no matter how annoying they are and disgusted at the thought of killing an innocent animal just so she could satiate her desire of drinking blood. And because of this artificial blood, her eyes slowly turn into the rich dark violet that it is now.
As she works, combining different substances and powders that vary colors, her mind drifts to a certain blonde girl. Anastasia for the life of her, cannot even think of what she would do where she faces the blonde beauty, not when her heart if filled with guilt.
1932 Rochester, New York
Anastasia roamed the streets as she keeps her eyes trained on the single glowing golden string attached to her, amongst the other colors. She was born this way, even when she was just a little human, she could always see strings. Of course her feeble mind at that time didn't understand what it was, but now she could. As a vampire, she practiced and willed her strings to be more color coded, since the mere chaos of tangled strings give her a headache. The strings connected each creature in this world, once you make an acquaintance, a blue string connects the two of you and that soon escalates into different colors, However, one color lets her see soulmates, and that's green, which is why she's now following this glowing gold string to wherever it may go. She was tempted to just yank the string as hard as she could and let the creature on the other side find her but somehow, something was holding her back.
As she walked the streets of New York, head held high, she also ignored the stares that she got while walking. She knew why of course, her Italian clothing much different from the posh American clothing everyone around her has, not to mention she was wearing clothes meant for “men” but she never was the one to abide to gender constructs. She also couldn't, for the life of her, think about what she would do when she meets the creature on the other end of the string. Should she kill it? Should she keep it? Should she protect it? Should she-
Her thoughts were then interrupted when her eyes suddenly tunnel visioned. There 'it' was, the 'creature' on the other end of her string, 'it' was actually a woman. An insanely attractive human, being fawned over by boys as she walks by and she was smiling at the small group girls crowding her. Anastasia could suddenly feel the emotions of the said woman: Happiness, Pride, and a little twinge of loneliness and sadness. Anastasia's heart (despite being half-dead) tightened in her chest, she wanted to do everything and anything to make the woman happy. She didn't even care that she just saw her mere minutes ago, she wanted her and only her. And that's when she realized, this woman, no, this angel was meant to be hers. But then again, Anastasia knew that the woman was too good for her, she doesn't deserve this life of pain and eternal suffering, seeing the people you once loved grow old and eventually die, yet she also knew that she cannot live without her, so she settled with being her protector.
“Mr. Lombardi? Did I pronounce that right?” Mr. Hale questioned her, she had managed to manipulate her looks to make her look like a man.
“Yes sir.” Anastasia answered, she named herself Gioele for the sake of her facade.
“And why should I let you protect my daughter?” Mr. Hale raised his eyebrows, staring at the 'guy' infront of him.
“With The Great Depression still happening, I believe your daughter might be in danger. You and your success may make you a target for those who are below you, poor unfortunate...” She trailed off, her moral compass preventing her from saying derogatory words but she knew she had to play by his personality and rules
“We do not talk about them.” Mr. Hale deadpanned
“Yes sir.” 'Gioele' agreed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
“Very well then. You have piqued my interest. One wrong move and you'll find yourself hanging on a rope by your neck.” He threatened just as someone entered.
“Father? Mother requested your presence.” Anastasia's eyes widen when she hears the soft, melodic voice right behind her.
“Rosalie! Perfect timing. This is Gioele Lombardi, he will be protecting you from those awful lowlifes scattered around the streets.” Mr. Hale introduces Anastasia to Rosalie who in turn looked at her.
“Rosalie. Rosalie Hale.” She introduces her self while Anastasia promply goes down on one knee and kisses her hand.
“My Pleasure.” She smiled, seeing the faint blush on Rosalie's cheeks.
Anastasia stood up, offering her arm to Rosalie who accepted and they both followed Mr. Hale outside, Anastasia holding up an umbrella to shield Rosalie and herself from the sun. She didn't sparkle as much as other vampires do but it would have been really suspicious when people see her faint sparkle as her marble like skin hits the rays of the sun.
And in that afternoon alone, Rosalie Hale became more popular, people talked about the attractive guard and of course Rosalie's beauty. Anastasia was annoyed at how people spoke about her and her mate, while they were walking around the city. Rosalie noticed and distracted her by asking her questions and answering questions directed to her as well.
Anastasia just felt herself fall even more as days pass by, She would sit by Rosalie's side while she reads her books, She would accompany her on walks and would help her pick flowers as well. She knew all about Rosalie but Rosalie only knew things Anastasia want her to, that doesn't include the fact that she's a woman and not a man and also the fact that she's an actual vampire. And that proved to be in her disadvantage later on.
A year pass by quickly with Anastasia enjoying every single second she spends with her soulmate, she could feel Rosalie radiating happiness whenever she's around, but of course, Rosalie was getting suspicious as well. It may be because of that one time where they were caught in the rain and their umbrella was much too small for 2 persons so Anastasia insist on Rosalie using it, leaving her wet, making her clothes stick to her body, and even under the dim light, Rosalie could make out a feminine body, toned but still feminine and that left her thinking if she truly knew her guard as well as she thought she did.
One day, Rosalie was sent on an errand to deliver her father's 'forgotten' lunch, and Anastasia knew it was a bunch of shit. She heard the couple discussing their plans to hopefully attract the attention of Royce King II and they succeeded, she had to watch as Rosalie and Royce flirt with each other, with her silently seething, forgotten. She had to hide her growls and snarls whenever flowers would be delivered at the Hale Household, but she couldn't do anything, Rosalie deserved someone who could grow old with her, and not a half-ling abomination like her. So she accepted the fate she wished upon herself and made the hardest decision of her life.
The day Rosalie was engaged, she packed her bags and set to leave but unfortunately, Rosalie caught her. And what she did that day, she still regrets up until now.
“Gioele? You are leaving.” Rosalie states, stunned.
“Don't. Don't stop me Ms. Hale. Or should I say Mrs. King?” Anastasia spat out, and she internally flinched when she saw the pain in Rosalie's eyes.
“Where did this come from Gio?” Gio, Rosalie's nickname for her alter ego. She couldn't handle it anymore and looked around before gently dragging Rosalie into an empty room in their house.
“Look, my name's not Gioele.” Anastasia removes the glamour she placed on herself and watched as Rosalie stare at her in shock.
“It's Anastasia. And yes. I am leaving. You are to be married to Royce King II and I cannot get in between that.” She stares at Rosalie's eyes, hoping to relay her feelings, but Rosalie was still much too hurt from her best friend lying to her.
“You lied. You broke two of your promises Lombardi. Is that even your real surname? It is not, is it? God. Why must I be so stupid! Go! Leave! Find some other woman to lie to!” Rosalie walks away from her
“Rosalie! Wait!” She tried to chase after her but Rosalie just turned around and slapped her, she was shocked, not only because the love of her life slapped her, it's also because Rosalie managed to crack the base of her neck. She lifted her hand to cover the cracks that were covering the base of her marble like neck.
“Rose...” She stared at Rosalie.
“Leave.” Rosalie glared, and Anastasia knew that this was her chance... to let go of her soulmate... in the most painful way possible.
“Fine...” She growled out “...I never liked you anyways, You self-centered, smug woman who only lives to please her father and the people around you. I hope you and your cold heart enjoy your loveless marriage!” She grabs her bags and walks away, not bothering to turn back, knowing that if she sees Rosalie's face and the raw emotions in her eyes, she'll just turn back and beg for forgiveness.
But of course, she couldn't stay away, no matter how hard she tried, she just can't so she lingered, hiding herself in the shadows, watching as Rosalie walked the paths they used to walk on, with Royce accompanying her, his arm hooked on hers as they chatted happily. It took everything in Anastasia to not rip off Royce's head whenever she knew he was making Rosalie uncomfortable and It took everything in her to not steal Rosalie away from him.
She was lingering around Vera's house, Rosalie was in there, cradling the baby boy in her arms as she cooed at him. Anastasia smiled as she saw her mate being all cute, she longed to have that with her, but alas she couldn't.
She was just enjoying herself when suddenly a body slammed into her, they fought for the upper hand as they kept tumbling around. Anastasia would straddle the man and he would flip her as well, she knew he was a vampire and didn't bother to pull her punches, cracking his marble like skin while he, in turn would also punch her face. The only difference they had was, Anastasia is actually bleeding. After what went on like hours, something snapped, Anastasia knew something was wrong with her mate so her eyes glowed a bright red, she threw the man off her and tied him with her strings. She growled at him before speeding off, following the slowly fading golden string. She ran as fast as she could, but she was too late.
“Rose?” she stared in horror as the body of her beloved, sprawled on the sidewalk, bleeding out.
“Stasia?” She turned her head and saw Carlisle standing behind her.
“Carlisle! I beg of you, Please save her. Turn her Carlisle please!” Anastasia begged Carlisle
“What happened? I smelt the blood.” Carlisle knelt beside the barely alive Rosalie.
“Turn her first then I'll explain.” Anastasia choked out as she closed her eyes just in time for Carlisle's teeth sinking into Rosalie's skin
She shook with anger and decided that she'll chase after whoever did this to her, her ears hyper focused, trying to find whoever did it. And that's when she heard it: Royce King II.
“I need to find a new fiancee now.” He laughed as his friends expressed their joy in letting them-
Anastasia let out a loud guttural growl as she prepared to speed away but Carlisle held her back.
“Don't. She needs you first.” Carlisle motioned to Rosalie who's writhing in pain. She immediately scooped her mate into her arms and followed Carlisle's mate string, which led her to a two floor house, she barged in with Carlisle hot on her heels.
“Lay her here.” He instructed the distressed Queen.
“Will she be okay Carlisle?” She asked the doctor as he kissed his mate in her forehead.
“Yes. Give it a couple of days, Your Highness.” Carlisle reassured her as she swallowed back her sobs.
“Very well. Uh. My apologies, I barged in without your permission. My name is Anastasia. You must be Carlisle's lover?” She offered her hand to the older woman who in turn just gave her a hug.
“It's fine. Really. You are welcome here. Carlisle told me all about you.” Esme smiled and Anastasia just smirked at Carlisle.
“Still thinking about me Cullen?” Anastasia teased, taking Rosalie's hand into hers and gripping it, calming her nerves.
“He talks about you everyday.” Esme smiled at her.
Anastasia was about to reply when the doors opened and in came...
“You.” Anastasia growled and lunged at the man. He dodged but she caught his arm and used her momentum to flip him over, throwing him through the wall and into the backyard, making him land flat on his back. The man coughed as Anastasia straddled him, planting her foot to the ground, her strings glowing a bright red as they wrap around him as she slowly ripped his head off.
“Anastasia! He's my son!” Carlisle cried out as Anastasia snapped at him, eyes widening in surprise.
“He's yours?” Anastasia's eyes glowed a bright red and Carlisle felt his entire body shiver.
“Y-Yes.” Carlisle stuttered, the murderous aura surrounding Anastasia triggering his fight or flight.
“He is the reason why I didn't get to my mate fast enough. He lunged at me for no reason, leaving my mate in a vulnerable position AND LOOK WHERE SHE IS RIGHT NOW! SHE'S FIGHTING FOR HER LIFE CARLISLE!” Anastasia's body shook in anger
Carlisle could see the cracks growing on Edward's skin, and he slowly approached the furious queen. He managed to calm Anastasia down by sending calming waves into his strings, decades of working alongside the queen was proven to be useful in this moment. The ropes that were once wrapped around Edward slowly loosened until they retreated back into her body.
Edward wheezed as he moved away from her while Anastasia composed herself.
“Teach your son better manner s, Carlisle or the next time we meet, you'll see his decapitated head decorating the Volturi Walls.” Anastasia threatened as she walks calmly back into the house through the wall that she made and sat beside her unconscious mate. She noticed the golden string slowly go back to it's natural glow, which made her sigh in relief.
A couple of hours pass by and Anastasia was feeling hungry, she asked for Carlisle's help in looking for food in the forest and he told her where the majority of the animals lived and she set off. While she was hunting, she couldn't help but feel like she failed Rosalie. She let her become something that she protected her from. A Vampire.
Once she had her fill, she slowly walked back to where Carlisle lives, delaying her arrival as much as possible, dreading the fact that she knew Rosalie was awake. She could feel it. She took a deep breath and opened the door, making everyone's head snap towards her. Her eyes caught Rosalie's and instantly, they connected, more so than before, which means that Anastasia feels what Rosalie feels 100 times more than before. Pain, Sadness, Longing and Hatred. And that's when she knew, she knew that Rosalie hated her. Her soulmate hated her. The thought weighed on top of her, slowly crushing her heart, she physically gasped for breath as she could feel Rosalie's anger increased tenfold.
“Rose. Let me-”
“Don't Anastasia. Do what you do best, leave.” Rosalie answered her, putting emphasis on her real name. She tried to move closer but Rosalie only moved and sped out of the house, with Carlisle trailing after the newborn.
She was about to follow as well when Edward stopped her.
“I apologize for my actions earlier, I truly believed that you were preying on them, that's why I attacked you, but you should really trust me when I say that you shouldn't follow her. She's angry.” Edward quickly explained
“And how do you know that?” She asked.
“I can read minds.” Edward simply states, nodding at her.
Anastasia nodded, defeated and sat on a chair with Esme right beside her.
“Give her some time.” Esme advises, rubbing the girl's back.
She gritted her teeth when she felt Rosalie's pain. Not physical, emotional. And she has the power to take it away. But with a great price. A price she was willing to take.
When the Cullen family was complete, with Rosalie, Anastasia quickly worked her gift. Wrapping her strings around them and re-writing their memories, without her in it. Except for Carlisle's, she left some memories of him working alongside her while in the Volturi. Once she finished, she quickly speeds away and forces herself to leave the memories and pain she just took into the back of her mind as she wiped her bleeding nose, her body collapsing under a big tree due to the exhaustion.
She was pulled back into reality when the beaker she was holding in her hand exploded, drenching her in artificial blood. She gritted her teeth, there were two things that could've happened. One, she mixed the wrong chemicals while day dreaming or two, Amore decided to switch the labels again.
She checked everything, and then found out the second one was the truth, she stormed out of her lab, blood dripping from every inch of her body. Her annoyance clouded her brain, forgetting that she sent Amore to pick up the Cullens and if she was here, then so were The Cullens.
She spotted Amore from afar and sped towards her, slamming her against the brick walls of her “castle” . She hated that term.
“What did I tell you about switching my labels Lewis?! Look at me! Blood is in every crevice in my body! There's blood in parts that I didn't even knew were exposed!” She growled out
“Well, to be f-fair, You aren't wearing your usual lab attire so that's partially your fault.” Amore choked out. Anastasia just growls in response.
“Stasia, calm yourself. First impressions are important.” Veronica waves her hand and Anastasia's clothes were back to normal, dry and there was no trace of blood anywhere.
First Impressions? Anastasia then mentally facepalmed herself. She had forgotten the Cullen Family. She releases Amore, then turned to the family, recalling her speech, she started to talk.
“Hello. Sorry you had to see that, but you should really get used to it. My name is Anastasia...” She drifted off as her violet orbs met golden ones. In her brief moment of surprise, she unknowingly let down her guard, causing her previously cast spell break. She knew that her mate would be there and she mentally prepared herself but turns out, she wasn’t prepared at all. When she recovered from her shock, she could feel that her spell had been broken. The entire coven looked at her with various emotions: Happiness, Confusion, Longing and Familiarity. She may or may not have met all the members before and also wiped their memories.
“Gio...” Rosalie whispered.
“Shit...” Anastasia cursed, she somehow knew this would happen, just not this soon.
“Rose...” She stared at her mate for what seemed like years before Rosalie glared at her with so much anger she didn't know it was possible, and stormed off. Again.
'She always does that.' Anastasia sighs.
“Well, that secret's out. I'll escort you to you ro-”
“We'll do it. Chase after her.” Veronica pats her back before escorting the Family to their respective chambers, but Carlisle stayed behind.
“That... was messed up Anastasiarine.” Carlisle expressed his disappointment before pulling the girl in a brief hug.
“I missed you too Cullen.” She whispered before letting go to chase after her mate.
“I'm sorry. Please forgive me.” She sent that thought to the Cullen Family, including Rosalie and went back to what she did 75 years ago.
She was once again, chasing the glowing gold string.
#rosalie hale#rosalie hale x oc#jasper hale x alice cullen#edward cullen x bella swan#carlisle x esme#olympic coven#cullen clan#the cullens#cullen family#the volturi#rosalie cullen#rosalie hale x fem oc#platonic carlisle x oc#The Cullens x OC#The Volturi x OC#rosalie twilight#rosalie#rosalie hale x reader#rosalie lillian hale
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If you are still doing the prompt thing~
Types of kisses: 3
Dialogue: 2 & 7
Ship: anybody from Percy’s harem!
Thank you!
3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.
2. “Shut up and hold me.”
And
7. “It looks good on you.”
Percy had plenty of secrets.
He lived in a world where the Greek gods were real, where monsters attacked him and the other demigods on a regular basis, while still needing to go to school with mortal kids and teachers, hiding the truth from them. He lived in a world, where everybody knew everything about each other, where pronouncing the name of a god would invite that god to listen in the conversation. He lived in a world, where you had to be very careful if you wanted your secrets to stay yours.
Mostly he succeeded. Nobody knew the true extent of his first step-father’s abuse nor the real reason for his blue food obsession. It was still a secret that he could sing, and that he had a big collection.
As in- a big collection of gods, who wanted to pretend that they hated him, yet would do anything to spend a night with him.
(The first one was Mr. D. It was a shock for Percy, as he believed that the camp director hated his guts, but turned out, he was just horny and mad for being horny. What was even more of a shock that how… caring he was as his first. But when words got out that Dionysus popped the little hero’s cherry… let’s just say, the punishment he got for chasing after that nymph Zeus wanted, was nothing compared to the one he got for fucking the Sea Prince before the King of Gods could.
Who gladly took over his son’s place at Percy’s bed, showing him that his past conquests had no reason to deny his advances. Saying that Percy couldn’t walk properly for a few days after Zeus left him alone to go back to his furious wife, would be an understatement. But the young hero couldn’t rest adequately, because his next visitor, just as shocking as Zeus was, didn’t come alone to wreck the little hero completely - Persephone wanted to taste the Sea Prince as well.
The King and Queen of the Underworld changed everything Percy knew about pleasure, sex, and sexuality. Unfortunately, they also had to leave their pretty prince. Percy knew it was dangerous to fall in love with a god - either because of jealous significant others or because it could only end in heartbreak -, but he lost pieces of his heart each time a god left him all alone. Yet, he didn’t want to stop. He craved for them, he needed any god who paid even the smallest amount of attention to him.)
But the secret he held closest to his heart was that he liked to dance. Just losing himself in the music, moving his lean, athletic body to the rhythm of the song. But it wasn’t just the dance itself he was self-conscious about: it was the way he dressed during his dance sessions.
He liked to dress up in a skirt so mini it didn’t really cover all of his booty. In pretty, lacy fabrics, leather shorts, and flowy dresses. He just loved feeling pretty - but even if he had sex with various gods with different kinks, even if he was probably the most sought-after hero of all time, he still had some lingering insecurities about his body, his femininity, his kinks.
And being a crossdresser as a Greek hero - was not something he ever heard of. (Also, he was afraid of others’ judgment. The Aphrodite cabin was always looked down on by the other cabins for being “girly” and “too pretty for battle” and he wasn’t ready for the bullying he would receive for not being a proper, manly hero.)
So, he only shared his hobby with the loneliness of his room, his favorite plush shark he got from a “secret admirer”, and his pet moss ball. His mother knew he liked to dance, and that when he was younger, he liked to try out her clothes, but she believed that after Gabe beat him up for wearing make-up, he gave up all of it. He didn’t - he just made sure nobody could catch him doing anything not “normal”.
He would always lock the door of his bedroom, put his earphone in, and blast his songs without care for the world around him. He would dress up in one of the pretty dresses he bought from thrift shops from the money he got from selling candies even in camp, and dance until he was a sweaty, tired, grinning mess. He would mouth along to the lyrics of the song, careful not to sing it aloud, jump so high he would feel like he was flying, spin around until the dizziness took over.
He would feel free.
---
Triton heard things… Things he wasn’t sure how to feel about.
On one hand, it was good to know that his little brother was not mortal enough to freak out of the thought of being together with his uncles.
On the other hand, Percy Jackson - the pain in his ass, the bastard son of his father, the pretty hero of Olympus, the boy he just couldn’t erase from his thoughts -, was having sex with his uncles, and two of his cousins.
Which just had to be gossip, right? There was no way more than one god had their wicked ways with Percy before he could even determine himself to woo his little step-brother. Right?!
This was why he was standing in front of the door of the apartment Percy lived in with his mother, step-father, and baby sister, ready to knock on it. He lifted up his hand and hit the wood with his knuckles.
No answer.
He tried once again.
No answer.
Being a god had its perks - no locked door could stand in his way. He just flashed himself in the quiet apartment. Triton thought nobody was home, but the sound of somebody’s movement lured him towards a room, which’s door was slightly open.
He peeked in and for the first time in his immortal life, he felt like he was hallucinating or that he died and went to Elysium.
Because the boy he wanted to make his forever, was in nothing, but a pastel pink, lacy babydoll, hips swaying seductively to a beat only Percy could hear. Arms flailing in the sky, strong, long legs moving fluidly, he whirled around like a pro. He threw his head back to expose his pale, long, beautiful neck, and Triton could do nothing to stop himself from moving towards the fucking tease.
He strode towards his prey and wrapped his arms around those slim hips dressed up in enticing lace. The sudden movement startled Percy, and the fight reflexes started to kick in, but as he turned around to shove his attacker away, he saw Triton, with his eyes burning in want. Percy gulped.
Triton stared at the boy blinking owlishly at him, lashes fluttering against his cheeks, fluffy hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
“It looks good on you,” Triton growled, his hand stroking the hem of the babydoll, close to Percy’s bottom. The boy’s blush ran down from his cheeks to his neck, meeting the similarly colored fabric on his chest. The god wanted to explore all of the exposed skin with his lips, tongue, and teeth, marking him his.
“I…” Percy started, but nothing came out. He bit into his lip, uncertain, but seeing nothing but naked want in his half-sibling’s eyes, he came to a decision. “Kiss me,” he demanded breathily. He pressed closer to the other male; soft textile brushing his smooth legs, strong arms holding him tight, fingers teasing his naked skin. His breath hitched as Triton leaned closer, and his wide eyes fluttered close when their lips finally touched.
The god kissed him like no one before. He felt cherished, praised - loved. The earphone hanged uselessly from his neck, breaking the apartment’s quiet by mutedly blasting a distinctive, upbeat violin solo.
When they broke up, Triton whispered teasingly, “Will you dance for me?” His eyes shone with mirth, but he honestly wanted to see more of the dancing of his beloved. He wanted to enjoy more of his graceful moves, the passion he radiated when he danced.
But seeing Percy embarrassed, red face hidden in Triton’s shirt, the god knew that his Sea Prince was not yet ready for that. But, if he was lucky, he would have an eternity to watch as his beloved was swaying at some melody.
“Shut up and hold me,” Percy mumbled into his chest, and he gladly obeyed his order.
#gen's prompt game#prompt game#anonymous#percy jackson#percy's harem#triton#triton x percy#tritercy#dionysus x percy#hades x percy#persephone x percy#percy x zeus#crossdressing#crossdresser Percy
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primeboys angst hc….?
You mean, apart from the exile ones I already did? Sure. It’s more fucked up than angsty but it is both.
Tommy was pretty much doomed the second he joined the server, but to be more specific Dream's obsession with Tommy started just before the disc wars, during the conflict between Ponk and Sapnap.
The entire disc war was an excuse for Dream to “play” with Tommy, but to Tommy it was when he learnt he couldn’t trust anyone and anything. Throughout his desperate attempts to hide his discs, Dream would do some convoluted scheme to steal them, it literally taking many deaths and a hard thought enderchest to secure his discs (and he knew even then it wouldn’t end there).
Around this time, Dream made one of his hidden bases full of supplies, but instead of supplies it was slowly but surely filled completely with things related to Tommy. It started off as a few pictures, writings of plans to restart the war, and slowly grew over the years- the bloodstained coat from his death in the L'Manburg war, some of the identical hoodies he kept in bulk, pictures dating back to before Tommy even joined the SMP. It was last added to just before Dreams arrest.
Much like the disc war, to Dream the L'Manburg independence war was an excuse to “play” with Tommy, though he let his friends believe it was out of fear of the new nation. Killing Tommy twice is something Dream would consider some of his happiest memories.
After L'Manburg gained freedom, Dream continued to egg on Tommy about the discs now that he had, making absolutely sure there was no way Tommy would ever forget. After all, be it negative or positive, he wanted to make sure he was always in Tommy's mind.
After Dream learnt Tommy was a devout follower of Church Prime, he immediately not only got the idea of building a church in the server for Tommy, but masquerading himself as his brother DreamXD, the god of the religion of Church Prime. After all, would Tommy disobey his own god?
Apparently the answer was yes. It was entertaining enough, though, so Dream didn’t really care.
After Tommy and Wilbur were exiled, it was only natural that Dream would help his favourite little mortal. After all, Schlatt was boring and a useless pawn. Even Wilbur was far more entertaining, but of course he was in it for Tommy, handing him all the supplies he thought he’d need and a letter he’d let himself be somewhat truthful in just for him.
It was this time where the seeds of Tommy's third exile were planted in Dream's head. Tommy's look of fear, the anger and betrayal and loneliness he had when he was first exiled and even when he was in Pogtopia were priceless. If he could just engineer a situation where it was just Tommy, and Dream could watch and play all he wanted, well that would be perfection.
Unfortunately, of course, Schlatt had the better deal- a book that allowed DreamXD to use some of his limited power in the mortal realm.
The first thing Dream wished for was Tommy himself. This bound his and Tommy's fates together for eternity (and possibly even past that). No matter how far one of them ran, the other would always be able to find them, even in death.
The first thing Dream got to work on after the Pogtopia war was working on getting his exile plan through, griefing buildings and framing Tommy for it. He’d intended to be more subtle, have someone on the cabinet discover Tommy’s “crimes,” push for exile inside the board rooms no one else would hear, and when Tommy found himself all alone be his “saviour.”, but he didn’t mind the direct route.
Again, I’ve already done exile headcanons, they’re linked above!
Once Dream found the tower in the ruins of Logstedshire, he honestly panicked. The idea of a world without Tommy would be unpalatable, a world without any sort of fun. He tried to revive Tommy immediately but that didn’t work because obviously Tommy wasn’t dead.
Dream didn’t know Logstedshire was close to Techno's home when he built it, but he supposes it must be part of the guarantee he and Tommy were bound together now.
After leaving Dream, Tommy still carried many of the traits he'd learnt to avoid pain in exile on, no one but him and Dream knowing of the origins. I mentioned how he seeks affection by shoving his head into people’s hands so they’ll ruffle his hair in the exile post, but it’s not just that. It’s how he always plans an apology at every situation, it’s how quickly he'll deny ever feeling like he wants to hurt himself, it’s how he’ll go along with almost anything as long as it would only hurt himself.
Doomsday to Dream was a form of punishment for Tommy daring trying to leave him. He didn’t give a fuck about who lived or died, he didn’t even care about removing a political rival. He just wanted to make sure Tommy knew how badly he’d fucked up, and that there would be nowhere for him to run.
Tommy knew he wasn’t going to die at the disc finale. He’d hoped it, because he knew what awaited him if he lost was worse than Death.
Still, sometimes he has dreams where it’s just him and Dream alone and Dream ruffles his hair and everything’s alright and so much simpler and for a second he regrets not listening, just for a second.
Tommy's lockdown in Pandora's Vault was volatile. Sometimes it almost was like exile, Tommy scared and subservient, other times he tried his best to fuck with Dream. Dream alternated between barely provoked fits of violence or desperate unrestrained affection.
Dream didn’t plan to kill Tommy, he was just so, so, frustrated, and he didn’t think ahead. After he realised what he’d done, he spent the next few days alternating between manic laughter and crying, refusing to let go of the body and speaking to it as if he were alive.
Meanwhile, in the afterlife, Tommy basically spent the whole first month/day in absolute shock. Oh, he knew Dream was a bastard. He fucking hated him. But still, the idea of Dream killing him seemed like a sick joke. That was the one thing he trusted Dream would never do, the one piece of trust left in him.
Dream's excited demeanour after Tommy was revived wasn’t at all an act. He was overjoyed that he wouldn’t be without Tommy any longer.
Dream's offer of immortality is honestly less an offer and more a threat. Dream doesn’t age, so that gives him plenty of time to find a way to cure the issue of canon dying, and whether Tommy ages weird due to being a test subject and undead or not, there’s definitely ways of prolonging a lifespan. When he finds a way to give himself infinite canon lives, he'll do it to Tommy too. And then the fun can really begin.
#dream smp#dsmp#dream smp headcanosn#dsmp headcanons#tw abuse#tw torture#tw manipulation#tw self harm
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6. Mythology - Hades and Persephone AU (Up to you which is which!)
So I'm going to write this up as these two taking on aspects of these gods but not actually being Hades and Persephone. With a dash of a modern vibe? I shouldn't be as giddy about this but here we are!
Love was a difficult thing to navigate, even for an immortal who ruled over the dead. Maybe even more so, for who could love someone who was tasked with the least loved aspect of eternity? No he wasn't death itself but he ruled over the dead and for everyone else that was close enough. The underworld was completely doom and gloom, heroes and noble people had their resting place and it was as beautiful as a spring day.
But that was neither here nor there. He might have made a grave error in his loneliness. He tricked another god to enter his realm. A god of the earth, tied to fertility and virality, the changing of seasons, and the growth of crops. Maybe tricked was too harsh a word, more like convinced, however, with what followed, he felt like he tricked him.
He had spied this god when he grew tired of his surroundings and briefly walked above. Something stirred in his heart that he had not known before and longed to see the other god again.
When he asked a goddess of love to help he wasn't expecting this...a binding enchantment tied to the fruit this other god just ate.
Raserei's stomach knotted as he felt the enchantment take hold, and guilt started to wash over him. This was not what he had in mind. To be fair he didn't know what to expect, or what he wanted but forcing this other god to be his wasn't on the hypothetical list.
"This wasn't what I planned!" he started to plea, "I just wanted you to see me! I will fix this. There has to be some way to fix this, right?"
Because there was no way the other god didn't feel it, the magic binding them, binding him here in this place where someone like him didn't belong.
"I can't believe I've fucked up this badly!"
For all his power as death, even just ruling over the dead granted him much power, a greater deity among those that lingered. Even still, he couldn't just shatter this magic. Love, was a power even he had to contend with.
"Please, forgive me."
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you never changed, but i sure did
Nastya doesn’t know this, but she’s been floating in empty space for three years. (written for the @mechanismszine !)
Rating: T (for some swearing)
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Temporary Character Death, Post-Out, Memory Loss, Dissociation, Depersonalization, Angst with a Happy Ending
Nastya doesn’t know this, but she’s been floating in empty space for three years.
Nastya doesn’t know much of anything out here. Stars pierce the blankness, pricking her eyes like the tears that would form when it was too cold back home. It’s far too cold here, but her circuits, both metal and flesh, stopped processing that years ago.
She doesn’t have much to take in, between cycles of fading away and shivering back to life every so often when her mechanism can’t keep up with the crushing vacuum. There’s no logic to the moments of clarity in between her deaths, and maybe if she were aware of the anniversary of her self-imposed exile, she would resent it. Instead, her limited consciousness brings her back around to the same thought that’s haunted her since she stepped through the airlock doors: if the Aurora is no longer the Aurora, then who is she?
She’s had plenty of time to form an argument. At first, she would stare at the last remaining piece of her Aurora, mouthing her meaningless silence into the void, as if the tiny scrap of metal would answer her in saccharine Cyberian like the paradox her love always was. Now that Aurora is gone, she has no one to talk to, but she’s so frozen and so lonely that she can only cling to the same series of points.
So one more time, she asks: who is Nastya Rasputina?
A princess. Not remotely. She hasn’t been a princess since she took Carmilla’s hand, regardless of what her creator would say to her when soothing her girlish fears. A princess would have stood with her people when they needed her, rather than dying abhorred and forgotten. A princess was Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova, and Nastya shed that name the moment she had the chance. A princess probably should’ve been a good person. She never was.
Cyberian. Nastya’s heart shattered when she realized that her love could no longer answer her in their native language, but it’s not as if those same words stuck with eternal precision in Nastya’s mind. No matter how stubbornly she clings to the accent, she couldn’t remember all the parts of speech and verb tenses that her tutors made her memorize in her frigid interludes of reality. Had she and Aurora ever spoken real Cyberian to one another? She can’t remember, and the fuzzy emptiness where that knowledge should be scares her more than any of the possible answers.
A Mechanism. She played their music, she told their stories, she jumped headfirst into their pointless violence before her cold hands could stop their trembling. She said I don’t want to die and she suffered on an operating table just like the rest of them. And she knows that all of these things make her who she is, that all of these moments in her immeasurable life were the ones that defined it, but if she tries to put herself in her own shoes at any given point, she can’t remember what it was like to be that Nastya. It feels like she’s read her own biography cover-to-cover hundreds of times, but nowhere has the Nastya of the past reached out to remind her how it felt to live through it. Besides, she’s not like the rest of them—her mechanism has never been something discrete, something to separate from herself and love or revere or despise. For Nastya, Every capillary, every cell, aches with the knowledge that she’s not what she’s supposed to be, and no one understands this but her.
Dead. That one’s easy. Nastya Rasputina is dead, but not for long; she shudders back to life with a scream clawing at her teeth before she can ever really end.
Beloved.
She has been loved. Lots of things about her are fuzzy, some forgotten and some uncertain to begin with, but she knows that she’s been loved. Aurora lived in her veins, and Nastya in hers, and she remembers a Nastya who knew what it felt like to be loved so wholly that it was written into the fabric of her flesh. The rest of the crew loved her in their own ways—Ashes steadying her with an arm around her shoulders in crowded cities; Ivy listening and cataloguing every detail as she rambled about Cyberian machinery lost to the rest of the universe; Marius failing to school the awe out of his expression when she outplayed him on his own violin. And, always, Jonny hiding his affection behind a veneer of murder. Jonny, throwing Carmilla out of the airlock so she couldn’t hurt Nastya again. Jonny, crawling through miles of ducts and vents to find her when she went days without eating, even as he scowled at her and Aurora for being too sappy. Jonny, bringing her trinkets and mementos every time she was too overwhelmed to stay planetside after a show. But Jonny watched her leave and did nothing to stop her. Now, who’s here to love her in the endless dark between stars? More importantly, who is she if not beloved?
Given all the evidence, there’s only one conclusion to make: she is no longer Nastya Rasputina. She has not been Nastya for a long time, probably even longer than she’s been floating in space. So even if her Aurora was still out there, still launching the Mechanisms from one tragedy to the next, she doesn’t deserve to be a part of that cycle.
The thought fades away, as always, moments before her lungs stop trying to breathe in the nothingness and she dies once again.
---
Needles prick every inch of her skin, inside and out, icy and blazing and unrelenting until she can’t draw in enough air to scream. Then there’s pressure, something cold-hot weighing down on her back, and light so harsh that she sees the afterimage of the stars that she’s stared at for decades, and sound. She can’t remember if she’s supposed to understand what’s happening. There’s no sound in the vacuum, but now she can hear every chirp and whisper and hum of the metal around her, and above all of it, a voice.
It’s been so long since she even remembered a voice.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” the voice barks, and Nastya only understands it because she’s been thinking in the same language this whole time, after all. There’s no resistance left in her, so she tries to move, only to slump to the ground. Was she standing? Strange. “Ashes, move. I said get out!”
The warm pressure on her back shifts, but doesn’t leave, and then something softer touches her face. Her body is faster to remember these things than her, but when she opens her mouth to reply, running on instinct and loneliness so deep it defines her, she can’t make a sound.
Another voice comes from somewhere farther away. “Be gentle, Jonny.”
“I am!” The blur in front of her moves in synchrony with the words. Jonny. Jonny. She’s supposed to feel something about that name. It’s not the name that aches inside her, deeper than her every conscious thought, but she should feel something about it. That feeling swirls under her surface, pushing at the edge of the emptiness that she’s made herself into, but she fades back out of reality before it can give itself a name.
---
“I rewinded to a few minutes before we pulled you in,” says Brian, prodding the screen with a gentle frown. “Are you sure about this?”
Nastya nods. “I—hm. Sorry.” She clears her throat, which she’s been doing every few minutes since she woke up, because even immortality isn’t enough to keep vocal cords working well after nearly a hundred years in space. “It’ll be… closure. At least.”
“Can I stay here with you?”
“Please,” she murmurs. He probably wouldn’t have left regardless, because they’re all afraid to leave her alone right now, but it matters that he asks. It matters that he takes her hand and runs a smooth brass thumb across her palm when she reaches out for comfort. Brian presses play, and the camera feed outside the airlock begins again.
Two minutes of silence, and then a cacophony of boots on metal and shouting and doors hissing open and closed as the crew realizes what’s about to happen. She still doesn’t know who actually tracked her down, who opened the airlock for her in the first place. By the time Ashes pounds on the keypad to open the inner door, Nastya is crumpled on the ground inside the airlock, skin waxy-pale and clothes filigreed with frost, and in the present her breath catches in her throat because she could swear she’s never seen that face before.
On the screen, Ashes drops to their knees and whips the coat off their back to wrap around Nastya, pulling her into their lap and squeezing her tight to their chest. There’s sound on the feed—muffled, but not enough to lose Jonny’s voice as he storms around the corner and shouts at Brian and Ivy to “get the fuck out of my way.” The body in Ashes’ arms flails hard enough that they nearly drop her, and Nastya catches a glimpse of her own face, etched into a frozen frown that makes her stomach go tight and uneasy. “Ashes, move. I said get out!”
Ashes lowers her to the floor, leaving their coat wrapped around her, and the Nastya on screen goes limp moments before Jonny throws himself down next to her and starts slapping her face. After a few seconds without a response, he lets out a scream of frustration as the other crew members back up to give him space. But for once his rage is contained, and he picks Nastya up instead, leaning his cheek against her forehead. She’s so much taller than him. Especially after a hundred years of space-vacuum spine decompression. Still, he’s practically jogging by the time he gets out of the airlock, the others following, and the door closes behind him on its own. The last thing Nastya fixates on is her own hand, limp and gray, dangling down from her body. It can’t be hers. She stares down at her hand in real life, but this one doesn’t look any more familiar.
“I s-still don’t know,” she starts, then pauses to close her eyes and take a deep breath when Brian turns to her. He’s so earnest sometimes, it’s hard to look at him head-on. “Who found me? Who got me out of space?”
Brian fidgets with the recording again. “I’m honestly not sure. Here, I can rewind farther—there was this… noise…”
Twenty minutes before the airlock opened. They watch a blank feed for a bit, Nastya’s hand trembling in Brian’s, and after a few minutes he sits down on the arm of the pilot’s chair and starts to stroke her hair. Every touch feels like a tiny shock, but she can’t stand the thought of him stopping. Then the sound comes from the camera feed—not an alarm, at least not one she’s heard before, and she is intimately familiar with Aurora’s standard operating signals. This is a wail, echoing from deep within the ship until the walls reverberate and everything pitches slightly to the left. A sharp turn, maybe? It probably shouldn’t show up on an internal camera like that, but that’s the least of Nastya’s concerns. “Was anyone on the bridge?”
“We can check,” Brian answers, hesitant. He pauses the feed and flips through the cameras—seven pods, kitchen, common room, bridge. Everyone is standing, apparently staring around in bewilderment, but no one is actively steering the ship. When Brian switches the feed again, it’s black.
They both stare at it for a second. “Engine room,” he reads off the top of the screen. “There… should be lights in there, yes?”
Nastya’s throat is too tight to speak. She hasn’t been down there—she’s barely been awake for half an hour, she’s not ready to come face-to-face with Aurora again. But she nods, and Brian presses play, and the wailing starts again, earsplitting even through the cameras. The video is still dark, but it’s clear that this is the closest they can get to the sound.
Of course it was Aurora. She didn’t need to see this to know, but she deserves this shattering ache in her chest, so she keeps watching. Brian apparently has other ideas, because he flips back to the airlock door again, and then switches the cameras to follow Nastya—in Jonny’s arms, and then Marius’s, and then lying on the sofa in the common room while Raphaella feels her forehead and the Toy Soldier bounces on its heels behind her—until she coughs half a dozen times and starts to wake up.
Through every moment, Nastya studies the face on the screen, recording every contour, every feature, every shadow. She can see the details, but when she tries to put them together, something isn’t right. “It’s not me,” she finally murmurs, leaning her head into Brian’s side. “I don’t—I can’t recognize… that person. That’s not me.”
“I can follow you all the way here on the cameras if you want—”
“No, I know,” she cuts him off, growing more insistent. “I know I’m wrong. I know, logically, that Aurora found me and plucked me out of space and you all dragged me inside and I’m here now and I’m fine now, but I don’t know that face, I can’t even recognize my hands in front of myself right now! I’m—I—I had almost a hundred years, according to Ivy, out there in space to think about it, and you know what I found out?”
Brian’s face is taut with concern when he looks down at her. “Nastya,” he pleads.
“I’m not Nastya. That’s what. I haven’t been—maybe I’ve never been Nastya, but I’m not now, and whatever the fuck I am is something that none of you know. Not Aurora, not even me. And they’re going to realize that, and what will they think then? How long will I have to watch you all mourn a Nastya who never existed every time you look at me?”
He stares down at her, mouth open but unable to form words, while she pulls her hand back to herself and curls up in the pilot’s chair, choking on a sob. There’s nothing to do but cry, when even Brian doesn’t know what to say and the camera feed keeps on going, inundating her with snapshots of a Nastya she never was. Shaky hands flicking the hair out of her face, shoulders brushing mindlessly against the walls of the ship, gaze fixed on Jonny’s ear so she doesn’t have to look him in the eyes. All of these things should add up to her, and instead she is empty.
There are thoughts building in the corners of her head, and she knows they’ll be dangerous if they can coalesce into words, but she can’t stop them. Jonny couldn’t, Ashes couldn’t, Brian can’t, Aurora—
As if she can hear Nastya thinking, a row of soft blue lights flickers on overhead. Nastya’s head snaps up, tears streaming down her temples, as every light in the room comes on in a wave, pulsing brilliant blue-white-golden over her and Brian, almost drowning out the stars ahead of them for a moment before they dim to something tolerable. When she knows she has Nastya’s attention, Aurora sings to her—sound traveling through the air, pulses of light, lines of code transmitted from the thrum of the metal underneath her and into her blood, carrying a thousand rehearsals of the same message.
I don’t care whether you’re the same Nastya, or whether I’m the same Aurora. I will get to know you again every time you wake up. I will love the person I meet more with every day. I am the one who loves you, and you are the one who loves me, and we belong here.
Nastya is crying too hard to form words, but Aurora’s song reassures her that she has nothing to defend. “Do you… want me to leave you two alone?” Brian interrupts, gesturing at the door.
It takes another minute for Nastya to calm down enough to answer him, but in that time, her hands find the control panel and, trembling, tap stream-of-consciousness binary into the metal until she knows that Aurora has once again heard her heart. “No,” she manages at last. “No, I want my family.”
Brian sweeps her into a hug, and the rest of the crew aren’t far behind.
#the mechanisms#nastya rasputina#nastyaurora#mechanismszine#alder originals#writing#im v v proud of this and it means a lot to me and even going through to italicize stuff#because tumblr doesnt feel like formatting right ig#is making me very emotional#i need a nap now
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Counting Heartbeats
[ao3]
Joe x Nicky
2.7k words
During the time it takes Nicky to come back to life after an accidental death, Joe thinks back on their 900 years together.
It hurts every time.
The waiting, the tattoo of his heartbeat growing stronger and faster the longer the wait as a tangible reminder that all hearts permanently stop beating eventually.
This time is very stupid.
Joe and Nicky were just eating a lovely dinner together in one of their safe houses when Nicky laughed at something Joe had said and subsequently began choking on the food Joe had cooked. Joe, of course, tried to save him, but it was a fluke accident that inevitably ended in Nicky’s death.
Joe counts the rhythm of his heartbeat as he waits. He holds Nicky’s head in his lap on the floor and strokes his thumb across his reddened cheek and hums a soft tune as he counts.
The first time Nicky had died was clear in Joe’s memory, because he had been the one to kill him and watching a man come back to life is not something easily forgotten (at least, not the first time). Joe thought he was just imagining things, until Nicky stabbed him through the chest and Joe experienced the nothingness himself, the unquantifiable dark emptiness of nonexistence before he impossibly breathed himself back to life and killed Nicky again. And again and again and again until other soldiers began to take notice, and there was a moment of understanding, a moment of looking into each other’s eyes for the first time not as enemies but as allies, and they fled together, wordlessly, into hiding because they knew that they were the same and that they were different.
They learned each other's languages patiently and painstakingly, and for a while they spoke a combination of Arabic and Ligurian, oftentimes switching mid-sentence and then switching right back. Once they could fully understand each other, the first real conversation they had was about what it felt like to die.
“Did you see what you were fighting for? Heaven?” Joe asked.
Nicky shook his head and smiled, his eyes cast down thoughtfully at the ground of the cave they were holed up in. “There was nothing. Every time. Nothing.”
“And when you wake, it feels like no time has passed, and that all of time has passed.”
Nicky laughed and nodded his head. “Yes. Exactly.” He looked at Joe, considering. “What we were fighting for is meaningless.”
“Your religion? Maybe. The god you worship, did he rise from the dead?”
“He did. Perhaps he was like us.”
“So does that mean he was a man, or that we are gods?”
Nicky laughed again. Joe quickly discovered that he liked that small, quiet laugh and that he liked being the one to cause that laugh.
It made sense, in their own little pocket of the universe, when Joe kissed Nicky for the first time. They had been living together, hiding together, running together for a year, maybe two, and they had met Andy and had some questions answered while others continued to pile up, but meeting her put things into perspective. They had an inherent bond with her, of course, but it was different than the bond they had with each other. Until they met Andy, they believed their bond was born primarily out of having the same affliction, but Joe remembered recognizing right away that he would never feel for Andy what he felt for Nicky, that the intensity of his affections were reserved for one person only. And he could feel it, too, without ever having talked about it, that Nicky felt the same. Their love began easily, with gentle touches and secret kisses, and it was altogether thrilling and scary, monumental and simple, and even if they had had just one lifetime together instead of a hundred, Joe would still feel like the luckiest man alive.
The next time Nicky had died was also clear in Joe’s memory, because he loved him, he loved him, he loved him, and he watched the light extinguish from his eyes, and Andy was there with a firm hand on Joe's shoulder, holding him back and yelling in his ear, Nicolo will come back, keep fighting! But it did not stop his heart from hammering furiously in his chest until Nicky came back. That time, Joe felt before he saw; the beat of his heart evened out before he even saw that Nicky was alive. His heart knew.
“When I die, do you feel it?” Joe asked Nicky, one night when everything was still new, when they still felt young and years still felt like years instead of minutes, when they had been together for a single year and it felt like a significant amount of time, a collection of moments, of firsts, to hold and cherish for the long future ahead of them. “Do you feel the pain?”
Nicky was on his back, Joe curled under his arm with his head resting on his chest. He could feel Nicky’s heart beating softly beneath him. “Of course I do,” Nicky replied.
“We began together, do you think we’ll…?”
Nicky squeezed Joe closer against his side. “‘Began,’ is that what you call it? I think of it as being born together.”
“You didn’t answer my question, love.”
“You know I don’t like thinking about it.”
“Humor me.” Joe lifted his head to press a kiss to the underside of Nicky’s jaw. “Please,” he mumbled against his neck.
Nicky huffed a laugh. “I sometimes wonder if it’s not the time that matters but the number of times we die. Maybe Andromache is still alive because she has only been killed 200 times, and maybe on the 300th time she will not come back. If it takes many millennia for that many deaths to occur, then she will live for many millennia.”
“By that logic, if she wanted to die, she could kill herself over and over until she reaches the magic number.”
A beat passed before Nicky said, “It is probably best if we don’t tell her this theory.”
“Agreed.”
“I know it is illogical, but I do keep count,” Nicky continued. “As much as it is possible, I want us to stay close to one another in how often we die.”
Joe traced a line with his finger down Nicky’s chest, the skin smooth and unblemished despite how often it had been stabbed. “Yes, it would be good to try to die as little as possible.”
Nicky kissed the top of his head, burying his whole face in Joe’s hair. “I know we are young, but I fear it will never get easier to see you die. I will worry every single time that it is your last.”
Joe squeezed his lover tight, in confirmation that he felt the same.
After a decade together, Joe began drawing. Everything. He still felt like a young man, but memories are tricky, and the one looming fear of his life was that the vastness of time ahead of him would make him forget all the good he had already experienced. How fortunate he was, to be scared of eternity not because of loneliness and heartbreak and loss but because of having too many good memories to recollect.
Nicky became exasperated with him, with how often he stopped whatever they were doing so he could draw whatever they were doing, or just draw Nicky because “you made a face I like, I need to preserve it.” Parchment was not easy to come by, but Joe was relentless in his efforts.
He drew and drew and drew, a constant as rocksteady as their love for each other.
For a period lasting nearly 50 years, neither of them died. They still fought battles, with Andy deciding when and how they would fight, but they survived each one like very lucky mortal men. It was during a skirmish with a small group of religious extremists somewhere in Europe that Nicky’s throat was cut clean across, and Joe cried out in pain so loud that Andy pulled him against her body and held him tight until he felt his heart calm.
That was the first time he remembered feeling old. He and Nicky had been together for so long, what felt like so long, they often acted like old men. Their love deep and settled and sure, they spent many days together not even speaking, only small touches, sexless for weeks without noticing.
But after Nicky’s throat was slit, a fire ignited in Joe, a myopic feeling of impermanence making him hungry for every touch, every kiss, every fuck. He mapped his body with his lips for several nights in a row, kissing and licking every inch of skin, opening himself up while swallowing Nicky’s cock, bringing him right to the edge with his mouth before readjusting and sinking down, riding him slowly and surely because they had all the time in the world.
And after, lying naked together, Joe scooped Nicky into his arms, back to chest, and whispered against his ear the many ways in which he loved him.
The next time, it was Joe who died a brutal death, and it was Nicky who experienced an existential crisis that resulted in many pleasurably sleepless nights.
When they grew past the age of a normal lifespan, they began counting in decades instead of years. There was a decade of boredom. A decade of bliss, and a second, third, fourth decade of bliss. Then a decade of bickering with one another. A decade of attempted relationships with others outside of Joe, Nicky, Andy—they tried having pets, they tried making friends, they even considered finding a way to raise a child together.
But they were outcasts, and not because of their supposed immortality. They could lie about that, could know a person for years before it became an issue, but for the other reasons. The other reasons were not so easily overlooked. Christian and Muslim, holding hands—they avoided much of Europe for many years. Progress is not linear, however, and so they could spend several years in a place where they could be themselves, only to move on to a place where they could be killed for being themselves, and this was over and over again, for hundreds of years, and in the 21st century they both finally began believing that progress was a line and not a circle only to stumble upon a small town in the American Midwest where they were refused a room at three different hotels. The decade was the 2010s.
They had never broken up. Not once in 900 years had it even come up. They needed space sometimes, sure, but the one thing they had learned from living so long is that time is not real and that a decade together can pass in a moment while three days apart can feel like a year, and so they had never spent more than a couple weeks apart from each other in 900 years.
There was longing, yearning, stretches of time where they wanted to escape the life that was chosen for them, and there were many years that they did not fight any battles, that they did not even see Andy. They both went through periods of depression, mania, and every human emotion in between, identity crises and existential dread, and sometimes the only thing tethering them to reality was the steadfast surety of their love for one another, that when all else seemed lost, they had each other. They checked on Andy a lot during their lowest moments. It was impossible to imagine how she had survived all this time without an anchor.
Living so long rattled one’s moral compass. Any hard decision, any mistake would be forgotten or would prove unimportant with the ever patient and forgiving passage of time. Hundreds of years, killing countless men, it is not possible to feel them all, to remember them all and carry the burden of all that death. No matter how many wars they fought, Joe was never fully confident that they were on the right side or that there was a right side. There was always the nagging deep in his subconscious that there could be more, that they could be doing more with the time they were given, but he wasted years and years trying to figure out what. Once they became old enough to read about things they had lived through in history books, it seemed obvious that they should have done this, could have done that, focused more on this, ignored that, and the world would be a better place if they had just been able to see the big picture. Living through so much of the world’s history made it feel like the responsibility of the world’s trajectory was on their shoulders.
“We can only do what we can do,” Nicky would say, every time Joe had to get his jumble of thoughts out, and he somehow always had the grace to be gentle with him, even after having the same conversation hundreds of times. “We are only men, after all.”
They were not always careful, or they were not always lucky. They had been tested on by doctors, priests, scientists, witches; it was hard to keep track of all the times they had died on operating tables, only to be discarded when their secrets could not be revealed. These deaths were painful, like the others, but for some reason they made for the best sex afterward. We are only men, after all.
When Booker was born, they began fighting smaller battles. They were for-hire for any job that seemed like the right thing to do. After Booker’s last son passed away, the four of them lived together for many years. They all four liked each other, then they hated each other, then they loved each other. There was a sadness in the set of Booker’s shoulders that time could not heal, a grief somehow heavier than the kind Andy carried. It was through Booker that they learned that grief does not compound or diminish with time, it comes and goes as it pleases.
And then came Nile.
It hurts every time.
At beat number one hundred ninety-nine, Joe’s heart evens to a steady pace. At two hundred twelve beats, Nicky coughs his way back to life, red skin fading back to white, blue eyes blinking open.
Joe’s face splits into a grin as he looks down at his lover. “That was all my fault,” he says as a tear slips down his cheek. "I finally cook dinner for once, and you die."
Nicky reaches up and cups his jaw, fingers pressing lightly into his beard. “It’s OK, that’s the first time in several hundred years that you’ve accidentally killed me.”
“I told you, it was Andy that accidentally shot you in the Revolut—”
"I know, I know." He smiles warmly up at Joe. Quietly, he says, "You're OK. I'm here."
“What are y’all doing?”
Nicky and Joe both lift their heads at the sound of Nile's voice. Nicky sits up and leans his weight back against Joe’s chest, both of them still on the floor of the kitchen.
“Joe was waiting on me to come back to life. He poisoned my food to see what would happen.”
Joe playfully bumps his shoulder against Nicky.
Nile raises her eyebrows at them. “Cool. Um, I was hoping I could talk to you guys for a minute.”
They help each other up and gesture to the kitchen table as they talk over each other with of course you can talk to us, anything you need, we’re glad you came to us.
Nile sits across from them and folds her hands on the table. “You’ve been alive nearly a thousand years, right?”
They both nod.
“Do you remember what it was like? At first?” She scratches the side of her face, her eyes wide as she looks down at the table. “Because I’m 27 and I still feel 27 even though I know I’m gonna be 27 for, you know, a really long time. I don’t feel old yet, and I don’t feel like I’m gonna feel old for a while. But I can’t even imagine what it’s like to live for so long, like, am I even gonna remember any of this in a couple hundred years? How do I make sure I don’t...forget?”
Joe and Nicky share a look. Nicky nods his head, silently telling Joe to get up.
Joe excuses himself. He has some drawings to retrieve.
#the old guard#joe x nicky#nicky x joe#immortal husbands#the old guard fic#my fics#i was doin this for the clout but then i had a lot of fun#sorry i'm like this lmao
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I wrote this quickly on my phone so beware of typos. This is the longest story I’ve ever written so I hope it doesn’t seem too long. I hope you like it. Reblog and like if you don’t mind.
Small Time Witch (20)
“Norns, girl. It’s hair. It will regrow. Just do it.”
“But I love your hair. Isn’t there another way? What if I take a piece of flesh?”
Loki pinches the bridge of his nose trying to shove scissors in your hand.
“Flesh will decay eventually if it has no blood source. Hair can last much longer.”
“Why do we need to cut it all off?!” You are being the biggest brat at the moment.
In order for you to become immortal Loki must bind a part of himself with the clipping of the Yggdrasil. Since it is a very powerful spell he assumes a large amount of hair is needed. Loki assured you he would make his short hair look as fashionable as any other mortal man. That’s exactly why you won’t let him cut it. He is anything but basic. Even when he’s in modern clothing he still looks like a fucking god and it’s all due to his luxurious hair.
Loki considers your earlier suggestion and genuinely fears for his safety. And this isn’t the first time he’s had to worry about you stabbing him. He taught you a spell using blood magick and you went for your athame so fast he had to knock it out of your hand. Now that it’s just you and him you have really let your true self shine. He can’t help but think he is also rubbing off on you a bit.
“While your violent tendencies turn me on immensely, I have to say your preference for my hair over my flesh is a little unnerving.”
“You are a Demi god. You heal fast.”
“Point well taken, my love. If you don’t cut it I will.”
He looks in the mirror holding the scissors open and he hesitates. He frowns at his reflection and drops the scissors on the counter. “On second thought, dearest, why don’t we go see the elves on Alfheim? Perhaps there is another way.”
With satisfied little smirk on your face you pat him on the shoulder and leave the bathroom. He is annoyed with your silent gloating but you really don’t care. You sit at the kitchen table quietly turning the pages of your cook book now full on smiling.
When Loki asked you to be immortal for him you hesitantly accepted. Forever is a long time and it was hardly a marriage proposal. You accepted none the less and so the complicated spell work began. The first step was binding Loki with the Yggdrasil and that was proving to be a challenge. So, as your life mate suggested, you geared up to take your first trip on the Bifrost to Alfheim.
You are very nervous. Loki held your hand trying to calm you but you couldn’t help it. Your thoughts were racing and your stomach was doing flips. You focused all of your energies on not puking. Loki called for Heimdall and you were whisked away.
Loki held on to your hips and braced you for landing. Your face was pressed up against his shirt and your eyes squeezed shut. It took a little bit of force to pry you off of him. “Relax, y/n. You’re safe. We’ve landed.”
Once you felt the ground solid beneath your feet you pushed Loki away and released the contents of your stomach. Inter dimensional travel was clearly not for you. He smoothed your hair back from your face and rubbed your back. A bottle of water appeared in his hand. “Drink this. Are you ok?” You shook your head and plopped into the grass trying to regain your composure.
Alfheim was truly a sight. Sprawling mountains and crisp air, the sun shining and glittering on the water. Your eyes explored the landscape with childlike wonder. The grass even felt softer. You stood up slowly turning to take it all in. We should definitely build a vacation home here.
You had a pretty long journey ahead of you by foot no less. You hoisted your pack onto your shoulder and started walking. Loki stared at you completely confused. You walked with purpose like you knew exactly where to go. You were absolutely walking in the wrong direction but you looked so sure of yourself.
“Pet?” he called after you, “It’s this way and we can just teleport.”
“I’m not sure if my stomach can handle that again.” All the color drained from your skin and you gagged.
“It’s not as harsh as the bifrost and we aren’t going as far. Hold onto me.” He took your hand and in the blink of an eye you were standing in front of a large temple. “Steady, darling. Deep breaths.” He backs away a little as you right yourself. “Ok?”
“Yep.” you gag a little but choke it back. After a moment you feel well enough to walk. “What is this place?”
“The temple of the Ljósálfar. Light elves. Freyr, who is the king of this realm and a very powerful vanir, gifted me the Yggdrasil. He will help us when the spell. Bow when he greets us.”
Out of nowhere the elf appeared. He was just as glorious and ancient looking as the land he ruled. He looked impossibly old. Your brain couldn’t even fathom how long he’s been alive. Was he glowing? You forgot to bow so you did quickly. Loki couldn’t stifle his laugh.
“This is the Midgardian to whom you’ve pledged your life? A little rough around the edges huh?” His voice was gentle and playful. You have come to realize Midgard is known as the idiot child who ate paint chips that one time. Couldn’t help if it was true.
“This is her first time outside of Midgard, your Grace. I am working on polishing her up.”
“If you’re careful you’ll have an eternity” he smiled at you and spoke slowly, “you may need that long to make her presentable.”
You opened your mouth to defend yourself but Loki squeezed your hand and gave you a warning stare. He’ll get an earful at home.
“Forgive me for the unannounced intrusion, Sire, but I’m afraid the spell you’ve given me is a touch advanced...”
He tutted Loki and held up a finger, “You flatter me, boy. You are as practiced as they come. If you hesitate ask yourself if her immortality is what you really seek.”
“It is!” you shouted. “I’m sorry. It is, Sire. We didn’t know what to use. You said ‘bind it with a piece of himself’. Which piece? I suggested flesh but we were worried about decay.” You rambled on for what felt like hours. He hung on your every word chuckling at your ignorance. This ought to be a funny story to tell at the old elf’s lodge later. Loki was mortified. Once you finished he patted your hand and laughed.
“You are a spirited little girl aren’t you? What fun! Loki I am surprised at you. To think hair or flesh could grant immortality. It has to be the essence of your life force. More powerful than blood. A piece of your soul.” Loki looked shocked. Minor detail. As if the elf could read his mind he said, “Did I leave that part out? Must be slipping in my old age.” He smiled at you again. “Come! I’ll get you fixed up.”
He lead you deeper into the temple down a dark path illuminated by torches. It should have been cold and damp but it was still comfortably warm. Loki felt your apprehension and squeezed your hand. You came to a gigantic wooden door with carvings depicting elves dancing around what looked like the Yggdrasil. You ran your fingers over the wood dipping them into the carvings.
You reached a long table that looked like an alter. He took the Yggdrasil clipping and Loki’s hand. With the tip of his athame he cut Loki’s palm. He took your hand and did the same. You placed your hand on top of the clipping and entwined your fingers. Freyr held his hands over yours and said something that sounded like a prayer. The Yggdrasil let out a stream of golden light that wrapped around both of your wrists.
“Now you will feel no storms,
for each of you will be shelter to the other.
Now you will feel no cold,
for each of you will be warmth to the other.
Now there is no loneliness,
for each of you is companion to the other,
You are two persons,
but there is one life before you, and one home.
Turn together to look at the road you traveled,
to reach this—the hour of your happiness.
It stretches behind you into the past.
Look to the future that lies ahead.
A long and winding, adventure-filled road,
whose every turn means discovery,
new hopes, new joys, new laughter,
and a few shared tears.
May happiness be your companion,
May beauty surround you both in the journey ahead;
And through all the years to come.
Go this day to your dwelling place
and enter into your days together.
May your days be good and long
upon the earth.
Your adventure has just begun!”
The Yggdrasil split into two pieces which he placed on your left ring fingers. Those words sounded an awful lot like vows. You and Loki stared at each other in shock. “Umm. Excuse me, Sir. Are we married?” you asked in disbelief.
“Yes! Of course! In the sense that your souls are bound and only death can part you. Sounds like marriage to me. Did I leave that part out too? Oh dear. Well joyous felicitations to the happy couple.” And he disappeared.
“Well shit.” You said to no one in particular. You left the temple in complete silence occasionally looking down at your finger. Loki called for Heimdall and you were home. You didn’t vomit this time thank goodness. That would have made your dramatic exit a lot less dramatic. You let go of his hand and walked into the house leaving him on the porch with a slammed door in his face.
“Pet?” He said after a few minutes. You were standing at the kitchen sink drinking glass after glass of water. “Y/N. Can you say something? I don’t know why you’re angry but I can tell you are and....”
“Did you know?” Your voice was deadly calm.
“Know about what? That he’d marry us today? No. He conveniently left out that tidbit. It’s not like it’s legally binding.”
“But it is spiritually binding. Your soul is bound to mine. Your immortality bound to me. That means something.” You had tears in your eyes and your fists were clenched. How could he be so casual about this?
His brow furrowed and he hated that you thought it didn’t mean anything to him. Now you felt each other even deeper. Subtle shifts were amplified. As soon as his mood shifted from apprehension to hurt you knew. It softened you a bit but you were still angry.
“Lok, I didn’t mean to say it didn’t mean anything to you. I know it did. I got married today in sweatpants with none of my friends or family there and my ring is a twig. Forgive me if it wasn’t the magical day I was expecting.” The weight of the Yggdrasil changed on your finger. The brown branches were changed to gold and an emerald of impressive size set in the middle. You noticed he changed his to complement yours. He weaved his fingers with your fingers and pulled you closer to him.
“It was magical to me. Couldn’t you feel it? The way we are now woven together like a tapestry? It’s not just the meaning of it all, a symbolic moment. We are physically one. Y/N I don’t care if you are in the finest gown or your sweats. We are bound together until death. Did we need the pageantry?”
Now you felt like an asshole. He gave himself to you mind body and soul and here you are crying about a dress. “I’m being a brat aren’t I?”
A soft smile warmed his face, “A little. I didn’t want to say.”
You slid your arms around his waist and rested on his chest. With a wiggle of your fingers the record player clicked on.
“Is this our first dance?” he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Mhmm. I love you. I’m sorry for ruining our day.”
“I love you too and you ruined nothing. It wouldn’t be us if we didn’t have a little drama surrounding our wedding. Dance with me.”
You swayed to the music in the dim light of your living room....in the cottage built in the glen where the sun hits it like a spotlight.
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Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card!
(Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled).
To what extent would go to save someone else's life?
This prompt was always going to be difficult, but hey, I did manage to come up with an interesting solution to it... or, at least, that's why I'd like to think. I originally planned on having Naomi for "I Should Have Been Better" (as I told Doc multiple times, "what better character for it than Naomi?", but the guy is having the last laugh about this one now, that's for sure).
Some soul out there will have recognized the title from somewhere and understood what we're heading for because, yes, this entire story was inspired by the fact I wanted to use this semi-obscure reference as a title. You'll see what I mean later.
Anyway, this fic was pretty cool to write, even if, again, I suffer from writing too much build-up because I want to explore a universe I'm probably never going to touch ever again. This is starting to grow into a recurring issue with me, it'd seem. Oh well, if it inspires someone's work, then I'm all good with my penchant for copious amounts of worldbuilding.
Also, Alyssa and Naomi's relationship is wonderful and it's a shame I haven't written it before, what the fuck me.
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Androzani
Summary: When faced with the prospect of her newest companion's potential death, Naomi is ready to put everything on the line... even her life.
Fandom: Trauma Center/Team (fantasy AU)
Wordcount: 3K words
Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo
AO3 version available here.
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Her shoulders bear the weight of her losses – friends she had to leave behind, people whose death she couldn’t prevent, companions that never were – yet Naomi has kept moving, trying to shove her past behind her anywhere she walks, as if going through purgatory for eternity.
Her reputation has preceded her for decades, by now: the woman dressed in black with silver hair like the pale moonlight, going from place to place. Nobody knows of her true intent, whether she sides with good or evil, with life or death until they discover she is a healer who was banished from her native region due to some sort of catastrophic event long forgotten by history.
How ironic is that someone whose roots got cut off by a guillotine is still alive and roaming this world when, surely, her supposed people have all died from illness, injury or natural causes by now: it has, after all, been a thousand years since the “Corpse Whisperer” got forced into exile over the supposed curse she bore, the curse which spread an illness she still doesn’t have an answer to over towns and villages until it just disappeared with her.
On her travels, she met a lot of people, some of whom travelled with her for a time, some whom she barely got to know.
There was Nathan, a boy who had escaped from a doomsday cult. He was an eager companion, swearing he’d follow her until the end of the world would have she decided so, because she was the first friend he had ever gotten – he died saving her, rather than the other way around, when a spear plunged inside his chest and only came out when his blood had stopped flowing and his skin had turned to clay. She closed his eyes, buried him and marked the grave with white lilac, never to look back again.
There was Ivan, a man barely younger than her supposed age, who wanted to understand her and help her save people with his benevolent magic and overwhelmingly positive intentions. He fought hard against near-death situations, some where she had decided it was better to expect death than survival, but his optimism kept these people alive. She had tot leave him behind after he contracted a lethal disease and he couldn’t keep with her, leaving behind the bitter taste of failure, loneliness and uncertainty. She never went back to where their ways parted, afraid to know the inevitable answer as to his whereabouts.
There was Cassandra, a middle-aged woman with a stern face and an inexorable will. Despite all the hardships she had faced in her life, she had always stood back up, without even displaying any sort of pain. She had grown a reputation for her ruthless methods, being ostracized, and travelled with her so she could mend her ways and heal who she could with the apothecary knowledge she had been blessed with during her youth. She drank her own poison so she wouldn’t have to surrender in the face of certain defeat, plunging herself in an eternal sleep, while Naomi could only watch, wrists and ankles keeping her from acting, until these dissolved and she could avenge her fallen friend. Cassandra’s breath never went out, so Naomi made her a chamber hidden in a deep, dense forest in a hope that, someday, she’d find the antidote Cassandra had spilled on the ground.
There was Eglantine, a girl barely in her teens, who went to follow her because her parents had abandoned her and everybody else thought she was cursed because of her unusually pale skin, hair and eyes, thinking she was a stillborn animated by a malevolent spirit. Beneath her skin was an incredible potency, which she didn’t dare use until she needed to. Her short life ended in a tragic, senseless sacrifice when she rushed into battle and blocked an enemy’s way so Naomi could run away and “get out alive”, as she had screamed before taking an entire group of thieves with her to a certain death.
There have been a lot of them, over the centuries, but none of them have been immortals like her. None of them have healing magic as powerful as hers, none of them can endure so much. All of them have promised her to stay with her until she could settle down again, none of them could ever hold these promises, and it’s fine to her: she’s used to involuntarily broken promises. She’s used to the feeble nature of humans, of the uncursed ones.
She has grown more and more hesitant to accept new companions, over time. She tried to be cold towards them, to use her sombre reputation as a deterring agent – but some people are just in need of misery’s company, even her, and so they stick around until illness, injury, death, love or opportunity split them apart and the cycle continues. Naomi is used to it. She doesn’t even give her name to people anymore: it’s easier for both sides if these companions call them by whatever nickname the rumours about her convey.
The “Corpse Whisperer” is only one facet of her fictional identity, one of her many names and perhaps the least flattering. Over the years, she has accumulated them: “Cursed One”, “Black Healer”, “Reaping Doctor”, “Nameless Widow”, “Lady of the Last Sight”… Everywhere she’s gone, they’ve adopted a new name for her, to the point the name she was given at birth is nothing but lost to the sands of times, like numerous books she’s read, like the names of her fallen companions. So much things pass by your eyes when time doesn’t affect you anymore. Such is her curse, after all.
Even with time, the wounds left by her losses never truly scar. Every death in which she’s had some amount of responsibility weight on her shoulders, even if as time passes, she starts to forget more and more the individuality of her former partners. And, the heavier the luggage gets, the darker she tries to be, the more reclusive she behaves, so someone else doesn’t have to get hurt while following her on her eternal quest to heal others and, maybe, just maybe, finally find the way to end her own life.
Still, despite how much she has cried and screamed already, death continues to affect her when she can see blood on her hands or a cold limb at her feet. Even recently, she got bit in the throat by the death of two parents who had crossed her ways in unfortunate circumstances and she came too late to save them. As they let out their last breath, she met eyes with a curious little girl’s green irises full of life, and that’s when she knew – Naomi would be traveling with someone else once more.
Neither Alyssa nor she had a choice in the matter. The poor girl didn’t have any remaining relatives and the place where she lived was infested by werewolves, the same species that had killed her parents. Naomi couldn’t leave someone as young and frail as a ten-year-old girl suffer in the claws of the wolves on two legs that couldn’t control their animalistic urges. It quickly became her mission to redeem herself from letting two new persons die in front of her eyes by bringing Alyssa to a safe haven where she could have a normal life until Naomi herself found a solution to the lycanthropic problem.
However, and despite having guessed what happened, despite all of her tears and all of her pain, Alyssa has always told Naomi she didn’t hold anything against her, that she did her best when she tried to use her magic to bring back to life the recently deceased. Her smile, which at first was timid and more of a façade, has grown into an earnest one. Every time she sees it, it warms Naomi’s heart, but it reminds her head to remain cool and not to get attached because it’ll end badly for the both of them.
For a while, it was fine to have Alyssa around. They mostly went from village to village, from city to city, and Naomi made sure her protégée wasn’t in contact with the filth and contagion of the sick. Healed bone after healed bone, cured sickness after cured sickness, Naomi found herself enjoying the light-hearted chatters of Alyssa, going from refusing to answer her various questions on the world and herself to replying to them with more and more details.
It was already too late, by that point, but Naomi still liked to believe Alyssa would one day leave on her own terms and her wounds just heal for once. After all, they were only travelling together because Alyssa needed a new home to grow up in and have a chance at a normal life after the atrocious had happened.
However, that delusion has come to an end, as she’s now forced to make the biggest choice in her life, one that could cost her everything. At long last, the taste of death and the melody of the epilogue come back to her, making her feel more alive than ever, but at what price?
Alyssa has been poisoned with what she can only assume to have been a powerful, yet not instantly deadly substance. She missed catching its name when someone told her what was happening to Alyssa, what was causing her the rashes and the fever that keeps going up and up, but it reminds her of something – animantha toxaemia. A beautiful flower whose pollen has killed its fair share of humans, with no real cure known aside from a taxing healing spell, one forbidden not by choice, but by need.
Their meeting with the flower was unfortunate. Alyssa and she were on the run from some unforeseen adversaries and, once they had successfully lost them in the forest, Alyssa got curious about the deep purple beauty of the flower’s petals. Alyssa touched it when she inspected it before Naomi could remove the girl’s fingers from the stem and petals. Both are running away from death. Quite ironic, coming from the woman who was once nicknamed “the Silver Reaper”, but… what matters isn’t her fate, it’s Alyssa’s.
Naomi has managed to get them both out of the forest, but unfortunately, she’s starting to feel the paralysis effects of the flower in her legs, and that’s when she realizes she must have been in contact with a lethal dose of the flower’s poison. One thing the curse hasn’t protected her from is illnesses of this kind, and judging by the fever poor Alyssa has fallen victim to, she doesn’t count on staying alive much longer. She’d have expected herself to be pleasantly surprised by the prospect of finally passing away, since she has seen so much already, and roaming the Earth for about four centuries is starting to take a toll on her spirit – but she has never felt so alive, because danger is a powerful catalyser, and she has a life to save.
A final life, judging by what she needs to pay for what she’s about to do, but a worthy price to pay and perhaps the life that has mattered the most to her throughout her long, elongated life. She’s torn about having to leave Alyssa to her own devices, but they’re in a village, now, and Naomi hopes the inhabitants that took enough pity on them to lend them the small house they’re currently in will help her. She’s still young, barely fourteen, and she doesn’t want Alyssa to struggle again once she’s gone.
There’s no time to question it, however. The toxaemia has four stages, the last being an inexorable rise of internal temperature until the affected person inevitably dies. However, she can’t let that happen, and she has to act quick, because getting the both of them back to a safer haven has taken so long that Alyssa is at least in the third stage and, again, judging from her temperature, is crossing into the last before… before the inevitable happens.
There are numerous times where she wanted to give her life to save another, but never got to do it because the other person died before her eyes before she ever could or because they did it first, leaving her alone again, most of them eternally unaware of her immortality. Now, however, she’s the one who has to do it, because Alyssa isn’t a mage like her, wasn’t born with the ability to cast spells, and she’s someone who deserves to live life at its fullest, unlike her.
Naomi has made her decision the moment she touched the flower and nothing is going to make her go back on her decision – aside from the idea to leave Alyssa alone, but the girl has made some friends in the village due to how kind she is, so at least, Naomi has some hope. If her companions have shown her something, it’s that there still are good people in this world, no matter how many atrocities she’s seen.
Almost three centuries ago, she learnt spells that are now forbidden. One of them, whose original scroll has been burnt in an attempt to silence its deadly power, is the antidote to animantha poisoning. There may have been another way, hidden away in a forgotten script or still being conceived by some hermit mage or witch living in remote woods, but she doesn’t have the time to question it. All she can do, now, is apply the formula as she’s learnt it, hoping her spell memory has exceeded human standards. The curse should have at least given her that, if she was to become the Codex of Magic.
Her last name – the “Codex of Magic”, the true purpose of the curse inflicted on her so many years ago. How ironic, considering she’s lent all of the scripts she’s copied again in the bag she always carries with her, that she dies by the hands of one of the spells she was meant to preserve for prosperity. Even if she survives, she won’t be able to use the spell on herself afterwards in a timely manner, so she hopes Alyssa carries on her will. That’s all she wants.
Ignoring the pain in her limbs and her own rising fever, Naomi gathers her powers in both palms of her hands, summoning all of her healing prowess for one last show. The spell calls for specific incantations, which flow out of her mouth as if she was born to say them at some point – something about summoning the power of hope itself, serving as its vessel for a miracle, giving up one’s life for the sake of another. The spell was named “Hope of the Unending Agape” for a reason, after all, and Naomi doesn’t have anything else to lose.
The amount and intensity of the mana running through her entire body is searing her from the inside as her hands carefully cradle Alyssa on the bed of the house, cupping the girl’s face as the mage hopes it will work as intended. Alyssa must survive, it’s all that matters, she doesn’t care about the price of it all, just give this girl her life back, don’t take her away from the mortal realm so soon, not when she has so much to see and discover, so much to live and smile at.
Hope can take her soul, she doesn’t care, but that flower won’t take away Alyssa’s, she swears on her life. One has lived for too long and the other is too young to pass away.
This spell feels like inflicting agony on oneself, so her vision is starting to give in and so do most of her sense following it. She’s burning on the inside, either from the spell or from the toxaemia, but there’s no way for her to distinguish anymore. What she knows, however, is that Alyssa’s skin is cooling down and her tremors are fading away. This is more than a relief: she’ll survive. Alyssa will see another day and have the life she deserves, sunny and beautiful.
Little by little, frame by frame, Alyssa’s complexion regains its colour, the red stains on her cheeks disappearing. The sweat that was pearling on her skin fades away. Her frowned feature relax and give way to a peaceful expression, as if she had been sleeping all along. It’s a beautiful sight, really.
However, the same can’t be said for Naomi, as a huff of platinum smoke escapes from her lips and she collapses in pain. She has exhausted every cell of her being, or so it feels like, and it’s up to the curse to see if she’s worth saving – she doubts it, because a curse is a curse, and being a benefactor for its host would go against its own nature.
It very much feels like she’s dying, at long last. Her vision is mostly black now, safe for a couple blurry shapes, and most of her senses have already given in: her hearing has been replaced with a sort of slightly disturbed silence, she can’t tell what she’s touching and the only taste in her mouth is that of copper and iron. All she can feel are the tears going down her cheeks and the relief that, at least, someone is getting out of this alive.
Despite technically meeting her end at the hands of a toxic flower, Naomi doesn’t see it this way: she views her demise as the ultimate act to save a life and, as such, doesn’t have the shadow of a regret. Sure, there may have been things she’d have wished to do before she’d die, and her survival is a very unlikely gambit on the curse acting up; but they don’t matter compare to the reasons why she did such a thing, why she took on someone’s deadly pain onto herself.
The only thing she’ll be missing is the warmth of Alyssa’s voice…
When Alyssa wakes up from something that was between a dream and a nightmare, which she can’t remember aside from the magnificent gaze of a solar goddess looking to her eyes, she quickly realizes what she saw in her sleep wasn’t a figment of her imagination – and immediately knows, upon touching long and slender lukewarm hands, she has a task to accomplish to pay back a life-changing favour.
#bad things happen bingo#trauma center#trauma team#naomi kimishima#alyssa breslin#empathic healing#my writing#tw death#angst#bthb
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