#there’s no way she’s not biologically altered from this!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eldritch-spouse · 1 year

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[Part 2 to this post. Fem reader.]

Previous poll winner: Santi (61,7% after a tie-breaker with Sybastian)

TW: Dubious consent; Altered states of mind.

New choice! [VOTE]

You don't know his name, but you know he's the one you're picking. Maybe to your own detriment, but right now, you're trusting your gut. A shaky finger rises and points towards the demon.

" Him... "

His face brightens, a decidedly jovial, almost childish look on it, before it's immediately replaced with a smug, suave air. As if he expected you to pick him. Did he really though?

The whole room is filled with disappointed sighs, some of the monsters being more vocal about their distaste.

" It takes one slut to know another, no wonder she picked him... " The living doll snarks.

" Fool. "

" Of course, why am I surprised? "

" Heinous choice, maybe she really does deserve this. "

Although some sting your ego, you stand by your decision. He looks safe. Well, safer. That's about as low as the bar gets, but you're in no position to argue.

Said demon claps and laughs heartily at everyone's bitterness. " It sucks to suck. " He shrugs, ever smug as he closes in on you. " Great eye there, sweetheart. Now, why don't we get out of here, hm? "

There's no explanation for it except natural, biological demon fuckery, but his voice is velveteen enough to put you at ease. Or maybe it's just his casual quips, as if you aren't in a very life-threatening situation. In fact, now that you really think about it, there's only one type of demon he could be. Initially, you weren't very sure. A panicking brain told you he was wrathful purely because of his size, then his wording made you think of pride, but now? With him hovering mere centimeters away from your face? This fiend can only be from Lust. You mentally smack yourself for not realizing it immediately. The innuendo, his figure, the way he moves... Idiot.

Well, looking at the brightside, at least he's not likely to maul you in a fit of rage. Or eat you alive. That's... Better than nothing.

You must have spent some amount of time scrutinizing the monster, because he makes a quiet chuckle, prompting you to answer his question with a nod, avoiding those beautiful eyes. Unable to stand like this, and starting to feel very sore in all honesty, you aren't too shocked when he elects to pick you up. You'd ask to he untied, but that would just about destroy any ounce of modesty you're desperately clinging to right now.

He's strong. Most monsters are in comparison to humans, but you get the feeling he's not exerting much effort to lift you off the ground in a princess carry. Nonetheless, you still tense and squirm, knowing you can't really grab him for balance. He's undoubtedly warm, like a heater, a nice blanket in a rainy evening, smooth and comforting. This close to the monster's admittedly massive chest, you eye his piercings curiously and miss the way he sends his coworkers smarmy winks before using his tail to call the elevator.

It arrives with a pleasant ding, and the murmurs of disappointment are left behind once the yellowed metal doors close behind you two, some tension seeps off you. Only a little, you're still in a stranger's arms. Strong arms in fact, you can't get over that, can't get over how weirdly sweet he smells up close. Is it just you or he looks prettier under this light?

There's something so beautiful about him. You like the shape of his horns and those two rings pierced onto the right one. His face, although pale as chalk, is angular and handsome, a blend of blatantly masculine and feminine features mixing very well. Fascinated hues can't help fix onto those dark lips. It can't be lipstick, can it? It looks natural. Speaking of, you have no idea if he's wearing eyeshadow and eyeliner at all either... Could it be that demons of Lust are all this gorgeous naturally? Or is it just him specifically? In a sea of magenta, sharp green irises shift, a dim green glow emitting from them, casting a soft light. It takes you embarrassingly long to realize you're ogling, and that he's caught on minutes ago.

The way he stares back placidly, so very used to this attention most likely, has you instantly flushing and looking elsewhere, feeling stupid and fluttering at the sound of his laughing rumble.

" Uh- What's your name? " You stress, wanting to move on from that embarrassing moment.

He hums, readjusting to clutch you tighter to himself. The hand that grasped at your knees now grabs a handful of your upper thighs, the ensuing shudder as claws prick your skin is helpless. " I go by Santi, darling. " He offers.

Santi... Like there's anything saintly about this fucker. Better that than something you can't pronounce. The elevator is moving, you can feel it. When did he press a button? Where are you going?

" Santi. " You begin, getting his attention quickly. His smile broadens, apparently liking the sound of his name in your voice. " Where am I? "

The demon inhales, looking this way and that, machinating an answer. The look on his face tells you to take what he says with a grain of salt. " This is... An entertainment establishment, you could say. I work here. "

So this is a fancy haunted whore house? Great. He must have noticed the thousand yard stare that crossed over your features, because he makes a quiet snort.

" Don't worry, no one will dare to try anything with me around. "

Honestly, you doubt that a little. Yes, he's big and powerful looking, but so was that large blue monster, and that one in the cloak. What if there's bigger ones than Santi who aren't willing to play nice? What if someone else decides they want the human tied like a present?! You'll never be safe here. You need to make it out as soon as possible. This one looks so calm, and demons are creatures of exchange -Even if often unfair- So you might be able to convince this one to let you go, with enough effort.

A beat of silence passes. The fact that the elevator just keeps on going is irking you. How many floors are there on this dump? Shifting around in Santi's grip, you find a wall practically covered in buttons. Good lord, what the fuck. There's no way that's all stuffed in this weird building.

" Hey uhm... " You try to smile, a wobbling look. " Can we make a deal? I know this isn't usually how it's done for your kind, but I really need to leave. " Masterfully worded, very persuasive.

Santi's brows rise, he gives you this incredulous "really now?" look, and his fingers drum on your arm. " Mm, a deal you say? "

You don't like how intense his look is. " Y-Yes. "

" And, hypothetically, what would you be willing to trade for such? "

Good question.

Well, you know what type of demon he is, so there's probably only one type of offering he wants, the carnal type. You think quietly for a moment... One sex act for freedom. Not the worst that can happen, right? Not ideal either, but from everyone you've seen so far, this monster is one of the most attractive, it would be easier for you to get into it. To accept.

" Uhm- I can... I'll let you f-feed on me? " Your cheeks burn. " I won't struggle, whatever you want- I'm not too experienced but I'll do my best. "

Santi lets out a sharp exhale, something that reminds you of a steaming kettle. When you have the nerve to look back at his face, his eyes are lidded and he licks his sharpened teeth with gusto. A rumbling purr echoes across the large elevator, like your lackluster answer somehow really pleased him. Baffling.

" How generous of you, my sweet vixen. " He finally replies, head dipping to nuzzle slightly at your disheveled hair. He places a kiss there and you balk inwardly... Are all incubi this affectionate? Or is this just part of the game for him? You don't have much contact with his kind, all things considered. His next words are soul-crushing. " I don't think I can take you up on that offer however. "

" Buh- But! There's- "

You're interrupted.

" But nothing, sweetheart. " He tuts. " Don't give me that sad look, I'm doing this for your own good. " The glare you give him in return is ignored. " You wouldn't make it out there. Today's a big day, our guests will be arriving soon, you don't want to get caught by some opportunistic scum right as you think you're safe, hm? "

What the demon says gives you pause. Big day, big day, they keep saying that. What does it mean? Whatever, it doesn't matter. He's clearly not letting you go anytime soon, and pushing the topic is probably not going to help you in the long run.

" So... Where are you taking me? "

" In that state? " Santi shakes his head. " Nowhere dear. "

You don't get to stew in the confusing answer for long, because as soon as he speaks, the doors to the elevator part, and you're in a whole new sections of the building you've yet to see. A long, purple-ish hall seems to spread out infinitely, doors upon doors facing each other on each side, each one with a specific number. Rooms, like a hotel. Is he taking you to his room? Does he live here?

Santi walks out confidently, silent but hasty. Although the hall is mostly silent, you'll occasionally catch a clipped noise or two- Maybe motel is a more apt descriptor. You can't help but pale a couple shades at the insinuation. Well, that's on you for picking the incubus.

You half expect him to stop on door "069", putting aside the fact that it's mindboggling how many doors this place has. This entire structure makes no sense, you have no idea what type of magic you're witnessing. Instead, he halts at "071". You're glad the hall didn't start at "001", otherwise he'd take a small eternity to reach his own room, which is hilarious honestly.

That small moment of humor just about perishes as soon as the door is opened. You note, with no small amount of skepticism, that he purely turned the knob. Why does he leave his door open, isn't he worried about his personal belongings getting stolen? The room itself is heavy on the eyes, all deep scarlets, blacks and the occasional pink. Luxurious, it definitely sets the mood he's going for- Intimate. You get glimpses of shelves above the bed and on other walls, furnished with what you can only call an almost enviable collection of toys.

" How do you like my little corner, love? " Santi suddenly asks, jolting you.

" Ah- Well, it's uh... Pretty. " Yes, let's leave it at that. " Do you live here, in this place? "

The monster snickers. " Oh no no, this is just where I usually take my clients. "

" Oh. "

Before you know it, you're being gently laid onto that large king-sized bed, shaking at the sight of him essentially on top of you. It's- It's just going to happen? Like this? So soon? You barely learned his name, you're not ready to just be touched like this, no way-

" Hey... Hey now. " Dark fingers snap in front of your hazy eyes, halting the motions of panic for a second. You gulp. " Deep breaths, baby, I just want to get you out of that wrapping. Aren't you sore? "

Naturally, of course you are. A warm hand brushes over your cheek, thumb tracing circles on it. Somehow, in some way, the contact makes you calm down, nodding slightly. " That's what I thought. Lay down, I'll be quick. "

Doing as told, you focus on the mahogany ceiling, trying not to think about the fact that you'll be bare to him. Calm down, he's probably seen so many bodies in his lifetime, you're nothing special to him. He won't even care. Although the demon could easily use a claw to shred the wrapping around your figure, he gingerly takes one end of the bow and pulls- Slow, deliberate, giving himself a show. Your breasts are the first part of you to be revealed, nipples perked from the chill of being cold and exposed. He's silent, but something else whooshes around, presumably that thick tail. When he grabs your upper body to remove the fabric trapped beneath, you swear those fingers spread across your skin purposely, claw tracing the rim of your buttons. For a hellspawn, his expression is almost saintly as he does this.

You're twisted and turned like a prized toy while he goes about untangling you, squirming slightly from the stimulus. You wish he'd hurry the fuck up, but he has slowed even more now that he's about to uncover your pussy, lifting your leg against him. The jovial humming doesn't help. Your eyes shut as soon as cold air is felt against your genitals, you don't know what face he's making when he pauses, nor do you feel brave enough to peek. You hope you aren't visibly wet, the mere fact you have to worry about it is embarrassing. Eventually however, he resumes, lowering said limb and ridding you of the material entirely, leaving you free on his silken sheets.

" There we are, my present unwrapped. " Santi jokes.

Although your body begs you to stretch, you cover yourself instead, earning a laugh from the male.

" Come now, don't hide, it's a gorgeous view. " He's not helping, especially not when he keeps wetting his teeth. " In any case, I assume you'd like to shower? "

Oh yes, yes you would. " Yes, please. "

Santi's eyelid twitches for a second. Weird. He recovers quickly, standing, offering you a hand with a grin. It takes a couple or resigned seconds before you cease covering yourself and take it, being led to a door you had entirely missed amidst your cursory glance at the room. Predictably, it hides only a fairly standard bathroom, keeping the theme of the room by being mostly black and sleek in design. The shower is modern-looking and open. There are several rails around. Somehow, you don't think all of those are for towels.

" You'll have to excuse me, love. Most of the products I have here are neutral. " And, sure enough, he's right. You don't recognize most of the brands at all.

" Uhm, thank you. " You scratch nervously at your arm, but it feels like that's the right thing to say here.

He didn't need to do this for you. While you're still very skeptical, fact of the matter is Santi brought you to a room where hopefully no one else will enter, got rid of your binds, and is now offering you a place to clean yourself. He's being... Kind, all things considered. Not kind enough to let you leave, but mildly considerate.

A hint of color graces those pallid cheeks. " Oh don't mention it, go ahead. " Your hair is ruffled playfully.

Momentarily on auto-pilot, you climb under the large shower head and are about to turn it on, when instinct tells you to pause. Eyes find the hues still glued to you. Santi hasn't moved a muscle. The incubus frowns when you start shrinking into yourself again.

" Is something wrong? " He says, like this is the most natural thing in the world.

" N-No, I- "

" If you don't want to shower, that's all right- "

" No no, I do! "

He tilts his head. " Then don't let me stop you. "

You blink. Oh, so this is the game he's playing. Alright, it's clear he's not leaving, you're just going to have to shower in front of him. Could be worse. Sighing, and turning around in spite of survival instincts, you turn the faucet on and wait for the water to be warm enough to slip under. The wave of warmth is comforting, reassuring, making you forget about where you are momentarily. As if cleaning yourself from the grime of that garden and the floor has somehow transported you home, to safety. You're reaching for the shampoo when a harsh shiver crawls up your spine. Something's wrong.

A shadow casts itself over you, and soon, the water stops hitting you altogether. You've never gotten goosebumps so quickly in your life before.

A chuckle sounds from above, way too close. " Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to steal the warmth for myself. " Suddenly, a broad arm coils over your front, dragging you flushed against a sturdy body. Rigid as a plank, you can only shudder and gasp.

" Wh- Why are you...? "

" You don't mind if I shower too, right dear? "

If that isn't the lousiest excuse then you have no idea what else could be. You're not exactly in a position to demand he leave his own shower however, and frankly, keeping yourself in this one's good graces is a good idea, so you only shake your head, trying to focus on your hair.

Not for long. It's hard to ignore him so close to you, especially when his hands find purchase on your hips, and he blankets you like a lazy, purring cat. There's no ignoring things when both those paws start trailing different paths, one upwards to your right tit, and the other trailing to your mons.

" S-Santi please- "

Your squirming is easily quelled with a tighter grip. " Shh- " He kisses at the back of your neck, licking the length of it in a way that causes you to shudder hard and your toes to curl slightly. It's a simple act, but somehow, it's having a much larger effect on you than it should. " I know, you're stressed, you've been through a lot today already, I just want to help you relax... "

Finally, his fingers glide over your pussy, and you know he can feel the arousal pooled there. Hell, he was probably able to smell it as soon as he laid you on that bed. He pats at you playfully for a second, rolling a nipple with his other hand, before grinding fat digits over your clit. Cornered, not really knowing what to do with yourself, you hang onto the rail in front of you while your legs tremble and squeeze around his expert fingers. Santi's not being slow and gentle about it, knowing exactly how to roll that bud to get you arching in pleasure.

When you lean back onto him, spine curved, unaware you're even doing such, your mouth opens and you're not quite sure what you want to say- Stop? Don't stop? Harder? Why are you doing this? You're confused, and the only thing that comes out is a whined moan, which has Santi growling in approval. His head dips to catch your parted lips with his, and it's at the first taste of his tongue that you realize...

You're making a big deal out of nothing.

The demon's lips are gentle, coaxing you into moving with him, but ultimately being domineering in the way that muscle leaves no room for yours to steer. There's something indescribably addictive about his taste, you've never had such a good kisser before, purposeful motions seem intent on feeding you more of his drool, copious amounts of it, dripping down your chin. The sloppy embrace paired with his restless motions on your pussy have you moaning high against him. It's Santi's turn to shiver, there's something decidedly large being pressed against your ass, but you can't bring yourself to care anymore. The sparks of an approaching orgasm kill off just about most of your higher brain functions and you only pant against the demon, holding onto his arms, rocking into that merciless hand.

It hits you like a train.

You don't remember the last time you came so hard, from something so simple too. But it feels perfect. Making a noise you barely recognize as yours, you clench hard against nothing and beg senselessly, an insupportable wave of heat settling within you like a roaring fire. Orgasms are supposed to relieve, how come you only feel needier now?! It's hard to think, it's almost as if there's a tint to your vision, everything but him and his body erased from sight and mind.

" Wha- Why-?! " You mumble, whining in confusion. There's something dripping down your thighs, though not for long, as it's collected and cleaned by the demon behind you, before the cascading water could steal it from him.

" What's wrong? " Santi lulls, turning you around while he slurps greedily at the last of his digits. " That didn't help, sweetie? "

Frustrated, you just shake your head and groan, uncomfortable. His gums show for a fraction of a second.

" Really? " Fast nodding. " Oh, that won't do then. Here- " The shower is turned off, and though you shiver, it makes you feel slightly less irritated. " Let's fix that, yes dear? "

There's no hint of skepticism when the monster starts leading you out of the bathroom, still wet and dripping, and lays you back onto his bed. Albeit fogged with discomfort and relentless arousal, you fixate on Santi's form above you. Massive, built, you could just bite into any part of him. He's so hot, you have no idea how you controlled yourself all this time- You'd have ridden him in front of his wackjob friends if you had no self-control. Glazed hues falling, the shape that nudged you before is all too clear now, bobbing between thick black thighs. Something whose sight alone would make a slightly more lucid version of you run for the hills.

Now though? You can't even decide where you want to put it first. Somewhat barbed on the underside and dark in coloration, spotted even, you struggle to understand how he keeps that all in his slit. " Y-... You're huge. "

He barks out a laugh, though recovers quickly, like it's something he gets to hear frequently. Your face is grasped by two hands, soothing circles rubbed over your cheeks while your lips are mushed together, maybe just so he can thrill himself. " Mm yeah? Don't worry, you won't feel a pinch, doll. Promise. "

You're not sure how much you buy that, but fact of the matter is you wish he'd do something already, you're burning up! As if listening to your internal cursing, the monster crowds you beneath him, cock gliding teasingly over your folds, never even so much as catching on the rim of your entrance. He doesn't appear to be in a rush, looking down at the show, then grinning wide when you groan and fist the sheets.

" Hurry up already! " You're not going to beg him, that's so filthy. Though some part of you doesn't abhor the idea that much...

" That bad, hm? " He doesn't move a muscle, which has you this close to clawing at him in rage. Entirely amused with your theatrics, Santi lines himself up... And does nothing. You may not be the demon here, but you feel as if you could start crawling walls any moment now.

" F-Fucker! "

" Not my name, but not wrong either. " He jokes. " Wasn't it you who was scared about my size mere moments ago? "

Your response to the jabbing is to take matters into your own hands, scooting forward while he holds himself. It was easier and faster than you expected, his entire length sinks into you far too smoothly, the only sensations registered being a pleasant stretch and the lovely pressure of finally having him inside you. It feels right, it feels perfect, feels like you've been wasting time until this moment. It shouldn't be this easy, you should be yelping with pain, bleeding maybe, what's happening anymore? Ohhh, but then those ridges drag onto something nice and your legs spasm, head thrown back into a feverish moan, doubts cast to the fire of your own libido. Distantly, you can hear him making a similar noise, as if to join you, edging just the smallest bit forth to bury his entire cock to the hilt.

It's impossible. You've never taken anything remotely close to him within yourself. And yet, on the first try, you've welcomed Santi. Even if your hormone-addled mind doesn't fully comprehend how, a wave of pride consumes you. Of raw animal satisfaction. A heavy hand comes down to feel the imprint of his own girth, and you're sure your eyes rolled into your skull for a second as he pressed down.

" Look at that, love- The whole thing. Didn't I promise you it'd be fine? " The male pants. Wherever his fingers glide, a blissful sensation spreads. Your body doesn't know what to do with itself under his influence, clenching and flexing, you're not sure if you'd like to beg him to stop touching or to never take his hands off you. The incubus gazes pensively at your mons, digits tapping, before the contact ceases altogether and the disappointment is so intense you actually tear up. " Oh, you're just the cutest fucking thing. "

He dips closer to you, miraculously managing to not move a muscle in his legs. " I'm glad you picked me, otherwise I might have had to drag you out myself. That wouldn't have been pretty. "

The mental image alone, albeit grotesque, snaps something inside your twisting mind, and you move. With no real technique or guidance, you grind back and forth on his pride, frustrated that he won't fuck you and unwilling to be tortured any longer. It's clumsy, though his slurred, excited expletives only make you work harder, breaking a sweat as you try to find a pace and angle to better fuck yourself on him.

" Ohh ffuck, you like that thought, don't you? " His grin is wolfish. " Me too. Maybe that's what I should have done to begin with. " His voice ghosting around your earlobe is driving you insane. " No one would even care if they found me fucking the brains out of you in that elevator, you know? "

By the way Santi throbs inside you, he should have given in and started rutting into you, it's confusing why he hasn't yet. Though honestly, the suggestions he's tossing at you could make you see stars on their own. " Hhn- W- Why won't you-? "

The demon snorts, a goading digit feathering over your clit every time you sink onto him. " Why won't I... ? "

" Why won't you just fuck me?! " It sounded more like a miserably cry than the yell you meant it to be, which is mildly embarrassing.

" Hah! " The demon cackles, and in those sharp pupils, behind all that charm and dazzle, you find the malice only a fiend of Hell could sport. The mercilessness of his roots. " But you're doing such a good job on your own, darling. It's not everyday I get to savor this kind of desperation. "

When he's arrogant enough to bring his thumb to your parted lips, perhaps hoping you'd suck it for him, you bite instead- A risky move, but risk is the last thing in your mind right now.

The monster grunts, chuffs something incomprehensible, then moves in a blur. The last thing you see are shrunk pupils and scarlet, drool-soaked gums before you're swiped onto your stomach, earning a faceful of wet pillow.

He slams home in a blink, bulldozing past a bundle of nerves that has you crying into said pillow. The weight of the demon on top of you is equal parts suffocating as it is thrilling. You know you're trapped, but it's exactly what you want. Finally, finally, he starts moving, and the crests of pleasure from each plow have your muscles going taught, waves of hot and cold wiping every minuscule bloom of a thought as your second orgasm barrels through your body.

You know you screamed, made some sort of hideous noise, because Santi grips a fistful of your hair so he can see the face you make while you cream yourself hard around his cock. " Fuck yess, there you go, better? Is that better, sweetie? Does it feel good? "

As if the fact you're drooling wasn't enough of an answer. Sweet nothings blur into nothing as you merely nod and grunt. There's another sloppy, rushed kiss shared between you, the demon's erratic pistons making things hard, you end up licking his face in an attempt to fetch his tongue again and the two of you laugh for a brief moment- You've never felt so high.

Unfortunately, much to your chagrin, the relief of your second climax is even shorter than the first one, and you're once again submerged in what feels like twofold the intensity of your arousal. It's horrifying. What's happening? Why won't it stop? Why won't he fuck you harder?

Aware you're sweating bullets but covered in goosebumps, you push your ass up and out against Santi, squeezing around him. He picks up the pace, rocking you, making bestial noises you've never heard from a man before. If this keeps going for much longer, you fear your brain might fry itself to a horny crisp. " Come in me! F-Fucking- Fill me- Do something, Santi please! "

It's hard to tell given he's panting rather loudly, but you think he's breathlessly laughing at your discomfort. You don't think it's funny at all! But then, his spine snaps back straight and he grabs your hips hard enough to feel your bones, you're forcibly drilled onto his cock with a level of strength that has you smiling open-mouthed like a drunk fool, the happiest cocksock in the world. Something wet slaps onto your ass, you can only guess he's drooling. There's a snarl that shakes the walls, or maybe just you, and he seats you on his fat cock for the last time before doing exactly as you requested- Bloating you with cum.

It's hot. Literally hot, his load almost burns inside your cunt, something between tingling and scalding, each rope of it making you shudder hard while a third, less intense orgasm makes your pussy flutter to milk him dry. You fully expect to be taken by another, harsher wave of fucklust, but surprisingly- It never happens. Instead, you just relax more and more, sinking onto crimson silk with a groan as you deflate.

The demon murmurs reassuring words you barely register as he pulls out, petting your oversensitive pussy and peppering kisses against your sweaty back. You feel him bite softly on your neck, chuckling at your fucked out state.

" What a filling meal you've been. " The monster sighs, laying beside you on the mattress and pulling you closer to himself. " I'd fuck you to my last breath. " Maybe that was meant to be romantic, you're not sure. Your face can't possibly heat up more. " But let's not get ahead of ourselves, you need your rest. "

" Close your eyes... I'll be here. "

And, exhausted as you are, sleep comes easily.

He's reading by the time he feels you stir beside him.

You've been conked out for a couple of hours, which makes Santi feel a little bit self-conscious. Maybe he exerted a lot of magic over you, but he wanted to make the most out of his little conquest- And seeing you in a quasi-heat was just so hot... Nonetheless, he knows that took a lot out of your body, and it's his responsibility to make sure you don't fall ill because of it.

Having already cleaned himself up, the demon picked one of the newest best sellers and flipped through chapter after chapter. He wouldn't just leave you here alone while you slumber defenseless, he's not stupid enough for that. His coworkers would try something. Santi's all for sharing a cute piece of ass, on his terms though. Truth be told, he's not paying attention to any of the words on those yellowed pages, he's read this one before, different things conjure in his mind's eye instead.

Mainly, Santi's wondering about how to best spend the rest of the day with you. He already canceled plenty of clients out, something he usually hesitates greatly with- Yet the incubus found it very easy to do this time. You just taste divine, he needs more of your lust, it's so filling even in small doses. You're full of it. Plus, he's very charmed that you willingly wanted to come with him, out of everyone in the team. He knows some of them might have looked friendlier than him, it's endearing that you liked him that much.

Santi almost marked you. Almost. The urge was there, the opportunity was golden, he could have stamped you as his right then and there- But ultimately, he thinks he'd regret doing it so soon. Your fate is unwritten, the incubus isn't too sure what'll be of you once the day is over. What if his higher up decides you're going to the warehouse? Or to be trained by Nebul? Santi needs to be ready to negotiate with Admin when the time comes. And he needs to be ready to face reality, if you're taken from his claws...

Ugh, he's really not looking forward to that. You're an adorable little thing. He can't wait to dress you up and head out to the other floors, flaunt you a little maybe.

Sure, Santi would have liked a wider range of clothes to pick from, certainly something with impeccable quality- But there's only so much he can do while inside The Clergy. He can't leave your side for too long. That's why he had Grimbly bring him discarded clothes from Morell's perished piglets. Out of a sizeable pile of fabrics, Santi salvaged only a loose white blouse, stained with some blood on the hems, and a pair of torn shorts. Less than ideal, but he's sure they'll fit you, and that's what matters.

Honestly, he'd prefer to lead you out naked, but you're in no state for that, at least not anymore. If the demon had suggested that earlier, you probably would have loved the sound of it. Alas, a concubus can dream.

His plan for now is to take you a couple floors down once you wake up, give you a little reward for taking this so well. Speaking of, he might have spaced out for a few minutes there, but he's definitely feeling eyes on him now. Gaze veering right, he finds his little present openly studying him. He can't help the quip that tugs at his dark lips.

" You really know how to make a man feel gorgeous, hm? "

Predictably, you turn away immediately. Santi snickers. " ... Don't flatter yourself. "

Oh, attitude? Good, that's the spirit. Santi claps his book shut and sets it on the bedside table, giving you his full attention. You're no longer wet from the shower, but there's a sheen of sweat on you, marks of his cum on your legs make a gross part of his brain want to clean it himself. Better not let it linger, he can't be tempted to drag you into another round so soon.

" Dear, how about you get an actual shower in, you must be hungry, no? "

Sure enough, you nod, peeling yourself out of the bed with a light sway. Whoops, that's on him. Santi doesn't follow you into the bathroom this time, setting the clothes he retrieved on the edge of the bed. When you come back, drying yourself off with a towel and examining the cloths, you have the intellect not to question where they came from or why there's blood on them. The sight doesn't please you much however, he can tell. The demon almost wants to reach for his slit when you casually dress up in front of him. It seems the more time he spends around you, the more he longs for another hit of your delicious desire.

You're not fast enough to predict the sharp slap across your ass as soon as you're fully dressed, yelping like an animal.

" Good as new, aren't you? " The demon humors. " Ready to be wined and dined? "

You actually giggle at that, making the monster beam subtly. " ... Shouldn't that have been the first step? "

" We do things a bit differently here, love. " He winks. If only you knew just how differently... " Now come, let me spoil you some. "

You appear less skittish around him, following Santi into the same elevator you got here from. Naturally, that changes as soon as you get a glance at the restaurant floor.

Hours have passed since he took you to his room, which means many guests have already poured in, an absurd number actually. The place is crowded enough to grow hot, reminding Santi of Hell. Which is fitting, because today's guests of honor inside The Clergy's Eye are none other than the Lords of Perdition.

It certainly explains the sheer amount of demons in the premises. Santi's good mood drops noticeably as he senses several concubi around. In his territory. Eating his meals. The monster almost snarls as he steps out, grip tight on your wrist, eyes bright in blatant aggression. Others are wise enough to give him a decent berth.

Santi has to tell himself to calm down. Deep breaths, he's here to get you something to eat, not pick fights with vermin.

" S- Santi...? " Your soft voice grounds him some.

You look terrified. And there's more than enough reason for such. Not only is the crowd here very rowdy and prone to violence, several demons brawling and arguing- Others are tossing wounded humans around like party confectionery, which they technically are. The ones moving around linger to glance at you, giving Santi mischievous looks he pointedly ignores. No, he doesn't want to show you off in this type of crowd at all.

" Yes, darling? " A forced smile sits on his lips.

" W... What is that? "

He squints, following the direction in which your finger points, finding a gigantic yellow form amidst the sea of people ahead. A serpentine monster woman lounges in a fancy booth, swallowing plates whole and occasionally scooping lesser demons into her unhinged jaws. Her jovial laughter creates an air of chaos in the floor.

" That would be the Queen of Gluttony, dear. " He casually points out.

Your eyes widen. " A-Am I- Are we- "

" In Hell? " The incubus' grin softens. " Not even close, though tonight, it might as well b- "

" SANTI, IS THAT YOU THERE, MY OLD FRIEND? "

Both of you freeze.

The incubus' heart nearly comes out his throat. There's only one demon who could own that voice. Santi pulls you flush against his side as frantic lime hues scour the entire floor. Behind him, another Icon is seated in an equally lush booth adequate to his size.

Vesper. The King of Lust. His King, technically, before he vowed himself to Krulu.

The Icon of carnality offers the two of you a hungry grin, ever bright pools of magenta fixated on you like the eyes of a hawk. The rest of the crowd blinks at the lust demon, wondering if he's brave enough to ignore of a King of Hell who calls him by name. Of course he's not. Especially not Vesper. There's history between them.

" Wh- Who's that? " You whisper quietly, latched onto his arm. In other circumstances, he'd be very happy to have you glued to him.

" ... The lord of Lust. " He murmurs back between grit teeth, straining a confident grin as he waves at the two-mouthed demonlord.

Vesper's head tendril sways back and forth along with his tail, he shoos his arm candy away and makes a beckoning gesture, eyes now burning onto you. Santi can't help feeling there's something odd about the demonlord's excitement, but he knows he's going to have to approach regardless of his gut feeling.

When he makes to close the distance, the force of your static self halts him. The soles of your bare feet dig into the ground. You look like a deer in the headlights, stuck gawking at the massive pink demon. In a way, Santi's not surprised by your reaction. If he already had such an intense effect on you, then Vesper's going to break your mind into tiny pieces.

The demon's inviting expression morphs into a much more serious one as he shifts to be in front of you. " Listen to me, hotstuff. You don't have to be scared of him, okay? I know he's... Intense-looking, but he probably just wants to catch up with me. " Santi tries to ease your nerves, but it doesn't look like it's working. Sighing, he blinks at you a couple times, lashes rippling and eyes swirling a brilliant green, forcing some ease into you. " How about we make some small talk, and then get you a decent meal? "

Although you nod slowly, it's clear you're not sold on the idea. It's as good as he'll get, Santi supposes. He's aware the two of you are still being observed while he strolls towards the lord. Santi's used to staring, you though? Not so much, poor thing.

When you stand before the large Icon, Santi's sure that, if you had a tail, it would be tucked between your legs. But you haven't stopped looking at him for a second either, the incubus almost feels jealous.

" Your highness. " He nods respectfully.

" Oh ho, none of that here, sweetheart. Tonight, you know me as Vesper. " The demonlord waves a hand, then bends to observe you two much closer, enough to jolt you a little. " I'm so very glad to see you're enjoying my gift! "

Time freezes. A lot of things become clear in a fraction of a second.

" Ha, I almost felt bad leaving her in the garden like that, you poor little baby. " Vesper coos, tickling under your chin briefly as he titters before focusing on Santi. " Of course you were the one who got to her first, I expected nothing less from one of my own. "

Not exactly how things went down, but there's no reason for Santi to contradict such a flattering image of himself. " Truly? This was your doing? How generous of you. "

" Keep it between us, yes Santi? " The King tosses a wink at him, fluffing his neck. " Now sit you two, let's enjoy our time here a bit... "

Large lavander hands pat at the ample purple cushions next to him. The look on his face is less requesting than it is demanding.

Santi has no reason to fear, but he can almost hear your heart thundering next to him. He slips a warm palm down to the small of your back, trying to offer some soothing contact even as he edges you forward gently.

One of the elevators dings nearby, opening to release a small group of drunk monsters.

#Santi oc #Vesper oc #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #terato #terat0philliac #monsterfucker #not sfw #minors dni

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manicpixiemeatboy · 8 months

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Scott summers being intensely hated by a large chunk of the X-men fandom is so wild to me but defending him is even wilder cause it's like. Yes of course he made mistakes yes of course he is frustrating sometimes but also like. Yeah, sorry the orphaned child solider with undiagnosed autism ( among other things ) on divorce number 4 doesn't communicate perfectly. You see why yes he could have navigated the "dead fiancé came back to life right after he moved on and was married to a new girl who turned out to be a clone of his dead fiancé who wasn't dead who then turned into a demon sorceress and also somehow involved is the man who biologically experimented on him in his orphanage as a child unconsented" situation better. He could have. But have you considered. Have you considered the fucking insanity of what you just recited. Have you considered that maybe . Maybe perfectly navigating that situation among the related that came after it was. Hard. I'm sorry hes mean you see they hit him with rocks as a kid and his dad left to become space famous and his adoptive dad/leader could read minds at all times and his kid like- essentially for his ability to be with him died in his arms. He's a little stressed. Yes.

It's actually so wild because people never actually slow down to examine the nuances of events and just expect a character to magically know the right thing to do, even in absolutely bizarre situations that a real human being will never have to navigate. Like, yes, perhaps with 20/20 hindsight and no baggage beforehand, he could have handled the "just got unfused from the ancient mutant villain Apocalypse and found after wandering around the planet with no solid idea who he was for months and has very clear trauma in the aftermath but his wife brushes him off (ooc) and so goes to Emma for therapy but she takes advantage of his mental instability and coerces him into a psychic affair after he told her no repeatedly" situation but no real human person has ever experienced this and thus there's no defined "right" way to navigate that clusterfuck. It's, ironically, a very human trait to mess up in a situation like that.

Cyclops is a deceptively deep character in the sense that SO MUCH has happened to him, but you'll find that no one ever writes the trauma from his previous life-altering event rolling over onto the next (unless it's specifically Dark Phoenix related) for a consistent story. Nor do people include the sheer amount of trauma compacted into this man in their judgment of his character/morality.

TL;DR: if people slowed down and summarised events to their core, they'd stop jumping down Cyclops' throat so much. Not saying he's perfect, but he's doing his best given the tools he's got.

#cyclops #scott summers #this bad boy can fit so much trauma in him

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12pt-times-new-roman · 2 months

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c3e89

Rashina gives the Bells Hells a task so they can prove themselves valuable to the Volition. They are in the midst of plotting to topple the Weave-mind and free the people of Ruidus from the Emperium; they are willing to give anything and everything for the future of Ruidus.

Rashina is slow to trust -- her father was a very trusting man, "and all it took was to trust the wrong person once." But the Volition is running out of time. She brings them to a war room-like area with a central table, and one of the people in here -- Gaztomo -- has some small, fungus-like creatures (mycits) as pets.

There are hundreds of thousands of mycits that work throughout the city -- they have no political leanings, but they're useful, like giant fungal isopods.

The reiloran variants were once a singular people, but over time, the Weave-mind genetically engineered or selectively bred the telepathic abilities out of many reilorans -- they have fundamentally altered the evolution of the entire species to their ends. Their forms are withered, taxed beyond even their stretched lifespans, and the same five have been in power for over five centuries. They can psychically project their minds all over the moon, and can inhabit the minds of reilorans who have been marked with a device at the back of their necks. Every civilian of Kreviris is marked, and a potential extension of the Weave-mind. They have extremely powerful wills, but although they can look at anyone and everyone, there are still only five of them -- and the Volition, which was apparently established by Rashina's father, ensures that their members have their marks carved out.

Reiloran children are brought to the Arks Crionum (the citadel) shortly after birth to be marked. The marks are biologically-engineered, organic implants.

Ruidian society has been "reset" by the Weave-mind at least four times, Kreviris has been rebuilt at least twice and the central pillar has been the only constant thing.

Exandrian gods have no reach on Ruidus. There are no miracles here. All that they have is each other, the promises of the Weave-mind, and the occasional whisper, the promise of belonging, from below. The Weave-mind is the interpreter of Predathos' whisperings; but Predathos does not speak directly to Ruidians because Exandrians are ultimately more useful to its plan of escape.

Before the Weave-mind, there was a collective of societies across Ruidus; the Emperium rose among them, and there was an event called the Crush nearly three centuries ago that destroyed them and allowed the Emperium to rise to ultimate power. This corresponds directly to the fall of Molaesmyr.

Within the citadel, the Weave-mind has a massive collection of bio-engineered tools and weapons, and those are what allowed them to come to power.

In addition to the flares, Ruidus also experiences quakes; they're rare, happening once every few years, but like the flares they have also been increasing in frequency. The Crush was a series of quakes so strong that it destroyed the majority of Ruidian society, reducing nearly everything to ruins.

The Dominion of Kruth -- Kreviris' military branch -- is headed by Oko Kruth, whose bloodline has a particular psychic connection to the beasts of the land. "If you see them, run -- or end things real quick."

The Tectis are Kreviris' upper echelons, politicians, police chiefs, enforcers. nobles -- they're an eclectic bunch, paranoid, and while most are in the pocket of the Weave-mind, some of them are aligned with the Volition. (I'm really trying to ignore Matt's Bioshock reference with the "ace in the hole" thing here.)

Ludinus has been running a deep excavation underneath the "prime pillar" of Kreviris, and shuttling strange artifacts there from the bridge. (I'm also trying very hard to ignore the way that Rashina's inflections mirror Essek's.)

To many Ruidians, Predathos is the closest thing they have to religious faith. What Rashina knows is that since the Vanguard has arrived, the Emperium has been ushering in an air of excitement among the populace with the promise of relocation to Exandria. There have been celebrations across the city, demonstrations in the streets. She doesn't know what it means for Ruidus; but she believes the intent is for those who are loyal to the Weave-mind to go to Exandria. "The only reason we know our life is so hard here is because we compare it to what we see in your dreams... we see feasts, holidays, miracles and... here, there is dust and survival. There is joy to be found here; but it's one thing to not know otherwise, but most nights, the basis of comparison is put in our faces." The Weave-mind is responsible for those dreams.

The Weave-mind also, when they came to power, destroyed every historical text and record they could get their hands on, and the Volition has nothing left of it.

They begin talking about their plans for the morning.

First, a detonation at Ludinus' excavation beneath the pillar that would let the Volition recover some prisoners. Sorrowlord Zathuda is overseeing the excavation at the moment. One among their number is already helming this move: as she gestures to him, Ira Wendigoth emerges from the shadows.

Secondly, an infiltration mission: one of their spies, Everoa -- a bormodo scientist tangential to Ludinus' experiments with Aeorian technology -- has gone missing, and needs to be recovered. She was working in the Coloquium of Candescence at the base of the citadel. Last the Volition heard, she was working on a device or weapon for Ludinus.

Thirdly, there is a rescue option: numerous Volition members and Exandrians who opposed the Emperium were taken hostage about a week ago. Rashina gestures to a green dragonborn in the shadows, who's leading the expedition: Bizoden Amari, who is a champion of Bane, the Strife Emperor (another one of the lawful-evil Betrayer Gods) and came here on behalf of him. She looks at FCG: "you smell of a broken road... Freedom brings all to ruin in time."

And lastly, the secret fourth option, led by Gaz himself: a mission to assassinate Liliana Temult.

They are given the night to sleep on the decision.

Imogen expresses similar feelings toward the prospect of killing her mother as before: it would take a lot to redeem her, with nearly 30 years of working for the Emperium under her belt. She's worried that she'll try to stop it. At the same time, she recognizes that she never really knew her mother, and her situation is very similar to Fearne's, whose estranged father is running the excavation.

Laudna also points out that they're going on one of these missions to gain the trust of the Volition, so to go on one of them for their own personal gain instead could jeopardize that if it fails; while Orym points out that if they succeed in killing Liliana, this mission is her last chance to talk to her.

I'm already partial to going to find the scientist because they might encounter more Aeorian technology, but it's also interesting that no one has mentioned that doing that one could also yield more info about FCG.

FCG uses the coin to ask the Changebringer whether or not Imogen's mother is redeemable. When the coin flips, it usually has this ring to it, but here it's silent, and it lands squarely on its side -- "unsure."

Gaz comes back, and Imogen convinces him to tell them about the assassination. They recently discovered that she's been held up in the Woven Music Grand Hall, gathering a lot of Exandrian ruidusborn there. Imogen learns that there are certain devices that can interrupt thought-eaters and some psychic abilities. I need someone to insight check her, please

"You're working on a lot of assumptions that your mother is redeemable... an estranged parent is just a stranger who can make you believe any bullshit." Ashton is completely right -- every time they've encountered Liliana it's been "this one last chance," over and over again. If Imogen tries to reach out to her, there is the incredible risk that she will expose them and the Volition -- and on only Imogen's word, they sacrifice the trust the Volition has given them, they take the risk that Imogen will be pulled in to Predathos, they take the risk that Liliana will pinpoint her location, and they ensure that Ashton has disadvantage on basically everything during whatever excursion they go on. (Imogen constantly gets her way with this party, and someone really needs to call her on the bullshit she's pulling before it gets them all killed.)

Imogen decides to reach out to Liliana. In the dream, it's just color and warmth; then, a light, and Liliana appears curled up in a ball, hovering in the air.

Liliana explains that she thinks she's opposing Ludinus, she's pulled him back from the edge -- and she is saving people, there are Ruidisborn children here who she's protecting. But she's still convinced in his mission, that setting Predathos free will free them all, that killing the gods is an overall good thing. She wants Imogen to believe that she loves her, but she's never shown it; doesn't deny that she would kill Imogen if she had to. She thinks that she can guide Ludinus' plan down the right path, but still believes in the end goal -- she thinks she can do it safely.

"If we do this right, maybe we can all go home. [No, mama. You're lying to yourself. They're lying to you. Ludinus is an evil, evil man, and he's gotten into your head.] History is full of evil men. Few have the courage to stand up and try to stop them. I don't think we're on the opposing side like you think we are, we just have opposing methods, that's all. Please see it in yourself to understand why I've given up all of this. [Maybe it's your turn to run.]"

They decide that it's not a good idea for any of them to go on the assassination mission -- Imogen because she couldn't handle it (which is perfectly understandable, my god), and everyone else because she wouldn't forgive them if they had a hand in it.

There are a lot of good things coming out of this -- FCG acknowledging that the gods are gray, Imogen recognizing that her mother isn't going to flip sides, Laudna not instinctively taking Liliana's side against the gods.

Chetney gets at something they really don't have an answer to: sure, you might think the gods are tyrants, but why? What's the underlying motive there? There needs to be one. I personally think that Ludinus wants to make a massive power vacuum so he himself can fill it, but it could be something else.

"Sure, I can see the tyrant in the gods, but I can see the tyrant in the man too." "We're not all that different, gods and mortals."

Luckily, the Bells Hells do know some basics about the Divine Gate and its purpose to keep divinity separate from Exandria, and Orym knows that it wasn't that long ago that Vecna got banished behind it. They are of the general consensus that releasing Predathos would be bad if its true intent is to destroy the gods; but where they're unsure is what will happen to Predathos, and more importantly Ruidus itself, if Predathos is not released.

Also, I was wrong, Ashton only gets disadvantage on ability checks, not attacks. Which is better, sure, but that means disadvantage on stealth, and all of the available missions are at least partially stealth-based.

As they wake up, the Volition base is buzzing with energy.

Fearne goes to find Ira as he's making some bombs. His plan is to cloak his team in illusions, sneak into one of the more recently-constructed tunnels, plant the bombs on the drilling devices there, and explode them. Also, Ira did previously know that Zathuda was Fearne's father, which really complicates Ira's relationship with the Calloways -- but his ire with Zathuda is because he's had bad dealings with the Unseelie. Ludinus stole his designs and is trying to change the course of history without giving him credit.

Ira also has a theory regarding Fearne's birth: "In my mind, it seems that Ludinus and the Vanguard's interest involved creating as many Ruidisborn as possible, in the hopes that the few odd children might be born special (read: exaltant). You were halfway there."

Fearne does want to see Zathuda, but it's not the same as the situation with Liliana because Zathuda isn't very likely to actually die during that mission -- he might not even be there.

Imogen and Laudna talk about Liliana. "As someone who loves you, I can't imagine abandoning you." "But you have another power pulling at you, don't you? I thought we got rid of Delilah, we beat her, but as soon as we split up, you fanned that ember back into a flame and now it's bigger than ever... but I can hate Delilah, and love you." Imogen doesn't know if she'll ever be free of Ruidus, and Laudna doesn't know if she'll ever be free of Delilah, but "if getting rid of Delilah means getting rid of you, I don't think that's worth it... I just wish I knew why you gave her power again." "I didn't mean to -- it wasn't a choice. She never fully left." "Are you telling me the truth? You wouldn't lie to me again, right Laudna?" OUGH--

They kiss. "I will never let you go. And if you need her, then that's my answer." "But what if by holding on to you, I'm holding you down? You are destined for greatness. We can all pretend that we're special, unique maybe -- but not the kind of special that you are. Everything is being set up, is being staged, for you to be the savior of Exandria." (oh I hate this narrative but I love how illustrative it is of the dysfunction they need to address--) "Laudna, if you weren't holding me down, I wouldn't be saving anyone but Predathos. I would be gone."

It's so interesting how Laudna is interpreting the narrative surrounding Imogen as opposed to Imogen herself, and how she's superimposing that narrative over Imogen's own agency. It's an extension of her codependence, sure, but it's also a projection of the issues Laudna has with her own agency in relation to Delilah, and it's just so complicated and I want to SCREAM (/pos)

(The sasquatch-like creatures are Quinakkas.)

Ira has built a series of screech plumes, which disrupt and scramble both magic and psychic abilities. The Volition will use them in the assassination attempt. It is implied that the design of these were based on the Aeorian disruption devices the Bells Hells found earlier.

They enter the war room. Today is a day of action. They decide to split up: FCG, Ashton, and Fearne will go with Ira to the detonation site, while Chetney, Imogen, Orym, and Laudna will go to the citadel to retrieve the bormodo scientist. All told, these are pretty good group makeups -- and the addition of a reiloran caster to the infiltration group and Ira to the demolition group rounds out the party makeup. The only thing Team Infiltration is missing is a healer, but with Laudna's wither and bloom plus the fact that most of their stuff refreshes on a short rest, I think they'll be alright.

Just before they head out, FCG pops a greater restoration on Ashton to clear their last point of exhaustion. Also, the reiloran mystic casts both invisibility and see invisibility on the entire team. Meanwhile, Ira casts seeming on the demolition team, and they take on the guise of quanikkas, bormodos, and -- for FCG and Mister -- mycits. (Ira himself is a thought-eater reiloran.)

Thankfully, at the last minute, Team Infiltration -- which has no full healers -- takes a bunch of the health potions.

I'm very curious as to whether Matt is going to split the teams up and introduce guests, or if he's gonna switch off every half hour or so. I'm leaning toward splitting them up, but we'll see.

As they descend, they see a society -- children, little flying creatures, a weird faccimile of Exandrian architecture. Music -- there are musicians here. Towers that are filed-down or half-remembered elvish, nearly-dwarven buildings -- this is a society based in a mixture of disparate interpretation, and in being so, is wholly unique and uniquely beautiful. Only then do they notice the Dominion of Kruth, thick in the streets -- the sound of drills being run, the sight of war machines and armored juggernauts, training in what feels like preparation for a move to Exandria at some undesignated future time.

#critical role #note watches c3 #critical role spoilers #critical role campaign 3 #critical role c3 #critical role liveblog #long post #very long post

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amber-laughs · 11 days

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Ned and Lyanna's Pale Blue Roses

There is so much yet to be revealed from the Tower of Joy but the most notable missing detail is Jon Snow himself. He has no place in Ned’s memory of Lyanna’s death. Ned explicitly says only he and Howland Reed left the Tower of Joy alive that day, but we know this can’t be true. They left the tower with another living breathing human being and Ned knows that too. So what gives?

“I might mention, though, that Ned's account, which you refer to, was in the context of a dream... and a fever dream at that. Our dreams are not always literal.” - George R.R. Martin. Not only that but Ned himself admits there is much he simply blacked out from “They had found him still holding her body, silent with grief. The little crannogman, Howland Reed, had taken her hand from his. Ned could recall none of it.”

and may I remind you “A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness” A Clash of Kings - Daenerys IV

I think Ned’s mind, through his trauma, grief and determination to leave the past behind, has altered his memories. I think Ned has mentioned Jon almost everytime he mentions the scene in the tower. I think Jon is the blue rose petals from Ned’s memories.

"Eddard!" she called. A storm of rose petals blew across a blood-streaked sky, as blue as the eyes of death. A Game of Thrones - Eddard X

If Lyanna’s voice was as damaged as Ned claims “The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper” and yet he could hear her calling for him, surely he could hear a baby crying. Surely Ned knew the Kingsguard would never let him, a rebel whose cause had just murdered Aegon and Rhaenys in cold blood, anywhere near Rhaegar’s last living son. So as Jon’s cries blow across the blood streaked sky Ned knows what comes next.

“The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sister's eyes. Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black.” A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

So was Jon just lying on the floor of the tower? He had to have been somewhere? His mother’s arms? Until her muscles gave out and fell to the bed she laid on maybe.

“But Jon isn’t dead, the rose petals are dead.” True but the petals Ned claims he saw in the wind weren’t dead either. Jon Snow isn’t dead but Lyanna’s son is. He never existed. Rhaegar’s children are all dead. Only Ned Stark’s bastard remains.

"The night of our wedding feast, the first time we shared a bed, he called me by your sister's name. He was on top of me, in me, stinking of wine, and he whispered Lyanna." Ned Stark thought of pale blue roses, and for a moment he wanted to weep. A Game of Thrones - Eddard XII

Cersei is currently speaking of Lyanna but make no mistake, this conversation is wrapped around Jon Snow.

Ned thought, If it came to that, the life of some child I did not know, against Robb and Sansa and Arya and Bran and Rickon, what would I do? Even more so, what would Catelyn do, if it were Jon's life, against the children of her body? He did not know. He prayed he never would. A Game of Thrones - Eddard XII

He doesn’t list Jon with his biological children but Ned’s saying he’d react with the same paternal instinct and, unlike Catelyn, he wouldn’t save them at the expense of Jon. That’s why he shifts to it to her, she’s the unknown variable in this. Ned doesn’t need to wonder because he’s already done it. He’s chosen Jon’s safety for fifteen years knowing the Starks could be executed over his secret.

What do you take me for? You've a bastard of your own, I've seen him. Who was the mother, I wonder? Some Dornish peasant you raped while her holdfast burned? A whore? Or was it the grieving sister, the Lady Ashara? She threw herself into the sea, I'm told. Why was that? For the brother you slew, or the child you stole? Tell me, my honorable Lord Eddard, how are you any different from Robert, or me, or Jaime?" "For a start," said Ned, "I do not kill children. A Game of Thrones - Eddard XII

Cersei asks a few questions here that in large boil down to “Who is your bastard’s mother?” Ned’s only response is “I do not kill children.” He’s given her his answer. Probably the most answer honest he ever gave about Jon. All he wants to do for Cersei is keep her children from the same fate as Rhaegar’s. He’s done it successfully once before, that his blueprint here. But of course he won’t allow his mind to go there. He never dwells on Jon’s parentage, not even in the privacy of his own mind. “(…) and he whispered Lyanna." Ned Stark thought of pale blue roses, and for a moment he wanted to weep.” He thinks of pale blue roses, of the innocent children at stake. Of the death of his sister and how she died and he wants to weep.

The Kings of Winter watched him pass with eyes of ice, and the direwolves at their feet turned their great stone heads and snarled. Last of all, he came to the tomb where his father slept, with Brandon and Lyanna beside him. "Promise me, Ned," Lyanna's statue whispered. She wore a garland of pale blue roses, and her eyes wept blood. A Game of Thrones - Eddard XIII

They are angry with him, the Kings of Winter, Lyanna, there is something he didn’t do. In Jon’s own dreams it’s the Kings of Winter he sees on his way to his mother’s grave. They try to tell him. They scream he’s not a Stark, they want him to know just as much as she does. Her pale blue roses still haunt him while she cries for the promises they both know he can no longer keep. When he slept, he dreamed: dark disturbing dreams of blood and broken promises. A Game of Thrones - Eddard XV

Ned Stark reached out his hand to grasp the flowery crown, but beneath the pale blue petals the thorns lay hidden. He felt them clawing at his skin, sharp and cruel, saw the slow trickle of blood run down his fingers, and woke, trembling, in the dark. A Game of Thrones - Eddard XV

For certain only Ned and Howland Reed knew the truth. A good argument for Benjen, who Ned’s heard is dead beyond the Wall. No he’ll never tell Jon the truth no matter how much he wants now wants to, “The thought of Jon filled Ned with a sense of shame, and a sorrow too deep for words. If only he could see the boy again, sit and talk with him…” Secrets hidden beneath pale blue petals never to be revealed.

#Valyrian Scrolls #Lyanna Stark #Ned Stark #R+L=J #Jon Snow #Asoiaf Meta #ValyrianScrolls #asoiaf #Game of Thrones #House Stark

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lefluoritesys · 8 months

Text

Deinfluencing DID? Cool

TW: injuries, dissociative seizures, fainting, general health problems, medication, abuse, forced switches, religion, burdning things down, mentions of rape

Our room is a mess, dirty laundry everywhere, clothes are not hanged up and thrown on our bed, we haven’t cleaned our table, and barely ever vacuum or clean anything else. Why? Nobody wants to do it, plus we have ADHD that's interfering eith daily tasks as usual.

Our host forgot to tell our partner system they sprained our wrist. They sprained it January 30th. Told them, by accident, on July 11th.

Speaking of sprained limbs. Our co-host & persecutor-caretaker sprained our foot because they were stupid and weren't looking at where they're going. Resulted in missing a step on the stairs. They got a yelling lecture from our host (very loving lecture), and what did they do? Called the thing we had to wear on our leg "foot prison." Nothing else.

We got sick... I wanna say 2 days ago (memory issues). How did we do that? I don't know. What are we gonna do about it? Idfk, why are you asking me, we have like one medicine we take, but other than that-

Whenever people tell us that we're a minor and shouldn't be researching/reading stuff involving sexual topics, our sexual alters' immediate response to it is "if they wanted us to act like a child, they shouldn't have let us get raped when we were 4."

We suspect we have dissociative seizures. When things around us are overwhelming, we can very well just faint. Still conscious but unable to move or speak. Everything we hear during it will be forgotten. And those of us who are not host and co-host can faint because simply being in the body for too long is overwhelming.

We forget to take our meds that prevent us from fainting fully. Teenage thing, but our blood pressure drops unexpectedly, and we might pass out. Does the threat of literally dropping in the middle of the day, for which we had previously gotten admitted to the hospital, work? No. It's not happening rn, so-

Outer world is being run by 5-6 people (alters) who are not equipped for the outer world shit. Dealing with parents? No. School? So-so. Basic biological needs? Who needs those, am I right? /j

A while ago, we found a spider near our room, and we are all, collectively, terrified of spiders. Who did we push to front to deal with it? Our co-host, who hates/is scared of them more than all of us combined.

We have a factive of our mother in the system who fused with a Ballora fragment. Like, yk, the person who potentially abused us most in our lives is their source. She's currently in inner world therapy and is actively getting better. And we are learning to separate her from her source.

When we first figured out we were a system, our host was so stuck and so determined to find out more about our alters, we had to force switches to happen, and for a while thought we were actually faking. I'm aware that that's exactly what DID/OSDD is supposed to make you feel like, but others literally could not front sometimes without being physically forced out. Moreover, we didn't even know how switches were supposed to feel. Everything felt fake. How did we accept it? Pushed through (quite literally) and focused more on the exciting parts of it, rather than sad.

Speaking of first figuring our about our DID, we filmed many videos of our switches when we felt them coming, and alters introducing themselves via filming. We are now looking at them and both cringing and feeling nostalgic.

We still sometimes want to be a smaller system because it feels like it would have been simpler, and we would love to have all members of the system get along. But we also know our brain created us the way it did for our survival, and our nostalgia about "simpler days when we only knew 4 people" is a romantization. This is the first time we have actually had a semi-stable environment in 2 years.

The only one who celebrates the body's birthday is our host. Everybody else has their own birthdays either from source or made-up. We still celebrate them. Today (September 14th) is, in fact, one of our alters' birthday.

Our host and co-host have a child-parent relationship (respectively). A while ago, they were in co-con, listening to a song. Our co-host was holding our host to their arms in front piggyback style, was hugging them and rocking them back and forth. Why? For comfort. Because they're family.

Are we all collectively doing schoolwork? Nope, lmao. Doesn't work for us like that, we simply don't have memories of most things we studied since like 4th grade, can't get them either. Our host used to do all the schoolwork, but they got so much trauma from school and homework that now our co-host is in charge of it. And only them unless it's Japanese. And even then, it's a big maybe. Nobody wants to, so we created a schedule that works for us and our switches when it comes to studying.

Did I just have to look up where I was going on the metro because I realized I have no memories of it other than autopilot, and I am doubting whether I wanna leave on the right station? Yes. Yes, I did. Am I gonna be fronting when I reach the destination? Nope.

A while ago we burned down an inner world kingdom. Why? Idk, we just didn't like it. Who cares anyway?

One of our prosecutors bought premium on one of the apps we use, and they didn't get in trouble for it only because our host liked it. We're still using it to this day.

We have a system quote book.

Everybody in this system is pagan. I might be the only one not, and even that's a big maybe.

We really wanna watch Elemental but can never get around to it. Also, Nimona, although we have a good reason to postpone watching it.

We haven’t brushed our teeth in 2 weeks. Did yesterday like once. When's gonna be the next time? Who knows? :D Hygiene issues are real.

On Halloween, we're probably gonna watch FNaF Ruin the entire evening-night with our sibling.

Our ex-host is so unhinged that we have to watch them whenever they front like a hawk.

We are not a perfect system. Any blog you see, no matter how real it seems, doesn't reflect day-to-day experiences systems have. Most posts, generally, are made with strong emotions in mind, or for aesthetic purposes, or for venting purposes. I repeat what has been said before a million times: don't trust everything you see on the internet. People are real, but they are not going to let you know anything personal about them.

Honestly? Not sure why I wanted to make this post. Not gonna give you a reason either because I don't know it.

I am currently going to get cocoa and push our co-host to study. Have a good day, y'all. ✌️

-sexual protector

#did #did system #osdd system #osdd #system #dissociative identity disorder #other specified dissociative disorder #system stuff #system things #did osdd #osdd 1a #osdd 1b #complex dissociative identity disorder #did positivity #osdd positivity #system positivity #plural positivity #deinfluencing

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justatalkingface · 11 months

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You ever notice how quirklessness shouldn't exist in My Hero Academia. It doesnt add anything to the story. if you gave izuku a quirk that allowed him to change the colour of his hair or alter the number of freckles he has on his face, nothing in the story would chang.

Him being ostracised wasn't because of him being quirkless but because he was seen as a creepy otaku who kept personal notes on other people's biology.

People telling him he can't be a hero despite his dreams could just as easily stem from him having an extremely mundane quirk.

Other than Izuku no other characters seemingly faced any problems from being quirkless. Mirio was still extremely capable when he lost his quirk and was still able to continue on at UA without losing his status as one of the big 3. Melissa Shield didn't face any issues because of her quirklessness.

the worst thing to happen was to Pixie-Bob and that was the Wild Wild Pussy Cats decline in the rankings because they, objectively speaking, couldn't perform to the same standard as before.

The MLF aren't anti qurikless so much as they are anti weakness, wanting to be able to freely use their quirks with some kind of Might makes Right mentality.

Quirklessness only serves the purpose of making Izuku an underdog and that could be easily replicated with a mundane quirk. There is the whole only quirkless people can weird OFA thing now but that has been retroactively added to explain why the quirk isn't being given to someone else.

In a world that values quirks above all else being Quirkless should be a massive deal. Quirklessness should have a huge focus in my hero academia just from implication alone that 20% of the population is "biologically inferior" to 80% even if that inferiority in most cases is extremely negligible, but preceived biological superiority over meaningless differences has caused devastating wars in real life.

Melissa Sheild, despite who her father is, despite the quality of her work, she should face issues for being quirkless in a field that doesn't require a quirk at all, her work seen as somehow inferior with her needing to put in twice the effort for half the exposure.

Mirio and pixie-bob should have been blindsided by their newfound treatment for being quirkless.

But quirklessness doesn't really matter in canon MHA it's only there to showcase a Zero to Hero story with the main character.

20% of the entire world's population is quirkless, if its the same number as our own (low-balling cause its 200 years in the future not the present) at 8 billion then there is roughly 1.6 billion naturally quirkless people in the world. An absolutely massive demographic of people.

Yet there is only 4 quirkless people in the show, with 2 being made quirkless via special bullet or had their quirk stoled by AFO.

I genuinely believe that the concept of people being quirkless is so meaningless that it actually hurts the story and that the show, as it is presented in canon would be better if 100% of the population has quirks.

TLDR: Nothing is done with quirklessness. It's redundant, underutilised and meaningless. Anything quirklessness truly does for the story can be replicated by mundane quirks. I have no idea why the concept of quirklessness isn't explored and wonder why the author wrote about it at all.

Hmm. Beyond wanting to defend early Izuku, there's two ways to look at this: Quirklessness form a lore perspective, and as a story element.

The thing is that, lore-wise? Quirkless makes sense as a thing. Quirks are, what, only a couple hundred years old? Not only that, but the way that they escalated both in power, and commonality? If I had to guess, Quirks probably became 'common' maybe... a hundred years ago, and then things escalated to now, where Quirks are the standard. There's a place within the foundation of the setting itself for there to be a small population of people who are 'normal' in a world of abnormals.

Beyond that, I saw this in a fanfic somewhere and I haven't forgotten this concept: 20% is for the population as a whole. But, if you were to break it down by ages? Quirkless, in all likelihood, is an 'affliction' of the old, because Quirks are always more plentiful and powerful in each newer generation. The reason why we see all of three Quirkless people in story (beyond Hori laziness) is that, in all honesty? Izuku, Aoyama and Melissa are probably the last of a dying breed; within a generation or two, max, I'd expect will be no more Quirkless people born (you know, if the Quirk SIngularity, as in one or two stupidly powerful beings, don't accidently the human race, or people broadly become so powerful to the point where they become ungovernable and society collapses (or if, as some people theorize, Hori just doesn't axe Quirks somehow at the end of the story)).

Tying this back into Izuku? Well, first off, 'Izuku the creepy otaku' fanon really isn't a thing. The, at times infamous, notebook? It's called 'For My Future, Hero Analysis'. Bakugou is offended by it, and burns it, because their a sign of Izuku's ambition to be a hero, which he hates because he loathes Izuku. There's nothing there about... like, his classmates, as far as we can tell, there's just the idea of Izuku even vaguely possibly going near heroics, which would besmirching Bakugou's 'origin story', and thus it must be put down. That's what offended him, and no one else even cared about it.

(And, while I'm on the topic of this kind of fanon, even if you didn't actually bring it up: Izuku the stalker, or Izuku following around Bakugou is also bullshit. When they were little, little kids they were kind of sort of friends, and Izuku followed him then, as part of a group, but after the Quirks came in Bakugou turned on Izuku. Every time we've seen them since he was, what, five? Izuku is avoiding Bakugou, to the best of his abilities, which is complicated by them being in the same class. When they were in the same area he was always cringing, ducking, curling up, all defensive behaviors, because Izuku doesn't want to follow Bakugou, he's afraid of him, and for good reason.

Until well into their time in UA, Bakugou is the only one to initiate any sort of interact with Izuku, and Izuku only responses to him.)

Like, I'm looking at Chapter One right now: the reason all the kids are bullying him? Beyond Bakugou, the most popular kid in school with the same energy as the game winning quarterback the faculty panders to, actively bullying him and everyone following the leader? Izuku is weak, helpless to resist Bakugou's words (which are backed by technically illegal force, as they all know), and is basiclly getting above himself by daring to dream of being a hero when he has no Quirk. Explicitly, the bullying is focused around his Quirklessness.

I mean, hell, there's at least one mediocre Quirk in the room with that kid with the long fingers; while it's more useful than your freckles example, he's really not going to be a hero off a Quirk like that. Yet, the teacher says that everyone wants to be a hero, and everyone cheers... except Izuku, who is trying not to get noticed. I doubt anyone thinks Long Fingers Kid can ever be a hero, but he can dream that apparently universal dream, the same way most kids dream of being rich and famous, even if the know that they'll probably never be any such thing. Izuku, though? He's not allowed that dream.

Meanwhile, there's Aoyama, who we don't get much information on because Post War, but apparently his life was so miserable that his parents basiclly sold their souls to AFO just to get him a Quirk and thus societal acceptance.

Melissa Shield is an outlier on that dynamic of 'Quirklessness is something that society mocks and beats down on', because she's happy and apparently well adjusted, but there's some things about her which throws that metric off; most fundamentally, she's not from Japan. We don't know what it's like in the U.S., but we know that MHA Japan seems unchanged (bizarrely so, you'd really expect all these upheavals and advanced technology to cause more major changes), beyond Quirks and Heros, from our Japan, and from my understanding (though I'll admit I'm hardly an expert) Japan is generally less accepting of those who fall outside of societal norms, and more tolerant of things like bullying. Whatever it's like to be Quirkless in the U.S. could just be... nicer, than what it's like in Japan, which is canonly shit by all accounts.

And, while we don't see much of her life, the fact that her father's first instinct is to comfort her is telling that it is seen negatively there, at least to some extent. So, with all that in mind, I don't see Melissa as disproving the 'Quirklessness is bad' concept, she's just specifically lucky in not being around a Bakugou, along with being in what is likely to be a more welcoming environment in America and I-Island, along with the fact that we literally don't know her life. For all we know she was bullied for it to some extent, and it just wasn't as bad as Izuku had it.

The fact her work is more accepted than it should be... again, we don't actually know what American/I-Island society is like; maybe she did have to jump through more hoops, and we don't see it. Maybe she 'earned' her place a while ago, and was accept despite her Quirklessness because she's that good. Maybe her scientist father lends her legitimacy/protection from such things. There's a lot of ways to explain that off, but if I'm being honest I don't think that's something Hori actually put thought into, so I'm not surprised her backstory and what shaped her is unknown/more or less non-existent.

On the other hand, Mirio is in a completely different situation than someone born Quirkless, because he had a Quirk. He was a hero, he has a history of success, and had that taken away from him. Of course he's going to be treated differently!

He was normal, is the thing, and so from that lense the natural thing people would think of him isn't contempt for a lesser, but pity. If you look at Quirklessness as a disability, than while Izuku has, what, a birth defect(? Not really sure there's a good example to use, here), Mirio is a veteran with a missing leg.... though, again, after he loses his Quirk he's put on a bus until he gets it back, and even then he's barely there, so... we don't actually know how he was treated.

And all of that brings us to the other way to look at Quirklessness: as a story element. This is the end where so many complaints come from, and it's clear it's an element Hori dropped, and wanted to be forgotten, a long time ago. I've said it before, but MHA is a story with the bones of a completely different story in it; so much of early MHA is built around a lower key, lower power leveled dynamic, in the same vein as the one shot with the older Izuku who never gets a Quirk, one that was rapidly phased out for the newer flashier story... but it was never removed properly, and it suffers from that incomplete separation.

It's the same reason that Izuku gets through the Sports Festival largely with his wits, but not too long after he goes on the field trip and the only way he can deal with Muscular is with raw power, even though (as pointed out by @kingvamps a while ago in a comment) he has, like, a designated weak spot in his eye, literally a, 'hit here to beat him' area, which could have been used as the way a much weaker (Quirkless) Izuku could have beaten his much stronger opponent (if, admittedly, a version that is maybe less overwhelmingly powerful than what we see in canon), perhaps with some help from Kota: because the Sports Festival still has those bones from the original story, planned around that dynamic, where Izuku was presumably Quirkless, and so has to solve his problems with his mind, where by the time we meet Muscular we've completely moved past that into the new story, where, if it was possible, Izuku was never really Quirkless at all, and even if he was it never really mattered to him. Now let's watch him punch good!

(For the record, I'll point out that around that time period is where we transition from Bakugou having some (not enough) consequences to his actions/attitude, to his attitude suddenly being great and awesome, and isn't it funny how that works out?

You can see the bones, again, where Bakugou being a bad person was actually relevant in some earlier draft of MHA, until we reached the point where he was either written out of the story all together, and thus Hori was writing him without that guideline, or his role just became much more important and had to be altered accordingly, and so he, and how people reacted to him, changed out of nowhere to the new standard that has continued from then onwards.

The fact that Izuku's Quirklessness and how it affected him, and his traumatic backstory as a whole, would reflect negatively on Bakugou if it was focused on at all, who at that point seemed to be promoted in the manga's storyline is probably connected on some level to the fact that those factors also stopped being relevant. Though, admittedly, I doubt that that's the only reason why Quirklessness was phased out of the plot, I don't think it's an insignificant reason for it either. While this is technically correct and relevant, it's also something I think is a bit too off topic, so I'll leave it at this for now.)

You're right that, in this final product we've been given, outside of one or two chapters that could have been edited, there's no actual relevance with Izuku originally being Quirkless. It is, for all intents and purposes, a useless story element... but it shouldn't be. There is so much potential to exploring it, so much that could have been done to develop Izuku, Bakugou, and just the setting as a whole, that could have made everything deeper, and more interesting, and one of the biggest problems with the story is this, that a fundamental part of the main character was deemed inconvenient and abandoned.

#ask #bnha critical #mha critical #bakugou critical #izuku deserves better #quirklessness #the lack of quirkless development

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ruddyhotelau · 22 days

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if you had to pick one specific design detail from each of your characters that is your favorite, which would it be and why?

For Nate:

Michael - his cane (the overall design and the story behind it)

Vox - his oufit (it's fun to draw and look at)

Emily - her snake tail (everyone loves M)

Lute - her hair (you could easily tell which species she's based on plus it looks cool)

For Adureal:

Michael: Mike's tattered wings - because it is the clearest proof of Mike's absolute protection for Sera and Emi when all three of them fell. He used his wings to cover them both and thanks to him, both of them fallen safe and sound without any wound.

Vox: The wire behind his head - It resembles both a tail and a deadly weapon. Similar to Al's shadow, it also express Vox's true emotions. In addition, the wire can be extended as long as desired and when needed, Vox can insert the plug into the back of the opponent's neck, causing them to lose consciousness. From there, Vox can easily penetrate a person's brain and read the memories and information they know through the virtual screen he creates. He can alter, mess around, arrange or delete memories as he please.

Emily: The snake's tail named M - I'm proud because it's quite unique, moreover, I like the fact that Emi has a little friend who is always by her side whenever she needs her and who shares everything with her. M is extremely adorable like Emi so I love it so much!!! Double cutie pie for real.

Lute: Prosthetic arm - after "that thing" took her arm, Lute begged Emily to regenerate a new biological arm for her. The reason is because when Lute used the mechanical arm, she felt inconvenience. Loose screws, forgetting to lubricate, installing too tight, etc. Just a few problems and the arm won't work as smoothly. Lute is afraid that in her future battle with Vaggie, it will get in the way. Despite Emily's warning that the process will be dangerous and painful, even with a low success rate, Lute will do anything for her revenge. Emily had no choice but to agreed and it was truly the most terrible pain Lute had to experience in her life. Finally, a bat-shaped arm grew out and that magic also partly influenced Lute to gain other bat-like characteristics later.

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cecilysass · 1 month

Text

Shine On (10/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 10: None for You

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 23, 2015 6:50 am

Jackson wakes up and slides out of the twin bed, creeping over to peer out the guest room window.

Outside the light is strange and silver, sunrise filtered through the gunmetal gray of clouds overhead. Jackson’s eyes roam over the dim, silent farmland adjacent to Mulder’s property. He thinks it looks cold out, like it could even snow.

He goes to the pile of old clothes Mulder set out for him and paws through each item, looking for something practical and warm. He selects the jeans he wore yesterday, a long sleeve waffle weave shirt, and a striped sweater that looks from a different era, like it belongs to a Friends cast member or something. Again the sleeves are too long, completely covering his hands. He decides that will help keep him warmer.

As he sits on the bed tying his shoes, he listens closely for sounds in the house: first with his ears, then more carefully with his shine.

He’s pretty sure Scully slept downstairs last night. After Jackson came up to his room, he’d read ghost stories in bed for a while, studiously ignoring both of them. He just needed a break. No more questions, no more pressure.

But he felt these little wafts of emotions drifting up from time to time anyway. Later, after he heard Mulder come up the stairs, he still sensed that ember of Scully’s emotions glowing somewhere down there beneath the floorboards. He doesn’t think she ever left the first floor.

He stands up, shoes tied, considering his next move.

He decides to do the thing they do in movies: stuff some pillows in the twin bed, then throw the quilt over and shape the lumps so it looks like he is curled up underneath. He thinks he does a pretty convincing job. If someone looked in the door to the room, it would really look like he were asleep there.

Next he closes his eyes, clears his head, makes sure he’s alert to all the minds around him. He discovers Mulder is awake but still lying in bed, so he gently alters Mulder’s perception to make sure he’ll hear no footsteps on the stairs.

He reaches out to try to do the same to Scully, but he has trouble for some reason. When he sneaks out of his room and down the stairs, he sees why. As soon as he sets foot on the first floor, he can tell she is still asleep on the couch.

Hopefully she doesn’t wake up easily. Just in case, he has an altered image ready to shine in her mind: an impression that the room is empty and silent, that there is no one else there.

He tiptoes across the floor to stand behind the couch and glance down at her. This stranger, his biological mother, completely lost to sleep. Her face is crushed into the pillow, and her breathing is regular.

As he watches her, his shine unexpectedly picks up a strange image: she is lost in a snowstorm, blinding white, crying out for help, calling Mulder’s name, her abdomen swollen in pregnancy. Something snakelike is down her throat, keeping her from breathing properly.

Her lips twitch slightly in sleep as he stands there.

He blinks, shudders, clearing his mind of the picture. Disturbing dream. He wonders if any part of it really happened.

Trying to ignore any other images coming his way, he heads towards the front door. Mulder’s puffy winter coat is there, and he picks it up, pulling it around each of his arms without fastening it. It, too, is too big. Then he opens the latch, cracks the door, and slips outside.

Outside, the early morning cold nips at his face right away. Ghostly traces of fog linger around the house and in between trees. The ground glitters with frost. Each puff of breath curls out from his mouth, and he slips his hands into the deep pockets of Mulder’s coat.

He makes his way around the side of the little house, the ice-coated grass crunching underfoot. He’s aiming for the clump of trees near the back of Mulder’s property. Those trees grow in a tight knot, and whatever lies inside of them is dark with shadows.

He hesitates, squints, looking for any sign of anyone standing near the trees. All at once Jackson feels nervous.

He thinks about the man who came after them yesterday. What if someone unexpected is out here, waiting and watching? Someone who knows Jackson is out here, someone who is tracking his moves? Mulder and Scully had been so panicked about getting him inside. He remembers that sharp spiky thing Mulder had. Maybe he should have brought that with him, although he can’t imagine what he would have done with it.

Instantly, instinctively, he closes his eyes and stretches out with his shine to check around him. He can find no one else around, no people nearby at all, except for the muted minds of Scully and Mulder inside the house. Scully’s still asleep; Mulder’s pondering his life choices quietly in bed.

But he hadn’t shined that man’s mind yesterday either, had he? Nor had he ever been able to shine Rose.

He can’t shine Rose this time, either.

As he walks into the heart of the trees, she is standing inside, half obscured in purple shadow. She’s wearing a sleek black coat and black boots, like she has dressed not to be seen. She has a gray scarf over her mouth that she pulls down when she sees him.

He’s really happy to see her, as weird and slightly scary as she is. He raises his hand and smiles, but she only takes a single step towards him, her face calm and eyes unblinking.

“Hi, Jackson,” she says.

***

Even though Rose doesn’t say much, there is something about her that makes her easy for him to talk to. Jackson wants to tell her everything, and she listens, in that cool, serious way she has.

“So your problem is Dana?” she says, tilting her head in consideration.

“She herself isn’t the problem, really. It’s just it hurts to be around her,” Jackson says. “Is there a way to stop it? To control the flow coming from her?”

“There is,” Rose says. “I can show you. She can do a few things to help, too, if you think she’s willing.”

Jackson heaves a sigh, relieved. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Are you doing okay? Otherwise?” The young woman’s face betrays no emotion, and her words are businesslike. Even though he’s spent time with Rose before, it still feels funny to Jackson not to be able to use his shine on her. Something like being blindfolded. He can’t get over not having any idea what she’s thinking.

“Yeah, I guess,” Jackson says. “I’m still messed up about my parents, but … I’m glad you took me to Mulder. If I hadn’t found him—them— I don’t know what would have happened.”

She smiles a closed-lip smile. “I knew it was a good idea.”

“How? How did you know that?”

“I told you. I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a long time.”

“Why?” He tries the most important questions again. “How do you know me? Who are you, exactly?”

She gives him a quizzical look. “I actually thought you’d inferred.”

Jackson shakes his head. “Nothing I can think of makes any sense.”

She says nothing, and her eyes focus away from him, full of some dark-edged emotion Jackson is relieved he can’t shine. In the days they’d traveled to Virginia from Wyoming, when she was showing him things about his shine in conversations at rest stops and on the balconies of motels, she often drifted off like this, just gazing off. As though she were lost in some private sadness.

“They want to know how I got here,” Jackson persists. “They’re worried. They keep asking. Can’t I tell them?”

“No,” she says, her tone final and decisive.

“I don’t understand,” Jackson says. “How come they don’t—”

“It’s very complicated, Jackson.”

“Where do you live? Is Rose your real name?” Jackson pushes. “Don’t you go to college or have a job or anything?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Rose says shortly, ignoring his questions. “And don’t say anything to them. Nothing. If you do, it will cause… problems. If you keep quiet, we can still meet on occasion, when I’m able. I can keep showing you how to control your shine.”

“But why? Why do you do this for me?”

“We’re family,” she says lightly, with a tinge of irony. “You do things for family. Or so I’m told.”

Jackson ponders this carefully. He can’t tell if she is being entirely serious. He knows she’s not related to the Van De Kamps, and their relatives didn’t tend to be the types to show up mysteriously with magical powers anyway. Even not having known his biological parents for very long, he suspects if she’s being sincere, she must be related to him through Mulder and Scully.

Actually, she looks like a younger version of Scully. That realization stuns him for a second, because it is suddenly so completely obvious he can’t believe he didn’t see it before. Rose is short, shorter than him. Her hair is lighter than Scully’s, but it’s reddish blonde. She has those pale blue eyes. And her voice, too—the way she speaks. It reminds him of Scully.

But Mulder had said they didn’t have other kids besides him. And Jackson didn’t detect any hint of a lie from him at that moment, nothing to indicate he was telling anything other than the truth. He seemed kind of sad about it, actually; there was that heaviness of regret in his thoughts. Nor could Jackson think of why he might lie about that.

Is it possible to have a kid and not know about it?

Rose presses her lips together and puts her hand on his arm. “Listen. When she’s near you, picture, like, a glass wall between you and her. It doesn’t have to be glass. Any translucent material. Visualize it and imagine her feelings bouncing off of it, not hitting you. When you get better at it, you can imagine her feelings staying within her own chest, never expanding out.”

Jackson is skeptical. “That’s it? Just picturing shit?”

“Picturing shit is the whole ball game,” she says wryly. “And it’s not easy. You’ll have to practice it. You’ll get better with time.”

“Is that what you do? To keep me from using my shine on you?”

“I don’t really have to,” Rose says, her tongue running over her bottom lip quickly. Her expression is cryptic. “There are things about me that aren’t like other people.”

Jackson scowls. “But you have it, too? The shine?” he asks curiously.

She nods shortly, but doesn’t elaborate. “Dana can also help from her end,” she adds. “She can visualize keeping her feelings within. Not radiating them outward. Really that’s something she does naturally anyway, so she should get it.”

“So you know her? Scully?”

“I met her once,” Rose says. Her face is completely still. “When I was a kid.”

“You’re related to her?”

Rose nods, and she looks down, seemingly to casually examine her nails. They’re painted dark red. Rose red, Jackson thinks.

“I don’t really get any of this,” Jackson says. He swallows. “But, I mean, if you’re their family, I’m sure they’d like to see you.”

“It’s not safe,” she says, looking up from her nails. He can’t be sure, in the dim light, but he thinks there could be tears in her eyes, which shocks him. Rose has never shown any sign of getting emotional before. She leans forward and embraces him, suddenly, which startles him, too. When she pulls back, she looks unruffled again, the only sign of her slip that her blue eyes are slightly wet. “So you be careful, too.”

What the fuck. He is too confused to answer properly.

She turns to walk away. “And yeah, Jackson,” she calls behind her, “you’re right. Rose didn’t used to be my name, like Jackson didn’t used to be yours. I chose the name Rose from an old song.”

There is a pause as Jackson waits for her to explain further. When she doesn’t—when she just begins to hurry into the woods—he just sighs in tired frustration, resigning himself to not knowing more.

But then she hesitates, ten feet away. Slowly she turns her icy eyes back to his.

As she does, the words of three perfectly formed sentences appear in his mind. The letters of each word slightly vibrate and jump around, but he reads them clearly, kind of like a computer screen or the titles of a movie.

Can’t you see? There’s nothing you can do. There’s loving everywhere but none for you.

The sentences send a chill through him that is unrelated to the cold morning.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he blurts out loud.

She just smiles slightly, mysteriously, and turns swiftly away towards the shadows.

***

Mulder pads down the stairs as quietly as he can, trying not to wake anyone else in the house up. At the foot of the stairs, he can hear hushed rhythmic breathing coming from the direction of the couch.

He follows the sounds and stands over the couch, letting himself look at her uninterrupted. Scully looks younger in sleep. Unguarded, like she did years ago when she’d routinely doze off against his shoulder on all those cross country flights. Like she’s got nothing to hide.

All morning he has been thinking about what happened last night, about the expression on her face as her lips touched his. The way her fingers trailed over his skin, each touch sending warm aches through him.

It was all exactly what he had hoped for. Practically an erotic dream come to life. The best possible thing that could have happened in his broken relationship with Scully: that she would reach out to him like that, tell him she missed him, kiss him with such need.

He would never have guessed he’d react like he did. Never. He’s been turning it over in his mind since he woke up.

On the couch Scully stirs a little in her sleep, and he fights with the urge to lean down and gently stroke her hair. Hold back until you’re sure, he reminds himself.

It was exactly her need that felt like the problem; it was exactly her need that worried him. He’d looked down at her, those wide and hungry blue eyes, and knew—just knew—that she would have walked away from him three days ago.

Because she doesn’t want just plain old sad sack Mulder, does she? She wants Mulder because he is Jackson’s biological father. Because Mulder can help her protect him. Because he is an important character in the all-consuming story of her baby, the son they lost.

And his failure in all of this—in doing a good job at any of it— is exactly why she stopped wanting him to begin with.

If they mess this up, if Jackson leaves, if he is taken from them, if they can’t protect him, if they aren’t good at this imitation parenting they’re doing… what will happen? Will that longing look in her eyes disappear? Will she revert back to polite and chilly small talk?

Much like hearing someone’s thoughts without wanting to, Mulder heard a sudden truth from his own mind: he won’t survive having and losing her again.

She murmurs something in her sleep, moving her lips soundlessly. Today is Scully’s birthday, Mulder remembers. He recalls what Jackson said, that she had been hoping he might be surprising her by taking her out. Maybe, Mulder thinks wistfully, that means she does have some interest in sad sack Mulder. Maybe there is some hope that he never entirely lost her love. But he doesn’t know that for sure. He doesn’t know anything about how she feels about this. He bites his lower lip, feeling as awkward as a teenager.

There is the squeak of a chair across the room, and Mulder looks up, suddenly on the alert.

Jackson is sitting at the kitchen table, wearing one of Mulder’s old sweaters, drinking a glass of water, and flipping through one of Mulder’s psychology texts. Strange. Mulder had not seen him there before. He scowls, puzzled, walking across the room to Jackson.

“Hey.” Mulder whispers. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Jackson says, looking up from the book. His cheeks are a little pink. Mulder wonders if it is the dry air.

“I didn’t know you were up,” Mulder says, keeping his voice lowered. “I somehow didn’t see you sitting there when I came downstairs.”

Jackson’s lips raise into a half smile. “Maybe you need some coffee.”

Mulder grins. “Yeah. Maybe so. Did you sleep well?”

“Sure,” Jackson says. His eyes drift uneasily across the room.

I didn’t leave anything out of place on his desk, did I?

The words land in Mulder’s mind like heavy rocks through a window, undeniable and painful. He has to force himself not to react—not to show his surprise on his face, and definitely not to look over at his desk. Keep busy in the kitchen, he tells himself. Start making coffee.

Mulder turns to get water for the coffee maker. As he does, he discreetly looks over towards his desk. It doesn’t look any different than usual at this distance. He needs to find a reason to go over there and inspect it more carefully.

As he’s pouring water into the coffee maker, he gets a sudden flash of a series of images from Jackson’s mind like some out of control slide show: the boy’s foot stepping on to the porch, his fingers latching the front door, Mulder’s winter coat slipping back on a hook.

Should be fine. Everything is back like it was.

Mulder feels an impact like a kick in the stomach. Jackson left the house. He actually went outside, despite the known danger. Why the fuck would he be outside? The idea that the boy is hiding something, something big, fills him with a sickening sense of betrayal he knows isn’t entirely logical.

And then as soon as he thinks it, he tries desperately not to think it. He can’t process it now. It’s too dangerous with Jackson here.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Mulder says casually, swallowing back the surge of nausea. “We have, uh, some bread. I think some oatmeal maybe?”

“You have eggs. I saw eggs yesterday,” Jackson says eagerly.

“You want eggs then?”

“I could make scrambled eggs,” Jackson offers. “I’m pretty good at that.”

Mulder widens his eyes. “All right,” he says. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah,” Jackson says, looking pleased. “I’m sure. Let me make breakfast. I make eggs at home all the time.”

Mulder watches as the boy gets up and starts pulling out bowls and spatulas, clearly excited about the project. He doesn’t look like someone who is hiding a big secret. He looks, frankly, like a kid.

“Try not to wake Scully up,” Mulder says lightly.

Jackson just nods vigorously as if that were obvious, and Mulder steps back, arms folded, trying to seem relaxed.

“I’m going to go see if Skinner emailed us the forms he was supposed to,” Mulder says, gesturing to his desk. “Let me know if, uh, you can’t find something you need.”

Jackson nods again, but he stops and looks over in Mulder’s direction for a half second before he opens the fridge.

You closed his laptop, right?

Again Mulder wills himself not to react to this sentence. In a way he hopes is natural, he glances over at Scully on the couch, who blissfully sleeps through anything. Then he casually approaches his desk, his chest tight.

For a moment he stares hard at the laptop sitting on the desk. Jackson had, apparently, remembered to close it.

Mulder forces himself to breathe in and out, trying to clear his mind. He knows he needs to calm down. Jackson could pick up on a snippet of his thoughts at any moment.

Carefully he turns and watches Jackson’s back in the kitchen, watching for any sign to suggest Jackson is already aware of his discomfort. But Jackson’s cheerfully cracking eggs into the bowl.

He sits down at his desk and opens up the laptop. It is password-protected—Chilmark61—but the password is written pretty prominently in Mulder’s scrawling handwriting on an orange sticky note on the desk, which Mulder admits isn’t his finest security move. He can just imagine the lecture he would have gotten from Frohike. But it’s usually him alone here at the house, and he forgets passwords more than he probably should.

There is nothing strange opened on the computer, nothing seemingly out of order. He opens a browser window. Could this be as simple and straightforward as a 13-year old looking at porn? Please let it be that simple, Mulder thinks. Please let this be about busty naked ladies.

He looks at the browser history and sees a few pages accessed this morning, about fifteen minutes ago. Specifically a search engine and a song lyrics site.

Song lyrics don’t seem particularly nefarious. But still Mulder’s heart thumps distractingly loudly. He opens the search engine page in the history to see what Jackson was searching for.

In the search field he’d typed “can’t you see, there’s nothing you can do, there’s loving everywhere but none for you.”

Eerie melancholy creeps over Mulder. The lines don’t mean anything to him, but they definitely seem ominous. So sad, so hopeless. What do they mean to Jackson? What could be going on in the kid’s head?

The results for his search were all pretty much the same. The words were part of the lyrics of a 1968 song by a British band, the Zombies, “A Rose for Emily.” Mulder thinks he might vaguely remember the song, but not very well. It really doesn’t seem like a song a kid should know anything about.

He clicks on the same lyrics page that Jackson had visited and scans the song’s lyrics more systematically.

Her roses are fading now She keeps her pride somehow That's all she has protecting her from pain And as the years go by She will grow old and die The roses in her garden fade away Not one left for her grave Not a rose for Emily Emily, can't you see There's nothing you can do? There's loving everywhere But none for you

Something tightens and twists painfully in Mulder’s stomach, a symptom he recognizes as anxiety. Why would Jackson be looking for this?

It could be for a perfectly innocent reason. Maybe he remembered hearing it somewhere, on the radio or something, and he had a few of the lyrics rattling around in his mind. Maybe he googled it just to know what song it was. That happens to everyone sometimes, doesn’t it?

But why would he be so concerned with keeping it a secret? And what did this have to do with him leaving the house?

Mulder closes the browser window. He presses his eyes closed and folds his hands together, strategizing what exactly to do and say. He stands up and walks back towards the kitchen.

Immediately he can see that Jackson doesn’t look so cheerful anymore. He is actively scrambling eggs now, turning them over and over with the spatula. He’s staring down at his work with no expression, his face stone.

Mulder knows he’s been using his shine.

“You know,” Jackson says casually, “you could have asked me.”

Mulder watches the spatula move across the pan, scooping up eggs and flipping them over. He waits.

“Instead of checking browser histories and all,” Jackson adds bluntly. “You said you were going to trust me.”

Mulder sighs heavily. “You’ve not exactly been honest with us, Jackson.”

“I haven’t lied to you.” Jackson’s eyes flash up dangerously at him, his lips pursing in anger. He looks shockingly like Scully.

“You don’t think using your abilities to mislead me … is a kind of lying?” Mulder says. “Because that’s what I think you did this morning. To keep me from knowing you left the house. To keep me from realizing that you used my laptop.”

Jackson turns off the heat on the stove. His jaw sets; he looks at the food so he does not make eye contact. “Speaking of lying,” he says in a tight voice, “you told me you didn’t have a shine. Not for years. You told me you couldn’t read people’s thoughts or feelings.”

Mulder nods, running his hand over his mouth. “Yeah. I did say that. Because until recently, it was true.”

“Well, I can’t help but notice that you seem to have one now.”

“For exactly one person,” Mulder says. “Only for you. Not for anyone else.”

Jackson’s eyes shoot up to Mulder’s. “Seriously? You’re being serious?”

“I am,” Mulder admits.

“You only can shine me?” repeats Jackson. He sets down the spatula, his eyes growing round in horror.

“Yeah,” Mulder says. “But it’s not like I–”

“Stay out of my head,” Jackson warns, taking a step backwards. “Don’t use your shine on me, Mulder.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that,” Mulder says gently. “I can’t help it. I’m not doing it on purpose. And I’m only getting little pieces every once in a while, Jackson. I’m not exactly—”

“I can’t handle this.” Jackson puts his hands up over his face.

“I know you’re overwhelmed,” Mulder says. “But Jackson, this is important. Why did you leave the house? Why are you searching for these song lyrics? What do they mean? Why are they important?”

“God, I can’t tell you,” Jackson says. “I already said.”

Cold panic runs through Mulder. “So this is about the person who brought you here? Is that person still around? Are you in contact with them?”

Jackson groans, covering his ears, and walks to the kitchen door, looking out the window.

“What’s going on?” Scully’s voice startles Mulder, and he whirls around to see her. She is standing at the kitchen table, hair messy from sleep, arms folded tightly, eyes wide.

“I’ll explain in a minute,” Mulder says to her, holding his hand out, “I just want to—”

He’s interrupted by a clear broadcast from Jackson’s mind, warning words thought loud and clear.

Are you there? Mulder can read my thoughts. I don’t think I can hide you from him in my mind. I’m sorry.

This isn’t aimed at him, Mulder realizes queasily.

He stands there blinking, staring blankly at Scully, trying to comprehend what he just heard.

“Mulder?” Scully takes a step towards him, concerned.

He turns back to Jackson, who has backed up against the kitchen door. He’s wrapped his arms around himself, and he looks young and frightened in Mulder’s too-big sweater.

Whoever Jackson just tried to send a message to must also have a shine, Mulder realizes. Which means this person is someone Jackson can communicate with anywhere and any time. He suddenly feels dizzy and weak.

He needs to pull it together, fast, and consider his next move carefully.

“I’m going upstairs for a second,” Mulder says in a hoarse voice. “I–” He shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll go for a run or something. Leave you two to talk.”

Jackson is still watching him warily, his back against the kitchen door. He says nothing.

Scully’s sharp gaze snaps from Mulder to Jackson, then back again. “All right,” she says carefully. Her forehead is creased, revealing her confusion and worry. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Mulder nods quickly.

“You’ll … let me know if you need something?”

“Yeah,” Mulder agrees roughly. “Of course. I just… I just need a minute.”

Feeling their eyes on him, he walks dazedly towards the stairs, each step suddenly feeling like an effort.

Partway up the stairs, he stops, gripping the handrail. He closes his eyes and summons all his will.

He’s not positive how to intentionally send a message out to someone unknown in the universe, but he’s sure going to try.

Whoever you are, he attempts to push out into the world. talk to me. Fucking talk to me. Let me know what you want with my kid. Let me fix whatever this is however I can. Come deal with me, face to face.

There. Done.

He walks up the stairs, feeling surprisingly like he’s done something significant. He needs to go put on warmer clothes if he’s going outside.

***

#xfiles fanfic #the x files #x files fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #x files #xf fanfic #msr #jackson van de kamp #x files revival

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