thinking about morty's stats and remembering back to when rick talked about "morty waves"

no wonder they "cancel out" because they're both so intelligent it's like trying to link two magnets together. they repel each other. like fucking duh we knew this already, but it's nice to see it confirmed to us in s7ep7

morty isn't dumb, he's just a different kind of intelligent that's on the same unique level as rick. what makes it doubly unique is that rick (or rick's in general) are unable to truly understand it so they brush it off/downplay it

i like to think that both morty and rick are coded to be autistic, and their special interests shown reveal that. rick's special interest is science and engineering, morty's is art. i'd like to think it's art since he loves video games and is naturally very creative. like yeah he's a 14/15 year old boy so obviously he loves video games but i mean it in the sense of how he appreciates them as an art form/story telling thing and not just something to play to pass the time

i love rewatching "rest and ricklaxation" because this is shown so clearly as rick is "creating a new element" and morty is practicing pottery

they're literally two sides of the same coin

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐍𝐨 𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

rick sanchez x reader

anon request: please i can request literally anything with rick sanchez acting jealous. Thanks and if you don't accept requests just ignore this tags: sexually suggestive, possessive & obsessive rick, daddy kink notes: minors dni wc: 2.2k

Rick doesn’t get attached.

He is Rick Sanchez. The smartest man, scratch that, creature alive. He isn’t a mere human, he is a God. Whatever Rick wants, he gets. He invented interdimensional travel. He fucked a planet.

Rick doesn’t get attached.

He knows that everything and everyone is replaceable. If someone dies he can just switch universes. Does he lose something? Same thing. Nothing is unique. There are millions of versions of everything. 

Rick doesn’t get attached.

That’s why when you confessed your feelings in a drunken haze Rick yelled at you. Rick thought you were at least smarter than Morty. You should have known that Rick doesn’t do feelings. That you’re nothing special. That you’re just a quick fuck when his cock gets hard and needs some easy pussy wrapped around it.

Rick doesn’t get attached.

He didn’t understand why he felt pressure in his heart when you started crying, endless tears streaming down your cheeks as you apologized after he rejected your feelings. He didn’t understand why he suddenly felt the need to reach his arms out and pull you into a tight embrace. Instead he insulted you as a whiny dumb bitch before disappearing through a green portal.

Rick doesn’t get attached.

So why was he fuming with rage as he saw you cuddled up on the couch with some other man weeks after he told you to fuck off?

A relentless fire, burning away any semblance of rational thought consumed Rick. His eyes smoldered with suspicion at the slightest hint of the man's attention toward you. Rick’s gestures became tense and guarded, his clenched fists betraying the turmoil within. Every smile directed at you from that dude sent a surge of insecurity coursing through Rick’s veins, twisting his features into a mask of possessiveness. Each innocent interaction fueled his rage until it consumed him entirely.

“Wh–Who the fuck is that–that lame fratboy on my couch?!”, Rick didn’t even bother to step closer, his voice dripping with anger. Your eyes shot wide open as you saw the tall scientists near the door. After your confession you avoided him as best as you could – after all you did live with the Smith family ever since your parents (their old neighbors) abandoned you. You never joined an adventure again. You never went into his garage to simply chat with him. You didn’t even ask if you could smoke space-weed. Nothing. That pissed Rick off even more because he caught himself missing you one time too many.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I’m Michael”, Michael was a polite, handsome young man, who attended the same college you did. Smiling, he reached his hand out towards Rick to shake his hand, “Are you y/n’s grandfather?”

If looks could kill every version of Michael would be dead by now. “You’re fuck–fucking stupid.” Rick would’ve loved to just kill that boy or at least cut off Michael’s hand, which was dangerously close to your thigh. You two were way too close for Rick in general. “y/n, who is that? Your new–new lover, huh? You little– Spreading your legs a–already?”

Rick knew he was overstepping it. He should have never said that but he couldn’t help it. You didn’t talk to him for weeks after you said that you love him with all your heart and now you’re with some lame, boring dumbass? Is that what undying love looks like? 

“…You’re a fucking asshole, Rick”, Rick could hear you holding back your tears, the way your eyes started to water, your cheeks painted red. He hurt you – again. Meanwhile Michael had already stood up and made his way over to Rick.

„Listen to m–„ Michael didn‘t stand a chance, Rick immediately interrupted him. 

„Li–Listen to me, shitface. I know– You fratboys are all the fucking–fucking same. You wanna tell me y–you‘re serious about y/n?“, he stepped closer, „You– Could you give her your phone and promise–promise she wouldn‘t find nudes or chats from other pussies?“

Absolute silence. This was all it took for Rick to confirm his suspicions. „Now you‘re si–silent? Jesus. How predictable. Jesus fucking christ. You think just because you’re d–defending her right now she’ll let you have– get a piece of her? You– Do you really think y/n would do that?” More silence though now Michael’s expression almost matched Rick’s. Both were fuming with rage. Rick simply shook his head, pulled out his portal gun and ended up in his garage again. If he would have stayed any longer he would have ended up beating that fratboy to a pulp.

In the dimly lit confines of his garage, the air thick with the pungent scent of portal fluid and vodka, Rick's rage simmered beneath a haze of alcohol fumes. His knuckles whitened around his flask as he gulped down the fiery liquid, each swig fueling the inferno of jealousy and resentment burning within him. The echoes of a heated argument still reverberated in his mind, igniting a storm of emotions that threatened to consume him whole. His bloodshot eyes fixated on nothingness, yet his thoughts were consumed by visions of betrayal and deceit, twisting his features into a contorted mask of fury.

Rick's movements grew increasingly erratic, his drunken stupor amplifying the intensity of his emotions. Each swill from the bottle became a desperate attempt to drown out the insecurities gnawing at his soul. Yet, with every passing moment, the flames of anger raged higher, feeding off his intoxication like a relentless blaze devouring dry timber. Alone in the darkness, he surrendered to the tumultuous tempest raging within, consumed by a toxic cocktail of alcohol, jealousy, and resentment. Resentment towards Michael, you and most importantly – himself.

“Fuck it.”

His plan was to be teleported in the middle of your room, right in front of your bed. Instead he landed right on top of you on your bed. Maybe he really did have too much to drink. But fuck, did he miss this. Your silky hair, your soft skin, your body pressed against his, your eyes staring into his. The faint glow of moonlight filtering through the window accentuated the contours of Rick’s silhouette, casting a seductive allure over the scene. His gaze, intense and unwavering, bore into yours, a silent invitation laden with unspoken desires.

As you laid on the bed, a mixture of melancholia and yearning coursed through your veins, your heart quickening in response to his proximity. The air crackled with tension, charged with the palpable electricity of unspoken words and unfulfilled longing. Despite the intimacy of their proximity, there lingered a delicate balance between attraction and apprehension, a dance of emotions teetering on the edge of possibility. In that fleeting moment, suspended in the hazy embrace of moonlight, you found yourselves ensnared in a silent exchange of desire, your hearts entwined in the delicate threads of possibility.

“What…what are you doing, Rick? Please leave”, your voice was shaking, filled with sadness. Just like a few weeks ago when Rick rejected you. Honestly as the days unfolded, the weight of his decision settled upon him like a heavy shroud, suffocating him with the burden of regret. What once seemed like a reasoned choice now gnawed at his conscience incessantly, tormenting him with the realization of what he had forsaken. In the quiet moments of reflection, your presence lingered in the recesses of Rick’s mind, a constant reminder of the warmth and companionship he had callously turned away. He yearned for a chance to rewind time, to recant his words and embrace the opportunity he had foolishly cast aside. But as the echoes of his rejection reverberated through his thoughts, he grappled with the harsh truth that some wounds inflicted by one's own hand can never fully heal, leaving behind scars of remorse that serve as a painful testament to lost love.

In a moment of raw vulnerability, Rick found himself enveloped by a surge of longing and regret as he reached out to embrace you. His arms wrapped around your trembling form, pulling you close with a tenderness born from the depths of his remorse. With each beat of his heart, Rick felt the weight of missed opportunities and unspoken apologies pressing down upon him, a heavy burden he could no longer bear. As your bodies pressed together, he savored the warmth of your presence, a fleeting glimpse of the connection he had foolishly forsaken. In that embrace, Rick sought solace in the familiarity of your touch, yearning to erase the distance he had allowed to grow between you. But even as he held you close, Rick knew that some wounds run too deep to mend with a simple embrace, and the ache of regret would linger long after your arms had untangled and they parted ways once more. So, he didn’t let go.

“Why– Why did you b-bring that boy over?”, Rick whispered into your ear.

“…Why do you even care?”

With a heavy heart and a tangled web of emotions, Rick mustered the courage to lean back and face you, intent on conveying the depth of his regret for his earlier rejection. His words caught in his throat, a silent plea for forgiveness lingering on Rick’s lips. Yet, beneath the facade of contrition, a different truth simmered—a truth he dared not confess. Deep down, Rick knew that admitting his regret would unravel the carefully constructed walls he had built around his heart, exposing the vulnerability he had long sought to conceal. So, with practiced deceit, Rick masked his true intentions behind a facade of remorse, weaving a tangled web of half-truths and feigned contrition in a desperate attempt to suppress the stirring of emotions he dared not acknowledge. In the shadow of his deception, the echoes of his regret remained unspoken, a silent testament to the complexities of love and the fear of baring one's soul to the object of Rick’s desire.

“Did you– Did you fuck him?”

“Why do you care?”

“y/n, st–stop with this shit. Are you dating him?”

“Why do you care?”

As you persisted, your insistence slicing through the fragile veneer of Rick’s composure, a simmering rage ignited within him, fueling the flames of his resentment. With each passing moment, your few simple words bore deeper into Rick’s wounded pride, stoking the embers of his anger into a blazing inferno. The weight of your expectations pressed down upon him like a suffocating weight, a constant reminder of the vulnerability he sought to shield from your penetrating gaze. Fueled by a toxic cocktail of jealousy and insecurity, his temper flared, unleashing a torrent of pent-up frustration and bitterness.

“What the fuck– What d–do you want to hear, huh?!”, Rick leaned on his hands, which were lying next to your head.

“Rick, listen, you rejected me. You didn’t want me, remember? I can fuck and date however I fucking want! ”

“No! You fucking can’t!”, he screamed into your face, “You said– You said loved me! Talking about– about undying love and now?! Now you get with s–some young bastard from co–college who only wanted to– to fuck you anyway!”

“That’s exactly what you wanted, too! You only wanted to fuck me!”

“That’s not fucking true! I– The last fucking weeks were pure torture. I fucking m–miss you! I can’t fuck–fucking stop thinking about you, y/n. I miss your fucking smell, your h–hair, your voice. Fucking e–everything! I miss your face, the–the way you nag me to drink more water. Jesus fucking christ! I miss you. Why– Why the fuck are crying even more now?!”

With tears of joy streaming down your cheeks, you listened intently as Rick finally mustered the courage to confess the truth hidden behind his guarded facade. As his words washed over you, each syllable laden with the weight of unspoken longing and regret, a floodgate of emotions burst forth within you. Your heart soared with a bittersweet symphony of relief and elation, the echoes of Rick’s confession resonating deep within your soul. The tears that spilled from your eyes were not born of sorrow, but of an overwhelming sense of gratitude and validation, as you realized that the love you had held in your heart had not been in vain.

In a tender moment suffused with the weight of unspoken truths and undeniable desire, Rick leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours in the hazy embrace of the moonlit room. With a gentle touch, Rick cradled your face in his hands, his fingers tracing the contours of your skin. As your lips met in a fervent kiss, time seemed to stand still, the world falling away to leave only the two of you entwined in the delicate dance of passion and longing. With each caress, the walls he had built around his heart crumbled, leaving him vulnerable and exposed in the embrace of her warmth. In that moment of intimacy, you surrendered to the magnetic pull of your shared desire, bodies entangled in a silent symphony of love and redemption.

“You know– You know I’m not good with…emotions and shit. But– But you’re important to me and–and I’m not letting another man touch what’s mine.”

“You were jealous?”

“I wasn’t– Fuck it. Yes, yes, I was. Wanted to k–kill that motherfucker. The way he–he had his arm around–”, in the middle of his rant you wrapped your legs around Rick’s waist, pulling him closer. His crotch pressing against yours.

“Just so you know, I have been very, very lonely the last few weeks.”

“Oh? S–So you’ve been a good–good girl for daddy, huh?”, it didn’t take long for Rick to get hard, his bulge pressing against you, his hand now choking you slightly, “F–fuck, princess, daddy’s going to–to reward you for being so patient.”

Shadow and Mirror

Read on AO3, written for this prompt

Cody has a new crush.

Well, a “crush” implies something much more childish than the point he’s reached in his life.

Cody has… felt a connection and really hit it off with someone he finds reasonably attractive.

His brothers are being less than supportive.

“He is my Jedi and one of my best friends,” Rex says, “but I just… for both your sakes, life will be so much easier if you don’t go for it.”

Cody is unfazed. “You do remember he was my Jedi Commander before he got promoted and took you with him, right? I know what he’s like, and I’m into it.”

Rex makes a face. “Uh, all due respect, Cody—”

Oh, this bitch.

“—but he’s changed in some pretty big ways since he split from Kenobi.”

“So’ve I.”

This earns him an eyeroll. “Yes, yes, you’ve discovered your romantic charisma and started charming the pants off of any sentient you encounter on leave. You do realize that’s part of the problem?”

“That I have game?”

“Skywalker doesn’t do casual,” Rex insists. “Open, maybe, if you talk about it, but he doesn’t do casual.”

After a moment of consideration, Cody shrugs. “I can work with that.”

“Can you?” Rex challenges. “Can you really deal with the full force of Anakin’s attention? With him losing his entire mind if you get hurt, and calling you up at three in the morning to chat, and promising you the galaxy in a bunch of flowery words that should be hyperbole, but really, really worryingly sounds literal and sincere?”

“…did you try dating him?”

“No, but I was there basically every time he hung with Amidala, and that shit continued past the point where he gave up on romantic seduction and settled into friendship,” Rex says, more of a grumpy complaint than anything, “and she’s just as weird as he is when it comes to all that, so it’s no skin off her back to match his energy, but you are not on their level.”

“Rude.”

“I’m just saying,” Rex grits out from between clenched teeth, “that you like to have fun, and Anakin likes to dedicate every morsel of crazy knocking around his brain to whichever poor soul ended up in his affections.”

“I feel like insulting your CO that much is grounds for a court martial.”

“Echo told him, to his face, that he occasionally seemed crazy as a bag of tooka kits and about as hinged as a sliding door. General Skywalker took a second to process, and then laughed. He doesn’t care, not if it’s from a friend.”

Cody hums. “Which you are.”

“Yes.”

“Enough to warn me away before I break his heart?” Cody asks. Rex looks away, and Cody can only chuckle. “You’re not that subtle, Rex.”

“I’m trying to make sure you do what’s best for both of you,” Rex insists, glancing at Cody for only a moment before breaking eye contact again, “so Anakin doesn’t get disappointed, and so you’re not walking in blind when it comes to him being… the most.”

Cody snorts. “I can handle Skywalker, Rex. I may not be a Jedi or a Senator, but I can handle one brat with a smart mouth, a bad attitude, and a couple of super-powers.”

Rex grimaces. “I mean… it’s not really… that simple. The Force stuff, I mean.”

There’s something a little odd to Rex’s voice with that one, more than just the weird pauses. Cody doesn’t dismiss it quite as easily as he might have. Instead, he carefully asks, “the whole ‘Chosen’ thing some of the Shinies were gossiping about? Kenobi said it was an old superstition more than anything, a metaphor taken too literally, and that even the Jedi argue about it.”

“When?”

Cody’s expression must speak for him, because Rex clarifies without prompting.

“When did Kenobi say that?”

Cody looks past him at the wall, frowning as he thinks. Rex waits, and doesn’t take it too personally; they know each other too well for that. Finally, Cody shrugs. “A couple months in. Skywalker was still a Jedi Commander with the 212th.”

“So, before Mortis.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “This has to do with that shitshow?”

Rex looks uncomfortable. “You… aren’t 501st.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Well… Kenobi didn’t get possessed. Or channel a god. He just used an extra weird lightsaber for a bit.”

Cody gives it a few moments, and then finally says, “Rex.”

His brother continues to look uncomfortable.

“What did that place do to Skywalker and Tano?”

(Continue on AO3)

Honestly while Rick has the emotional maturity of a 5 year old who cries because his best friend won't play with him at recess, I feel like that's not the only reason why he's so harsh to Morty and is unable to let Morty know how much he cares for him. While that's certainly part of it, I think it also has something to do with Morty himself.

He finds his attachment to this Morty in particular irrational, just Morty, not the rest of the family, but Morty in particular. He only gets jealous and possessive over Morty. He's only willing to go to extreme lengths to make sure this Morty in particular stays with him. He's only willing to sacrifice himself to Morty, he's only shown to be extremely protective of this Morty, willing to put himself in the line of gunshots as long as it means shielding Morty. He doesn't care about other Mortys. Just this Morty. This Morty in particular. His Morty. Morty literally means everything Rick, but Rick is always so harsh to Morty, to the point where Morty internalized it and doesn't believe that his grandpa loves him or even care about him at all when the truth is he does an agonizing amount. But everyone knows that already.

My question is why Morty? He insults Summer significantly less than Morty, he uses affectionate names and never insults Beth, he's kind to Birdperson and Mr. Pooopybutthole. So it's not just because he's emotionally immature since that doesn't stop him from being kind (As far as being kind goes for Rick) to other people.

It's pretty obvious to see the reason why he would never admit how much he cares about Morty. Because he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to admit to Morty, and to himself that he loves his worst enemy's grandson more than he loves anything else, including himself (Which isn't saying a lot considering he hates himself, but yk what I mean)

He's also terrified that if he shows it, Morty will leave or get hurt, seeing as that has happened with people in his past when he opened up, with Diane and Birdperson. Birdperson distances himself from Rick for a while after Rick confesses his love for Birdperson, and gets shot at his wedding despite Rick being able to bring Birdperson back, I doubt that he's able to get the image of Birdperson being shot right after he opened up to him out of his mind, he even says in season 6 episode 10 to Morty "I've become dogshit to you! This is what happens when you let people in and they stop respecting you, they touch your shit, they kill your fucking family!"

Morty leaving is one of the last things Rick wants, so that's why he keeps insulting him, thinking if he keeps Morty's confidence low enough, he'll stick around, it is incredibly unhealthy, but Rick is willing to do whatever it takes as long as it means Morty is by his side, even if it's tricking Morty into giving up his dream, whatever it takes. I also think it's due to as I mentioned before, Morty being Rick Prime's grandson, while it's not Morty's fault, I think he holds a certain amount of resentment towards Morty for being the grandson of the guy who killed his wife and child. That resentment gets mixed up with genuine care, so he just lashes out. Now while this is no excuse for anything Rick does to Morty, I think it's interesting to look at the reasons behind it, this was a long post but I hoped you enjoyed it!

Pairing: Reader x Hongjoong

Word count: 1.3

Genre: Angst | Non-Idol AU | Is a heavy reference to Rick and Morty's Unity, but I just never found the right time to post it (I wrote it more than a year ago)

You and Hongjoong have always been in this horribly dangerous and toxic cycle; at least until Seonghwa takes it upon himself to try and stop it.

Warnings: Heavily implied drug abuse | Heavily implied alcoholism | Implied sex

A/n: Everyone say hello to the winner of this month's Choose a Fic! p.s I'm surprised this one won, but I hope you guys enjoy!

Masterlist

[23:49]

It went without saying that what you two had wasn’t the healthiest thing in the world. He couldn’t even call it a relationship from how you were technically broken up… only you two would constantly fuck whenever you ‘bumped’ into each other at parties or at dinners with mutual friends.

Which leads Hongjoong to his current situation: 

His, so far, week-long bender with you as you both continue to feed each other more drugs and more alcohol only to end up having messy, extremely uncoordinated, but—for some reason—the best sex you both can get. 

And it’s disgustingly messy and extremely toxic with how the both of you are sober, clean, and happy when you’re away from each other. But whenever you’re together, you’re drunk, high, constantly having sex, or screaming the most foul and hurtful shit to each other. 

Despite how toxic and unhealthy your relationship is, you both can’t seem to let each other go because it’s familiar. As torturous as it is, Hongjoong finds your presence and company to be familiar enough for him to yearn for. And as much as everyone tells you to leave him, you just can’t seem to stay away from him for too long. 

Which is horrible considering how much more functionable and productive you are when Hongjoong isn’t in the picture. The way you’re both completely sober without each other only adds to the fact that everyone thinks you’re not healthy for each other. 

Because you’re both only ever on benders when you’re together. And it doesn’t create the best reputation for Hongjoong whenever he calls you up in the middle of the night and you disappear to drink and fuck for weeks. 

“Coming!” Hongjoong calls as he stumbles towards the banging front door, clumsily throwing on his t-shirt before opening it. Seonghwa stands outside with his arms crossed over his chest, displeasure painting his features as he lets his eyes scan Hongjoong’s state. “Oh,” he grumbles, a tinge of annoyance filling him at the sight of his friend. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to pull you out of this fucking bender,” Seonghwa states. 

“I don’t need someone to ‘pull me out’ Hwa. I’m perfectly fine,” Hongjoong argues with a snort. 

“You might be, but they’re not.” His eyes flit behind Hongjoong and it makes him turn around to see you standing in the living room, one of Hongjoong’s oversized t-shirts engulfing your frame, and staring at them. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means that you’re a bad fucking influence on them. (Y/n) owns a restaurant and they’re not even there anymore because you keep bringing them away. They own multiple cafes and they can’t be there because you keep dragging them on benders. They have actual goals compared to you and you keep tearing that shit down instead.” 

Hongjoong can feel the twinge of annoyance becoming stronger and stronger the longer Seonghwa stands in front of him, but you speak before he can do anything. 

“Seonghwa, I think you’re overreacting,” you laugh, hand waving to visibly brush it off. “It’s not like it’s anything that bad. Joongie and I are just having fun.” You move to Hongjoong’s side and wrap your arms around his waist. “I need the break every once in a while, ya’know? Just some time to relax and have fun with him.” 

“You guys broke up two years ago and you’re still fucking each other when you’re drunk or high. It’s not healthy. You guys go on benders that can last up to months, and, honestly? I’m surprised you guys aren’t fucking dead with how much shit you put into yourselves,” Seonghwa argues. 

He’s obviously getting more agitated as well, which only fuels the anger that bubbles in the pit of Hongjoong’s stomach.

“We like doing this, okay? We like being with each other and we like doing this together. Why can’t you  just accept the fact that (Y/n) and I are together?”

“It’s unhealthy!”

“It’s temporary!” Hongjoong yells. “Why are you so up my fucking ass about this?! It’s not like I’m doing the bender with you! I’m doing it with (Y/n) and they’re perfectly fine with it.”

Your grip around Hongjoong’s loosen as the argument starts to get heated. The tension in the air starts to thicken and it’s making you uncomfortable. You never really saw your relationship with Hongjoong as anything more than a momentary release from the real world; a form of escapism that you would never fail to hop onto just to relax.

But hearing how it seemed to Seonghwa just made you feel… ashamed. 

It was never a problem in the beginning because you had always seen your relationship as something that was good. 

But you wonder how Seonghwa must’ve been thinking about it this entire time. 

Hongjoong just wants to have fun and you knew that from the first time you met him, and you broke up with him because of his inability to want to actually grow. Hongjoong likes things the way they are and he’s so terrified of change that, no matter how long you two spend apart, he’s still always exactly the same.

And hearing it come out of Seonghwa’s mouth finally seems to put it into perspective for you. You’re finally able to see it from the lens of someone else and you realise that the bottom line of this horrible codependent relationship that you and Hongjoong have is purely fun. He’s fun and that’s all you ever want out of him—it’s all he’s ever wanted out of you.  

“Mind your own damn business and get the fuck out of my apartment,” Hongjoong finally spits before slamming the door in Seonghwa’s face, a twang hitting your chest just as he does. He lets out a heavy sigh and turns to you, “sorry about that, babe. Hwa overreacts over these things sometimes.” 

“I-I don’t know, Joong. Maybe he has a point,” you mumble. 

“Don’t let it get to you. He’s just upset because I don’t see him often whenever I’m with you,” he quickly grumbles and pulls away from you. “Come on. We don’t have to let him be such a buzzkill. We have the rest of the week to fuck around, baby, and then we’ll get you back to your work.” 

Despite the growing uneasiness filling you, you decide to give Hongjoong this fleeting moment of freedom. 

He needs it anyway, you think. 

You made up your mind the moment he slammed the door in Seonghwa’s face. 

And when Hongjoong wakes up the next morning, you’ve disappeared from his apartment with nothing but a note on his bed. 

I can’t do this in person because I know I’ll just end up coming back to you like I always do, but you have to agree to some extent that Seonghwa’s right, Joong. What we have isn’t healthy and it never was; not even when we were dating. 

You don’t want change and the reason why I was okay with it was because there’s something wrong with me too. I loved you because I was in love with the idea of never having to change anything… which only adds to my point. We both feed off of each other, and to some extent, I indulge in letting you completely control my decisions and without me even realising it until it’s too late. 

For some reason, you’ve always been such a big part of me. And because of that, it’s easy for me to fall back into you over and over again no matter how much this relationship is basically torture for the both of us. 

I’m blocking you on everything to try and break this toxic cycle so we can both grow and be happy away from each other. 

Yours, and, forever, only yours,

(Y/n)

Death Won’t Do Us Part

Content: Harper x Reader, Avery x Reader, Reader is dead at the start of the fic and it does not get better, physical abuse, Reader and Avery are implied to be in a more serious relationship, mentions of brain damage

Word Count: 1.5k

This wasn’t you. This lifeless, immobile husk with clouding eyes staring blankly ahead and skin that was slowly losing color. These stiff, cooling hands weren’t the same ones Harper had so lovingly held, disguised behind an unsteady mask of professionalism, each time you walked into their office for a check-up.

Their swirling eyes looked up at the dark brown ones – so dark they were nearly black – staring down at them. “You should have called sooner.”

Avery looked none the worse for wear, even staring directly at your corpse lying in the bed of his guest room which he must have moved you to – or paid someone to move you to. “It took time to clean the mess they made.”

A mess? Rigor mortis was already setting in and Avery was calling your death a mess. Not even an accident. Just a mess.

“And how can I help you with this mess?” Harper hated using Avery's callous words to refer to you, but they also knew the extent of the man’s rage and how easily it could turn on anyone he thought couldn’t do anything to fight back against him. They’d taken care of your open wounds and broken bones plenty of times to know just how dangerous the man was behind closed doors and they weren’t willing to find out just how much lower on the totem pole Avery thought they were than himself.

“Fix it. Discreetly.”

That would have been easier if Avery had called them when you had first gotten hurt rather than waiting to cover his own ass. If they had gotten there sooner, been able to see you before the life had left your eyes and Avery had moved your body – and you had clearly been moved – Harper may have been able to stabilize you. Better yet, if Avery had brought you to the hospital rather than hiding your body away in the guest room, they likely could have given you proper treatment. As things stood now, however, bringing you back from beyond the grave would require a miracle.

They wanted answers, both because they wanted to know what Avery had done to you this time but also because they needed to know what it was they were being asked to fix. 

“How did this happen?”

Avery’s face twisted into anger, as if being questioned was in and of itself a taboo. Now that they had seen the expression for himself, Harper understood why you were always so secretive about your injuries even though it was obvious where they had come from. If that was the face you saw every time you stepped out of line or made even the smallest mistake, they could understand why you never dared to say anything that would risk your safety any further.

Harper wasn’t you though. They were just the person having to deal with the aftermath.

“The longer it takes me to figure out what happened to them, the more time they have to rot. Their eyes are already clouding over and their eyesight won’t be as good as it was. They may even have some leftover joint and mobility issues due to the chemical changes in their muscles. It would be more helpful if you happened to know how they hurt themselves.”

Avery was too put together to click his tongue, but Harper could sense that it was the exact reaction to display his displeasure with the situation.

“They tripped and hit their head on the corner of the bookcase.”

In other words, Avery had hit you hard enough that you fell and hit your head, and that had killed you.

They’d seen your blood many, many times. From collecting it in vials to patching up the less than savory injuries you’d come into the hospital with over the years. They’d seen you in all manners of state. Once, they’d even had to cut your forehead open to pick out shards of glass that had buried themselves deep beneath your skin. That day was awful for everyone involved. They swore to themselves that nothing could be worse than that day, especially after you started crying in fear that your face had been ruined and how angry Avery would be if the stitches left a scar after your wound healed.

Avery always made you bleed, it was just that this time the bleeding had been mostly inside your brain. They wouldn’t know if it was epidural or subdural without further testing, but the result was the same either way; death. Even if they managed to bring you back, a feat seeming more and more impossible by the second, you would have brain damage. 

If Avery would be upset by a scratch on your face, they couldn’t imagine his unadulterated rage when they told him that you wouldn’t be the same person when you came back. Avery wanted a trophy, not a partner. If you weren’t polished to his liking, he would throw you away and get another. 

But one person’s trash was another person’s treasure.

Avery wouldn’t want you if you didn’t live up to his ideals, but Harper would. They would always want you, no matter what you were like when you came back. If Avery would gladly let you go and leave you in their waiting hands, that would be fine. In fact, if the brain damage was bad enough, perhaps they could get you a permanent residency in the asylum, where they could keep a close eye on you everyday.

You would have no more injuries, no more late night emergencies, no more terrifying calls like this one. You would be perfectly safe in a room they would never allow you to leave because they could write that you weren’t capable of being on your own. You would only have to see them everyday. They wouldn't even allow the orderlies to see you. Even when they were away at the hospital, they wouldn't allow another person near you.

Harper tried not to smile because they knew it would give away their intentions.

“May I have a moment?” They asked Avery in the hopes that he would leave the room so they wouldn’t have to try and suppress their jubilation.

Avery didn’t move.

“This will be ghastly,” Harper said, trying to touch on Avery's sensitivities.

He seemed to think about it for a moment. “I expect results.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“And if you can’t do anything?”

“Whether I can or can’t, you won’t find this issue when you come back.” Because, if they couldn’t fix you, they knew Avery was expecting them to get rid of the problem in a way that didn’t cause him any more trouble than he’d already gone through. That’s what it meant to be discreet.

Avery looked at them, then at you. 

If Harper didn’t know better, they would think the annoyance gave way to the smallest spark of sadness when his eyes landed on your placid face. But he didn’t earn the right to be sad about your current state.

Avery left the room, closing the door behind him.

As soon as it was just Harper and you, they smiled. They smiled so widely that their cheeks hurt and they had to hold back their laughter. 

They could whisk you away right now and Avery wouldn't question a thing. They could put you in your new – technically old – room and keep you close. Avery would never look for you at the asylum because he thought the place was beneath him. 

The only flaw in their plan was that you were very much still dead.

No.

You couldn't be dead.

The dead didn't come back to life. No matter how good of a doctor Harper was, that would remain true. You were simply playing at being dead because you were trying to get away from Avery. That was the only way this night could end in any way other than tragedy. 

Harper understood your plan without you telling them a thing and was happy to help you carry it out. They examined the spot where you'd hit your head and reasoned that it was merely bruised. The clouding of your eyes was a trick of the light and your stiff limbs were the result of your tiredness.

You were fine.

You had to be because, if you weren’t, there was nothing they could do.

But, because you were clearly fine – maybe a little roughed up due to Avery's heavy hand, but otherwise fine – they would have to whisk you away from this place. Avery already gave their tacit approval for you to vanish without a word or trace and Harper saw no reason not to take him up on his generous offer.

Harper would gladly keep you.

“It hurts.” “I know (condescendingly)” for Primecest?👀❤️

Morty should have known better. Well, he knew better, that was the thing. He knew better than to ignore what any Rick - especially Prime - orders him. It was simple too; just stay on his ass until Prime got back.

But Mortys weren't made to be still, sit obediently. They were Ricks' little helpers, sure, but they were curious and a little ball of neurodivergent anxieties. Left alone, they would either masturbate or touch things they had no authorization to touch. Or both. Most of the time Mortys did both.

So, it wasn't really Morty's fault that after finally being untied, he wanted to explore the room. It was so different from his-

Oh. Wait. Prime was his gr- his original family member, wasn't he?

-the Rick-He-Lived-With's garage, he just couldn't help himself. He had to explore all those shiny buttons and sleek designs and strange devices!

He just wanted to look around for a bit. It wasn't his fault that it took longer than he anticipated and that Prime would get home get to the base earlier than expected.

"Well, well, well, look who can't follow orders." A voice came from behind Morty. The young boy winced, dropping the metal object from his hand, which crashed against the floor with a big cling. Morty froze, his freeze reflex completely taking over his fight or flight ones.

"Looks like that fucker Rick couldn't teach you to obedience." Morty could hear the maniac grin in Prime's voice. The blood froze in his body as the fear gradually crept up on him.

It was worse than the screaming belittlements his Rick tended to throw against him. Much worse.

"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry, I-I d-didn't mean to," Morty forced himself to say it without turning around, his stuttering getting worse as he broke out in cold sweat. He didn't dare to move, he felt like he was a little, defenseless bunny against the big bad predator. It shouldn't have made sense; Prime looked so scrawny, so young and carefree - but that just made him even more terrifying.

"Look at me."

There was no way Morty would refuse it. Ducking his head, he turned around, fidgeting with his hands. The door shut behind Prime with a final-sounding, ominous click.

Morty started apologizing immediately. "I-I'm sorry, R-R- Prime, I d-didn't mean to, I'm so, so, so, so s-sorry! I wasn't-"

"Quiet," the young-looking Rick ordered, and Morty, for once, shut his mouth. "I told you to stay put. It wasn't even a difficult task! Do you even follow what C-137 tells to you, or does he only keep you to up the difficulty level of your adventures? Don't answer," he interrupted, when he saw the pouting boy opened his mouth. "You were allowed to wait, unbound, yet you chose to disobey me. Such a bad, bad grandson…"

Morty gulped. That should have sounded bad and threatening - and it was! -, but… maybe he really was a fucking pervert as his family always accused him to be.

The unusual, kind of very weird Rick rolled up his sleeves as he walked over his seat, then sat on it, not looking away from the fidgety boy. "Kneel," he ordered.

Morty's knees buckled, and fell on the ground before he knew what he was doing. "So you can follow orders…" Prime smirked, and invited Morty closer with his pointing finger. "Good boy," he murmured.

Morty shuddered, and couldn't quite swallow his strangled moan back. He was close to tears, but it was a mixture of frustration, fear, shame, and humiliating want. The smirk became bigger.

"Huh… Maybe you are good for something else than just being a bait. We'll have so much fun until that loser finds us!"

"P-pr-prime, I…"

"Call me grandpa, grandson. After all, I am your grandfather." The salacious grin on Prime's lips promised lots of things. None of them was something a grandfather should do with his grandson. "Now, where were we? Oh, right. Your punishment…"

"No, I, Grandpa, please!" Morty pleaded, but one look from the older man, and he shut his mouth.

Eyes burning with something unidentifiable, yet something so familiar raked over his body. "Strip and come here," he ordered after long moments of tense silence.

A hiccuping sound left Morty's mouth, his eyes crossed over, cheeks pinking and heart rushing so fast as it never before, but he was quick to follow Rick's words. He toed off his shoes, before struggling with the zip on his jeans, tugging impatiently for a few moments. Finally, he managed to wriggle himself out of his jeans and socks, leaving his briefs for a bit longer, then pulled his shirt off in one swoop.

Standing in front of Prime - his original grandfather, the person, who killed Rick's wife and daughter, the reason for Rick's single-minded obsession -, only covered by tiny white briefs, being looked at like that… his inside twisted, and his little prick hardened.

He was a sick, twisted, perverted little fucker, just like his Rick told him he was.

He worried the hem of his undergarment with his fingers, hesitating, but he quickly shimmied out of them at the look in Prime's eyes, so icy-cold and powerful. Biting into his lower lip so hard he could taste the copper of his blood, he kneeled clumsily in front of the unhinged man. He really didn't want to obey, it was uncomfortable, and scary, and the confusing feelings swirling inside him didn't help either. He was on the verge of a panic attack, his breathing labored and shallow, but he just held still like the captured prey he was in front of a much bigger, scarier predator.

Prime was entirely too silent and too focused on the kneeling kid, making the experience even more uncomfortable. Morty could feel that any sudden movement could set Prime off, so he just stayed still, whimpering slightly.

"Well, looks like you do know how to take an order, grandson," Prime mocked, his lips curling up in a cruel smirk. It was both infuriating and strangely arousing, which, in general, was a great way to describe most Ricks. Unfortunately.

"It is almost a shame I need to punish you," Prime mentioned conversationally, his smile sharp and predatory, causing Morty's breath to catch in his throat. "You look so pretty down there."

"Come on, grandson, up here. Grampa's going to spank you until you remember to follow your orders like the obedient little puppy you are. Make you remember it when that loser gets here, trying to take you away, and you won't be able to take even a step. You will always be reminded who you belong to." Morty was covered with goosebumps as Prime let out a possessive growl. He tried to convince himself that he hated that, that all he wanted was to escape from this animal's claws, yet on top of his other bad traits, he was also a very bad liar. He couldn't lie even to himself.

Prime snapping his finger at him, as if he was calling a servant, or more like, a puppy, zapped through his body like a lightning bolt. The degradation… humiliation… possessiveness… objectification…

Morty learnt more about himself in the last few minutes than he did during his whole life. Red faced, but obedient, he crawled towards Prime, draping himself over his lap. Biting his bottom lip, he stared up at Pri- Ric- Grampa?, looking at him for approval, for any sign that would tell him he was doing a good job.

"Just like that, you little masochist," his original grandfather praised. Morty's eyes glossed over, his bright hazel eyes burning with a want for more. His already pink cheeks turned cherry-red; not even the wanton moan that left his lush, pink lips could make him blush more. He waited in breathless anticipation for what was going to happen, for the first slap to land, but it couldn't prepare him for the sting of pain. He let out a startled yelp, but before he could make an even bigger mess for himself by jumping out of Prime's lap, another slap was layered over the first one, now harder, as a reminder to be a good boy. He swallowed his whine, his body tensed, but as the third, the fourth and the fifth landed, his body became boneless, just a little ball of nerves.

Morty tried to squirm away, his senses going override, but the hand that wasn't spanking him, carefully pinned him down. He couldn't see from that angle, but he could feel Prime's breath quickening, as if he was just as affected by the punishment as he was.

Six… seven… eight-nine-ten.

Tears began to form as the last three slaps came in a quick succession to the same place. His tears turned to whimpering and sobbing, not used to this type of pain, especially because it mixed with the emotional one. His tears turned to whimpering, then sobbing as Prime's hand continued to hit Morty's aching bottom. 

"Goddam, you look so pretty when you are so pitiful," Rick Prime mumbled, turning Morty's head towards him with his free hand, making his neck twist painfully. Snot, drool and tears ran down on Morty's red face and open lips, and Morty felt gross, yet all he could see in the older man's eyes was want-

And was that… was that awe?

Another hit slapped painfully on Morty's fragile bottom. He already lost count of how many he had to endure already, and he was at the end of his endurance.

"P-please, d-don't… n-no more," he sobbed. "It hurts!"

A huffing sound reached his ears. Was Rick Prime laughing at him? Mocking him? "Oh, baby, I know. Don't cry anymore, it's going to be the last one. Grandpa knows you are going to be a good boy from now on," he said, his tone filled with condescending fake sympathy.

It should have been a turn off. Should have made Morty's skin crawl, his stomach turn upside down.

It wasn't.

Morty whined, breathing heavily, his heart trying to jump out of his chest as the last hit reached his sore, inflamed ass, making his body jolt forward, rubbing his aching little cock against Prime's clothes thighs. The friction made him cry out, his dripping precum drenching his grandfather's pants. His head felt full of light blue clouds and syrupy honey, like he was floating away.

Tears were running down on his cheeks as he stared glassily at nothing, his teeth unconsciously biting into his bottom lip. His hips mindlessly started to move, humping against Prime's thighs, as he was floating in the sea of pain and pleasure.

"You were such a good boy, Morty. You took your punishment so well." He could hear a low murmur, so low maybe he was just imagining it. He just knew it felt good to think he might have been a good boy.

Hands were caressing him, rubbing over his aching bottom and thighs, bringing feelings back to his body.

"So good, my little grandson." The praise is low again, but feeling less floaty, Morty is more convinced that he wasn't just imagining it. Finally he was acknowledged; he was a good boy. Rick said it, so it must have been true! First, he didn't even realize that the whining sound was coming from you, only when his grandpa's caresses became more present, more real, did he feel the strain in his vocal cords.

Breathing heavily, he returned his body, just to feel Ric- Prime's hand sneaking between Morty's thighs, reaching for his cock. The young boy jumped as warmly big fingers wrapped around his small dick, and he really couldn't be blamed for the small hiccupping noise that left his lips when Prime gently rubbed his slit. His touches were so in contrast with the previous punishment, it gave Morty a whiplash, but he wasn't complaining.

Having somebody else's hand on his cock, even if it was his grandf- Prime's - or maybe especially, because it was his -, was way better than the feeling of his tiny little hands.

"See, what happens to food boys? They get rewarded, while bad boys get punished," Prime teased, altering the amount of pressure he used on Morty's cock. "But I guess, reward and punishment are pretty much the same for you. You are just like your grandpa," the older man murmured. His strokes became more forceful, steady, yet purposeful. Morty couldn't swallow back his moans, his eyes closed from the pleasure, as his original grandfather brought him to the edge of the abyss.

"Yeees," Morty's moans increased, he was so close, so close-

"Cum for grandpa!"

That was all Morty needed. The young boy immediately came, his white cum drenching Prime's hand, pants and it even dripped on the floor. Only his panting breaths broke the silence; the older man let Morty get himself together.

Only when the brunette's breathing evened out, almost suspiciously even, did Rick Prime open his mouth. "Now, get on your knees and open your pretty mouth," he ordered, and helped the dazed boy do as he was told. Morty whimpered as he was forced to sit on his throbbing, aching bottom, slightly dizzy, and so very sleepy, but he obediently opened up.

The older man unzipped his pants, pulling his erection out, aiming it directly towards Morty's tear-streaked, messy, blotchy face, and pretty, puffy pink mouth. He didn't need much, only a few stokes before he was grunting, unloading all over Morty's face, painting his pink cheeks, bloody lips, half-closed eyes and thick eyelashes, curly brown hair white with cum.

It was an unconscious action from Morty to lick his lip to clean himself up, but tasting Rick's - Prime's! - semen didn't deter him. Lazily, he licked it up as best as he could, his little cock twitching uselessly, way too spent and tired to get up once again.

"You insatiable little bitch," Prime scoffed, but it felt loving and fond, instead of berating and disgusted. It made Morty ache more than his stinging ass could ever hurt. "Come," his grandfather said, pulling him up into his arms. Instead of leaving him on the floor, letting to get himself together, Prime picked Morty up, and took him to his room, where he laid the boy next to himself.

They fell asleep curled together, Morty tucked in as the tiniest little spoon, while Prime took the role of a big, menacing spoon, who silently dared C-137 to arrive while the two of them were sleeping.

That loser would never get his lovely little grandson back. Ever.

@technodromes sent: 🍷 // Bishop walking into a wasted Rick? (Probably more likely than I think) Send in 🍷 to walk in on my muse wasted || No longer accepting

There's a sound echoing in the corridor, bouncing off its metal walls. It's one of the two voices that, while not belonging to any of the Technodrome's permanent residents, have become part of the noises that can be heard more or less regularly inside the mobile fortress.

However, this time it's not someone shouting out curses or yelling while engaged in a heated match of sharp jabs. It's not even complaints and grumbles, or gruff but perfectly in tune singing. Instead, it sounds awfully like an endless fit of snickering, too high-pitched and garbled to be normal.

Rick is sprawled on what was once a working table, but now half of the tools are on the floor, together with at least eight bottle of...something. From the smell it's easy to tell that their content was some sort of liquor, but judging from the weird symbols...letters?...written on the label, it's definitely not from Earth.

His shoulders are shaking with irregular bursts of badly muffled laughter, while his arms are stretched in front of him, clumsy fingers tinkering with a weird-looking exagonal device. The front of it is open, unhooked cables tumbling out freely.

An off-tune hum leaves Rick's lips as he drops his chin on the table, tongue sticking out as he tries stick out of the wires back in place. His movements are sloppy, betraying how impaired his eye-hand coordination is, and yet his fingers are unexpectedly steady.

Finally, the thin cable slips inside its outlet and he lets out a slurred "f-f-fuck yeah!"...only to almost jump out of his skin when someone clears his throat behind him.

The scientist spins around, far too quickly for his unstable balance, and topples on the ground before he can even land his gaze on the newcomer. His hold on the device doesn't loosen, but he drags down with him a few tools and an empty bottle, which shatters, sending glass shards all around.

His back and nape hurt, or at least they are supposed to, but his senses are too numbed by the alcohol for him to register the pain. Instead, Rick squints, trying to put into focus the figure while the lights blind him from the ceiling.

Morty? No way. The other is far too tall to be his grandson. Not to mention that he isn't wearing anything yellow, just black and white. And...are those sunglasses?

"Ooooh, sh-shit, it's the third...pink ball! M-Morty's squishy buddy!" He exclaims as realisation somehow downs on him. "H-Hey, buddy! F-Funny...uhgh...meeting you here! D-Didn't know...W-Who let you in? D-Don't tell me you sneaked in! Y-You old...fox brain!"

Anything else he might have wanted to say is drowned in a mixture of laughter and giggles. Damn, that's good. He needed someone for...he can't remember. But there was something he wants to do...even if he can't remember that either.

...Oh well, he'll just make it up as he goes. As they go.

"L-Let's...W-We...Mort-...Shit, n-not Morty! W-We gotta go!" He starts saying, struggling to get back on his feet. His free hand is already reaching for the portal gun, so when his legs turn out to be too unsteady to hold him up, all he can do is face planting against the chest of Bishop's android.

"Gmoffaooo!"

The words are too muffled and slurred to make sense, but Rick doesn't seem to care. Instead, he shoots a portal right under their feet and they instantly fall through it.

To go where? Now, that is a great question!

So I mentioned it in another post but who wants to hear my horrific angst for aus or season 5? No one? TS this is my blog

Long post under the cut

Ok so my thought is very much around how vecna has his victims lined up as trophies in his mindscape. They can't JUST be trophies right? Vecna is a loon but he's too pragmatic to be so vain. They must serve a purpose. He needed 4 of them to open the gates so they must have some significance that his other victims don't.

Which brings me to my theory. Vecna needs his s4 victims to power the gates, like uh totems or human battery packs, that's why he needs them close to hand in his mind and not buried in some forgotten hole like the ones he killed in the lab. So he can keep them trapped in bad memories, keep tormenting them so their misery keeps the gates open. That's why he tormented them first. We know from Kali fear and anger are powerful emotions but from el and Mike we know love is stronger. Henry doesn't understand love, so he's basically using scare power like he's in monsters inc.

SO HERE IS MY HIDIOUS ANGST IF THAT WASNT BAD ENOUGH

Once vecna opens the gates, he's got his first set of 4 victims powering them, but it's not enough. We know El has a longer range wither her powers and even she needed to piggy back on max to reach him. My idea is that to keep his influence spreading he needs to piggy back on others too, more victims to act as human relays. Think some sort of torture based radio tower or the shield of Morty suffering from Rick and Morty.

My idea is that he has people sort of strung up to towers made of flesh like the mind flayer, being kept alive and 'protected' by demogorgons like Will with the tube down his throat in season 1. Vecna is using their nightmares, their mental scapes as pitstops for his abilites. Jump from the upside down where he's safe ,like the creel house scene, into their mind scapes and from then onto whoever he wants.

Next question is, who would he choose as victims? Well I'm glad you asked:

Eddie(maybe)

disclaimer, im more on the side of kas eddie than this but lets just run with it.

Fairly self explanatory, Eddie was a choice of convenience, there's a person, might as well use them. Dying in the upside down, vecna is sure he'd agree to anything to live. Imagine his suprise when Eddie pulls a fuck you and fuck your plan too out of his flack jacket. Now vecna is determined to keep him alive out of spite. If he'd just been good and done as vecna asked maybe he'd give a nice dream to his little human relay but no, now Eddie gets to watch Chrissy and Dustin die over and over until vecnas finally done with him or his body gives out under the strain. i guess if u wanted kas eddie, this could be punishment from vecna for disobeying him . maybe doesnt have the same effect since kas eddie is already dead but hey ho its still not pleasant.

Jason

I think Jason's death was bullshit. Not in the way Eddie's, bobs, or Billy's was bullshit but bullshit all the same. So I'm bringing him back in the worst fuckin way possible. the gate opening doesnt rip him in half so much as it swallows him whole. he lands face first in the upside down creel house just in time to miss steve nancy and robin leaving. hes hurt, thats no short fall he just had so hes kinda stuck there. obviously when hes done licking his wounds vecna comes home and finds him. Jason has zero fucking clue what's going on in Hawkins so for him to be strung up and tortured by vecna just has so many layers to it. Jason would think he'd died and gone to hell and that's a whole new kind of angst for me to work with. Vecna wouldn't even need to make him hallucinate to get the kind of suffering he needs to boost his powers. Just keep him awake and watching and Jason would be out of his mind in minutes. Bonus points for any body horror he might bring to the table: vecna has those vines in his back , maybe he could put some in Jason and turn him into a human security system with tendrils and eyes all over Hawkins. Forces Jason to watch the horror unfold AND when Jason inevitably reacts to the party, cries out to lucas or his friends to help him, vecna will know instantly.

Billy

Ok we know for a fact that billy is still around in vecnas head somewhere. See my other post for proof. Tldr billy is the only hallucination who seems to have real eyes or a soul and consciousness. Susan's eyes go white, Chrissy's moms eyes go white, freds accusers eyes are all white. The reason Billy's aren't is BC vecna has him, he can use the real billy in the hallucination to torment max. I imagine the reason he does this is 2 fold. To scare max yes but moreso to punish billy for daring to stand up to him, for beating his mind games in season 3. When max is in a coma neither vecna or el can reach her, she's safe. So what does vecna do? Take his frustration out on billy by forcing him to help spread the upside down around Hawkins. I see this 1 of two ways.

1. Billy has give up. He is too broken, he doesn't care what happens to him, to Hawkins, to anyone, even max. He is just too exhausted and can't bring himself to fight when he suddenly finds he has a body again. It just means more pain and he just cant take it anymore. i do love me some angst but i think this is a little ooc for Billy.

Or

2.Billy is too tough for vecna to break. He tried it once and it didn't work and all its done is pissed Bills off. Billy is fucking mad so there's no sense in trying to hallucinate him into compliance because hes already gazed into the abyss and spat in its face with the double middle finger salute. Further more, billy doesn't give a fuck about Hawkins, so making him watch shit hit the fan doesnt work either. But what does work, is threatening max. She's the only thing he gives a fuck about and he can't help her like this. "Do as I say and I won't touch her." Vecna says "you could run but you'll never get to her before I do" the noodly bastard is lying through his teeth and praying billy doesnt call his bluff. Nancy did a number on him, his brisk walking days are over. He's just praying billy doesn't find out max is in a coma and essentially untouchable in everything but the physical sense. So billy complies, for now, plotting to grind vecnas face into the concrete with his boot heel. He'll behave for now.

For max.

And since we need 4 I've got 2 choices.

First one is Nancy. Not that I don't love Nancy, even despite her flaws, i still canon that Karen wheeler is Alice creel which would make Henry, Nancy and mike's uncle. There has to be some reason why he picked her to show those visions to. Also I want to see Jonathan robin and Steve panicking BC Nancy is the only one holding the braincell and they all love her deeply. Bonus points if they get half way though saving her and she walks past having saved herself. insert i fear no man but that thing scares me meme of vecna with nancy.

Second one might lose more people but

You know how stranger things is inspired by silent hill? I think the last relay tower human/ victim should be Henry. Or at least, some part of the original Henry creel.

Think about it. Silent hills Alessa separated herself into "dark" and " light" sides. Og alessa stayed in the otherworld/ upside down and Cheryl/heather escaped. No powers but free from the darkness of alessas mind and the other world .why wouldn't vecna try that if he could? He's got trauma, he's got weakness, he may not look human anymore but hes still fallible . imagine if he found out he could just split himself down the middle and send that weak half packing some place else? become the apex predator he clearly wants to be? he'd jump at the chance...well, hobble at the chance. id like to see vecna treat this "weak" part of himself terribly. 'henry' gets the worst treatment from vecna and its just delicious angst and self loathing.

side note i had a thought about vecna using 'henry' as a human blood pouch for vampire eddie. henry using his 'talk to kids in the lab' voice to try and keep eddie calm, eddies sobbing and apologising as he drinks from henry but hes so hungry and in pain and has no control over it, henry just telling him its ok even though its agony.its nearly whumptober lads no one can stop me.

i am a sick and twisted individual. i may rewrite this thought into an actual fic with mungrove or munver, havent decided yet.

so yes, there are all my thoughts tm . i need a nap, maybe if i daydream up anymore suffering for my favorites ill let you all know

Three Seconds.

Rick runs his tongue across his teeth, finds a split above his left canine sluggishly oozing blood. He presses into it, the wound covering his soft pallet with liquid-iron. He used to love the taste of blood, it was exciting, made him see red. That was a long time ago, back when he was with the flesh curtains, doing mostly earth coke in the galactic equivalent of shitty truck stops. Now the taste just pisses him off, reminds him that some nameless waste of carbon actually got a hit in. He can feel a drop of spit and blood plop onto his thigh. He spits and the blood splatters a lurid pink against the concrete floor. He'd wipe his face, but his hands are tied around his back, zip ties of all things dig irritating impressions into the thin skin against his wrist. His knees ache where they're pressed against the floor below him, the cold seeping in through his pant legs and promising a good week of creaking pain if he manages to make it out of this shit hole alive. Fuck, he's too old for this shit.

Rick is pulled very sharply from his thoughts when he hears the door open behind him, followed by strong, steady foot falls and much lighter shuffling ones. He recognizes the later, and his guess is confirmed when Morty stumbles into his line of sight. He doesn't look hurt, his clothes are dirty and there's dust sticking to the tear tracks along his cheeks, but no pain graces his features. Just fear. If it weren't for Morty he'd already be out of here, fucking plastic zip ties were the last thing that would stop The Rick Sanchez. His captor knew that though, and they both knew that the ties were really more of a formality anyway. So yeah, he could've left an hour ago, but with the couple of blows to the side of his head knocking loose his augmentation controls he wasn't convinced he'd find Morty wherever they were keeping him on their ramshackle compound before they decided to take him out back and put the sorry little bastard down.

Speaking of, there's a laser gun pressed snug against the base of Morty's skull. Their kidnapper is a Melvonian, bipedal and mostly humanoid apart from their second set of arms, eyes and various other appendages. Wink. This one is male, about middle aged for his species, his skin tone an admittedly pretty shade of mauve. It's a shame, the guys hot, too bad as soon as he lets his guard down he'll be dead. "Morning Sanchez, I've brought your little buddy. Say Hi little buddy." The man grins, shaking Morty by the bruising grip on his bicep. "Ow, H-hi, grandpa Rick." he winces. "So here's the deal. We've got a really important fight coming up, and that portal tech of yours sure would come in handy." "I don't get involved in interstellar politics, and neither does my badass tech. Bite me." The guy shoves the gun harder against Morty's head, eliciting a squeak of fear and causing his knees to wobble like a new born calf. "Don't interrupt me." Rick rolls his eyes, but stays quiet. For Now.

Rick can see the twitch in one of the mans four eyes, he's still smiling, but he looks angry, a little crazed. Damn, it really is a shame this dude's gotta die. Forgive him for thinking with his dick here, but crazy is pretty much the only type that can keep up with Rick for too long, and the guys got two sets of pecs. Drool. "As I was saying, your tech would help us a lot. Someone from my group has tried and failed to get the machine from you peacefully. Clearly peaceful is not a approach you sway to. Now it's my turn. So here is my ultimatum: Give us a working portal gun and blueprints to build more, or I send a laser through your grandson's head. Simple, no?" He cocks his head to the side, tone light, like he's discussing which restaurant he wants to go to and he's not the perpetrator of a goddamn hostage situation. Morty has been so quiet, eyes trained on Rick. It unnerves him, the genuine panic on his grandson's face. He needs to focus.

Rick's been doing some mental math, trying to figure out how to get through the zip ties and the gun out of this big idiots hand before he pulls the trigger. He can see the safety is on, but he'd recognize a Fentel 16 anywhere, and you can bypass the safety by pressing down the trigger and holding for three seconds. Kinda always struck Rick as defeating the purpose of the safety, but the Fentel series is pretty much exclusively used by criminals, so the company only put a safety on the thing in the first place to get past Galactic Federation manufacturing guidelines. He's not sure he can get to Morty in 3 seconds from here. He needs to think of something, fast. "Listen muscle man, I'm telling you I'm not giving you or your little gang my portal tech. I don't care how righteous you think your cause is, there's a billion other warmongering douchebags in this star system alone who think the exact same thing. I'm not contributing to that." The guys fucking built. Rick isn't short by any means, a cool 6'4" un-slouched, but this guy has at least a foot or so on him. Plus he's pretty sure the dudes forearm is at least the size of his thigh; side note again: Drool. Anyway, he's not sure he can take him in a wrestling match for that gun, especially considering the two extra arms. If Morty reacted quick enough maybe, but the kids little wrists are bound like Ricks are, and he looks scared enough to be nauseous. Rick can't count on him on this one.

"I've been following you a long time, I can tell when you're stalling." Rick can talk a fish out of water on good days, but revolutionary types are a notoriously stubborn breed. He'd know, he was one. Still is, though its been a while since he's been in a fight over anything but his own self-interest. That thought stings just a little. Don't have time for that one, Back in the vault it goes. Rick can see Morty trembling, and can see his chest stuttering when he holds his breath to stop the shakes. It makes Rick's chest hurt a little, like something in there was knocked loose the same time his augmentations were. Rick stops looking at him. "Morty's a shit bargaining chip by the way, Broh. I've got a coupon for a new one from the citadel in my back pocket right now." Rick bares his teeth, smells his own blood on his breath. "Besides, I've been to your pitiful little planet shit for brains, I know your species has a thing about killing kids. You're all too sentimental." Their captor laughs, two of his four eyes squeezed shut in mirth, the other two still diligently trained on Rick "For The Rick Sanchez? I'm willing to make an exception." He grins, double canines glittering blue-white as he switches the safety off and the gun comes alive with a mechanical hum, neon purple lights flicking on incrementally, indicating the charge.

Fuck, there go his three seconds.

𝐃𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆;

                                          𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 -                                𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐍.

It’s a process Jean knows well, and he’s almost upsettingly routine about it when he sees it coming. If you’re close enough to him that not only does he think you’ll have to experience it first-hand, but also would like to avoid subjecting you to unnecessary stress, he’ll probably make some effort to prepare you for what's to come.

You're familiar with dead bodies, at least on paper. I’ll be cold, I’ll have no pulse, I won’t be breathing. If rigor mortis never sets in, that’s a good thing. If it does set in, uh - I don't know what happened, but you might want to start planning a funeral. Lay me down somewhere that the cops can’t find me and wait. Hide me in the wheelie bin if you have to. I’m usually out for two or three days; if it’s longer, don’t panic. Be patient. Defying nature can take time. When I wake up, I’ll be confused. I might be scared. I’ll probably be bleeding, depending on what offed me. Don’t get too handsy, uh- actually, try to keep your distance. I won’t be capable of much, but I don’t want to hurt you, and if I'm scared enough, I'll probably try. If I start hurting myself, let it happen. Let me come down. I’ll remember who I was and where I am and things will be peachy again.

It’s simple enough, assuming you don’t want to know any more than that. He dies, he enters stasis, his body regenerates as much as it needs to in order to sustain life, and he returns. Jean would prefer that you avoid asking many questions about it, even if you have no intention of asking them out loud. But, for the sake of science, let’s go against his wishes.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐎 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃?

Ekt; the Chasm herself. Cihnem Lis'ekt, Spinewalker, is in some ways a very literal title - except the Chasm doesn't really have a spine. Dormant as she is (with no solid evidence that she's ever been awake) she's less of a deity and more of a plane of existence. A living, ever-growing, ever-shifting purgatory. She guides the dead to the next life as you might guide a bug onto a leaf.

Cihnem Lis'ekt are to her like the opposite of a vaccine. An intruder inoculated with an inert dose of her own blood, enough to make them unrecognisable. If the other dead are insects being ferried back outside, then Spinewalkers crawl unseen under her skin; are parasites. The relationship between goddess and champion is not a conscious one, or even a consenting one.

Jean refers to the act of returning to Earth as being rejected, but the truth is the Chasm never knows he's there. In fact, the Chasm lets him stay there forever.

Each death is infinite and mind-breaking. An average of two days in the real world equates to something without end in the Chasm. It feels like an impossibility for him to wake up somewhere else at all, having spent an eternity walking across her back, and an eternity isn't supposed to have a finish line.

The time there is spent walking. There isn't much else to do, but something about the landscape consumes him with both a compulsion to move forward and a dread of what his destination might be. The landscape is both constantly shifting, and completely unchanging. It's completely white, with a black sky, but at the same time it's brilliant with red and blue and yellow that make your brain bleed to look at. The ground is flat. The ravines are bottomless. The mountains break the sky open.

𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒?

Jean would say no, and he’d be anywhere between lying and mistaken, depending on the point in time at which you ask him.

There are lasting effects. In every way, there are lasting effects. His body suffers for it, his mind suffers for it, there’s every possibility that his soul suffers for it*, depending on your belief in souls. Beyond the lethal injuries themselves, the act of dying and coming back has a deteriorative effect, especially on his brain, notably the limbic system & anterior cingulate cortex.

This isn’t because of actual injury; rather due to the Chasm being a pretty extreme cognitohazard. As time spent in the Chasm accumulates, behavioural and emotional conduct deteriorate, among other things (empathy, self preservation, fear & pain processing, memory, etc.). The penalty from a single death is small, but there's no way of reversing the damage once it's been done.

Comparatively, the strain on his body is slight. When he was first inoculated, Ekt's blood caused so much damage to his blood vessels and heart that it killed him in a matter of hours - most tributes would not have come back from this kind of reaction, but Jean was fortunate (or unfortunate) to have been kept alive for long enough that by the time he died, he was already part of the Chasm.

His assumption is that every time he visits the Chasm, this circulatory damage gets worse, and this is why his body gets worse at keeping itself warm. What he doesn't know is that he's not really that much more susceptible to dying of hypothermia than a regular person would be, and that this chill is less about physical damage and more about his connection to Ekt, and his closeness to her frozen expanse. It boils down to this; how much of her blood is in his?

There are the expected things on top of this; wear and tear, lethal wounds, nonlethal wounds, result in scar tissue, chronic pain, missing pieces. Though Jean's body is a little more adept at healing some things, he's far from invulnerable. The only reasons he'd be harder to kill than a human not affiliated with Ekt is because it's near impossible for him to die from exsanguination (a gift from Ekt) and because he's horribly, horribly determined (completely unrelated to Ekt).

Something that can only be observed when comparing one reality's version of a Cihnem Lis'ekt to another's is what it is that has an effect on their brain. The hidden truth is that it's the pace at which they cross the Chasm's back. The further you travel, the more she reaches into you; the more she is part of you. The worse the dread gets.

Every time Jean dies, he gets closer to something. And it's scraping away at the things that make him human.

*Author note; some characters have noted that there is damage done to Jean's soul with every death. I say it like that because in his setting there aren't really souls as a separate thing from someone's mind and consciousness, and as such there's no canon to the effects on his soul, or what it looks like, or how it copes. Jean doesn't know, Jean doesn't want to know, and I think it's more fun for the characters who are able to see/sense souls to have their own interpretation. The same goes for his aura, or magical signature, etc, etc, etc.

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐃?

The rules, as Jean knows them, are as follows: he can be hurt, he can get sick (though most pathogens and parasites struggle to survive in his body), and he can die. He ages - or at least he thinks he does.

His healing factor is abnormal, especially after death, prioritising small-scale, widespread damage. Injury and abnormality on a cellular and chromosomal level are healed almost instantly; lesser injuries such as bruises, small wounds and sprains heal at a noticeably quicker rate; severe wounds and broken bones heal at a more-or-less normal one. Cancers stand even less of a chance than pathogens and parasites.

Mortal wounds, however, will heal at an accelerated rate while Jean’s body is still dead, up to (and, for security, a little past) the point required for it to sustain life again. Long-term mechanical damage is usually at least limited, if not negated entirely; though old wounds can still hurt, can still scar, and missing parts do not grow back.

In the event that his body is destroyed rather than just killed, life finds a way. It's not quite as gnarly as being stitched together from the exact ashes, or atoms, that once comprised his body. After anywhere between a few minutes to a few weeks, he wakes up, in an intact, uninjured, naked body.

And he always wakes up in the same place; on the dusty stone altar near which the traces of Ekt's blood were found, hidden in a cave near Mardin, Turkey. Beyond being existentially upsetting (what was he formed from? how did his life know which body to return to? how does he know he's still the same person?) it's, as you can imagine, a bit inconvenient. He tries to avoid this scenario if he can help it, but it's happened a couple of times in the last 15 years.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋?

This is the part Jean doesn’t like to think about, if he can help it. It's not, however, something he tries especially hard to avoid, partially because it's an entirely theoretical outcome. To him.

There are stories and even some depictions of Cihnem Lis'ekt reanimating with their ribcages wrapped around spears and axes and swords, like a tree growing around a fence or a sign or a gravestone. Stories of champions whose bodies simply didn't have it in them to close a wound and so tore holes elsewhere in order to patch themselves up, breaking down and sloughing off and rebuilding in an agonising and seemingly never-ending cycle.

Champions whose problem wasn't that they didn't heal enough, but that they healed too much; who rejected all medical treatment, and for whom a broken bone meant the bone growing out, through, and over the skin in order to prevent being broken again. Eldritch forms of stone man syndrome. Bodies twisting around and over themselves to guard their soft stomachs.

The reasons for these consequences, as with a lot of things related to Ekt and her champions, are unknown. Many Cihnem Lis'ekt could break bones and be impaled and contain foreign bodies without suffering any effects not seen in normal humans (Jean, for instance, in one reality, spent 50 years trapped in a cave-in, dying over and over with a pike in his side, and only got a nasty scar for his trouble).

It's suggested that these champions, though cursed to live out the rest of their days in some kind of agony, were Ekt's favourites. Not only did they survive the trials required to become her champion, but were believed to have been somehow actively chosen by the sleeping god; not only accepted, but picked out. The twisting cage that became of their skeletons, or the ever-shifting landscape of rifts and ravines that became of their flesh, was a power bestowed unto them, a mark of pride, a blessing.

Because they looked like Her.

Evidently, the Chasm, simultaneously asleep and inanimate and incomprehensibly non-human, doesn't know what a privilege is supposed to look like, probably doesn't know what causes living things pain; and rewards her chosen ones in ways that amount to horrific, lifelong torture. It's not known if she's able to love her chosen, but if she does, her way of feeling love is something that humans can never hope to comprehend.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐍?

It's known that ancient Cehim Lis'ekt had a different experience than the modern one does. The definite is that ancient champions, after making it through their gruelling trials, were revered and worshipped, treated as something between royalty and a messiah, while Jean was killed a few times for science and then used as an attack dog for several years, locked in a white room, barely eating or sleeping.

A bigger difference is that, judging by his reaction to Ekt's blood, he was never supposed to walk her spine to begin with. It's only by virtue of modern medicine that he stayed alive for long enough for her blood to take root in him. The Chasm doesn't seem to know the difference. Pieter, at least, didn't observe any great change in Jean versus his predecessors from millennia ago.

...Due to Jean not being a very reliable narrator, or test subject, and struggling to properly convey the things that Pieter couldn't figure out by observation alone. Ancient Cihnem Lis'ekt, while not all were chosen by Ekt, were at least accepted, or acknowledged, by her. They would die, and be turned away.

Jean, with only a few hours of life support, managed to sneak through her defences. She doesn't know he exists. He dies, and goes unseen. He trespasses. He wanders infinitely. Worse, still; the fact that he wasn't the one who forced his way in, but that someone else did it on his behalf.

Rick and Morty season 4 episode 2 "The old man and the seat" Review!

This episode ruined me. I nearly cried while watching for it. This is another episode that reminded me why Rick is my favorite character. Sadly this is the season where he becomes a monster to Morty, treating him horribly and being extremely possessive of him. Butttt this episode was before he did that, and I think this episode had a part to play in it, and obviously, Birdperson's death had a huge impact on him as well, I discussed this deeper in another post, but whenever he learns to care about people or open himself up, he gets hurt, and this episode is yet another example of that, and as he said in "Wedding Squanchers" season 2 episode 10 "Fuck you, Summer! And fuck the government! And fuck me for letting my guard down which I will never do again!" Now enough with me overanalyzing it and moving onto what I think, besides the ending scene...this episode was just kinda...meh, I didn't like all the toilet humor, and I found the side story just kinda uncomfortable and weird, there were some jokes that made me laugh, but that's it, and it takes more than that to make me like an episode.

Random thoughts:

Proper reaction-

Well at least one show pointed it out- Beth is the only sane one in this episode istg

OUCH How was he spot on-

First of all OUCH second of all, Kids, this is what we call projection!

Final Rating: 6/10 It had some good emotional moments, and some good jokes but besides that ehhhh

@countlessrealities​​ sent:

"Oh, y-you made it!" Morty greeted the moment Fish stepped out of one of her doors, which had opened in the hall of the Smith residence.

He and Summer had asked the woman if she could stop by, at least for a bit, at Christmas day. The official excuse had been that she had to try out Rick's special eggnog, but in truth they were both hoping to have a chance to hand out the gifts they had gotten for her. And, also and perhaps especially, to get her to stay for the sake of making the day less boring.

"Uh, w-we got you something!" The teen went on, gesturing her to follow him in the living room. Once there, both he and Summer picked up two packages from under the tree.

"H-Happy holidays," Morty grinned, handing her a small, slightly creased package. "I-It's not great, but...I tried."

Inside it, Fish would found a miniature of a dragon, her dragon. The paint was a little smudged here and there, betraying the fact that had been painted by hand down to the last detail.

"Yeah, merry Christmas," Summer added rolling her eyes at where Jerry and Jacob were trying to keep the other presents involved in some boring conversation. "You're, like, the highlight of the day."

The girl's present was wrapped up much more nicely and, inside, there was a full make-up kit. The language on the box was definitely not an Earthen one, which meant that Summer had picked it up in some space mall.

"It's special make up. It's super cool because, like, it never gets smeared, no matter what you do or what the weather is like. It comes off only with this special product," she pointed one of the pictures on the back of the kit, "and it comes off, like, right away. No need to scrub it a thousand times or stuff. Just wash your face with a little bit of that. Travelling around gets messy, so I thought you could use something like this."

[[ Morty & Summer for Fish ]]

"Wouldn’t miss it for the world, kiddo,” she replied with a smile, her hand reaching for Morty’s head to ruffle his hair affectionately. And it was true, too. She had certainly gotten attached to Morty and Summer, and was happy to spend Christmas with them. It wasn’t like she celebrated Christmas at the Shop anyway, with it being mostly disconnected from time. 

She put her backpack (an old leather thing that had seen better days) on the sofa, and followed them to the tree. “Gifts?” a little exclamation of surprise, “you’re spoiling me kids.” She opened Morty’s gift first, letting a grin creep up on her face as she saw what was inside. “My dragon! Did you make it yourself? Morty that’s so sweet.” She held the little figurine in her hand, looking at it fondly. “I’ll cherish this, thank you.” A little kiss was placed on the boy’s forehead. 

Then she opened Summer’s present, not exactly surprised by its content, for she had grown to know the teenager quite well. “Well would you look at that, I’ll be the best looking trouble-maker in the galaxy!” She pulled Summer into a hug. “Thank you Summer, I love it.” And it would certainly come in very handy if she ever had to steal things at a gala or a ball (which happened a lot more often then you’d think).

“Well, I have gifts for you too kids!” she exclaimed happily, placing the boxes carefully on the coffee table before going to fetch her own bag to retrieve the presents. They had strange shapes, and were wrapped in nice pieces of printed silk.

“For you Morty,” she told the boy, handing him his present. The shape betrayed its content, a dagger in an elegant leather sheath. The blade was engraved with bizarre symbols, and the handle was covered in intricate designs. “It’s a magical dagger, it will hurt anyone but its owner. Got your name engraved on the blade there, so the dagger knows it belongs to you." Fish wasn’t really aware of what kind of gifts were age appropriate for a teenager, but then again, considering the adventures Morty got in? That wasn’t too far off. 

“And this one’s for you Summer!” She handed the girl a big present, soft to the touch under its wrapping. “It’s a cloak that can take on any shape and color you want it to. Can turn in into any piece of clothing, really. Dress, skirt, whatever you want. Oh but you need the right spells, wait,” she returned to her bag, rummaging through it for a moment. “Here!,” she gave her an old book, “with that, you should be all set. Now I know it won’t replace the joy of shopping, but I figured it could come in handy in case you don’t find what you want, or need a last minute outfit.” The cloak itself was simple enough, made of black cotton with golden symbols embroidered along the trim.

A Hair’s Breadth From Death

Day No: 3

Prompt: Impaled

Fandom: Murdoch Mysteries

Medium: fic

Trigger Warnings: a small bit of description concerning the type of injury

SFW

Additional Notes: Don't try this at home folks! hydrogen peroxide plus vinegar does make a strong and dangerous acid, i just didn't know if it bubbles and eats away that quick, apparently lead dissolves within an hour

Doctor Grace looked up as she heard the creaking again from the roof. The winds were terrible today, and she was glad she didn't wear any of her date clothes at the moment. Coffee flew out of her hands and landed on her pants. There had been wet trash that then clung to her calf, leaving grease. A terrific idea to not where my date clothes under the work onesie. She had a date tonight. Lily mentioned an indie movie that sounded fantastic, and they were going to hit Green and Good before.

"Emily!" a voice called out. George waved from over the body. She quickly moved forward, her case swinging along with her legs. "Almost thought you were blown off the road."

"Not yet, George," she said, kneeling beside the body. "Ten more kilometres and Iria might be forced off." Rigor mortis was set in. She saw blood stains, but not the source. A quick pat found the wallet, which she handed over to a tech. More patting found general pocket items. Multi tools, change, random receipts. She passed them all along. "There isn't anything external to indicate what caused the man's death. The blood spatter appears to be from the outside. No obvious signs of poisoning."

"A wait for the official report it is," George sighed. He had gotten so spoiled working with Murdoch and Ogden. They always had the flashy murders that Violet identified straight off. Ignoring that, he stood up and helped her to her feet. "So, what are the plans between you and Lily tonight?"

Emily was happy to share. "New indie movie and a dinner at Green and Good."

Henry, who had been hanging off to the side, yelled, "The Green and Good is the best. Ruthie and I love it."

"Oh, high praise," she said, standing up, "We'll get him loaded and I'll do an autopsy tomorrow." Turning around, she grabbed her kit. "What about you, George? Anybody waiting for you tonight?"

"Just the latest copy of Doctor Ogden's book and a good pint. You know who Ruth set me up with?" he asked. She shook her head. "Louise Cherry." She started laughing. "It wasn't the least bit funny. Said Detective Murdoch was boring. The man has a writer attached to him. How is that boring?"

"Well, there's one place where he isn't that boring," she said, thinking far, far too much.

George looked over at her, expecting some elaboration. Instead, her skin started flushing and she started quietly laughing at the thoughts going through her head. "Emily!" One of her laughs turned into a loud one.

A loud gust of wind knocked everyone off course. The building was a cheap fabricated one that someone did three years ago and it had been falling apart. This time, a chunk of wood fell down and landed right where Emily was walking. She tripped on the offending item and fell. After that, a steel bar that had rusted through broke and dropped. Two seconds later, Emily was pinned to the floor, the bar going just under her left breast.

The others were shocked for five seconds before everyone started rushing around. A constable radioed for an ambulance, describing the situation. Henry was on the phone with someone. George dropped down, ripping his jacket off to wrap around the entry point and apply pressure.

Pressure caused pain and she screamed, trying to get away from him and causing more pain from moving. "Emily! Emily, stop," he pleaded.

"Hurts," she mumbled. At some point, her eyes had closed, so she opened them and saw the steel bar that was causing the pain alongside George pressing down. "Oh, God."

"Yeah, yeah, he's already applying pressure," Henry interrupted, shoving his phone nearby. That's when he saw Doctor Ogden on the screen.

"Hello, Detective Crabtree. I'm going to direct Higgins to check around Emily."

"Doc-Doctor Ogden?" Emily called out.

"Emily! Wait a minute, Higgins, point your phone toward her." He shifted so the two women could talk. "Emily, describe your injury."

She nodded, barely awake. "Steel rod, roughly a centimeter to one point five in diameter. Went through my lung. At least."

"I concur. Possible injury to your diaphragm and the upper part of your stomach. Higgins, check to see if the rod when through the floor. If it did, you will need to find a way to get the rod out of the floor without removing it from Emily. We're on our way, traffic's horrid. Keep calm, Emily."

The call ended and Henry looked to George before dropping to his knees. "Emily, I'm trying not to feel you up," he said, gaining a small chuckle. His hands slid under her body, which was also slick with blood, and finding where the rod exited. Tentatively, he started trying to work it out of the floor. It wouldn't budge, and a good chunk of that was because of the concrete it stabbed through.

"How bad?"

"It's in the concrete." He pulled out his hand, flecked with pieces of concrete stuck to the blood. "I don't know how far either. But it wasn't shallow."

That was going to be a problem.

"How far's the ambulance?" he asked.

It took a minute for someone to answer. "Five minutes. Traffic's holding them."

George nodded, "Let's figure something out. Can we cut the rod off?"

The constables started discussing ideas among themselves. One apparently had friends in construction that would have power tools for the job. However, they were large and would require a couple of people to hold the Doctor up about a foot to get underneath. Another suggested getting through the concrete, but no one had a decent tool to break it. They didn't want to try pulling it out, fearful that they will be overzealous and pull it out of the doctor.

Henry was analyzing his hand, taking in the bits left behind. "Someone find a hammer and a chisel," he ordered, looking over at George. "We'll have to hold her up, but the concrete's just about as shit as the rest of this place. It might break enough."

He nodded, looking down at the woman. Emily's eyes were closed, but she was still breathing. "Okay, Emily, we're gonna have to move you around to get under you. It will hurt." She nodded, letting them know she was awake and understood. "All right, Sampson, I'll need you on the other side of Doctor Grace. Muil, you'll take over for Higgins if he stops due to injury or tired."

Someone managed to find a hand sledgehammer and a wedge. It wasn't the greatest, but it would work. "Ready," Henry said.

"Okay, Muil, with me, just enough lift for Higgins to get under," he ordered. Between the two, they lifted Emily. Holding back screams, they still felt bad as Henry dove under to start breaking the concrete. He was still hammering as the medics and Murdoch and Ogden made their way in.

"What are the four of you doing?!" the last two yelled.

Muil, who hadn't taken over yet as Higgins was still going, answered, "The rod went through the concrete. Detective Higgins believes the concrete is just as poor as the rest of the building."

"And?" Ogden asked.

"The concrete is hard under the layer that came off when it hit since it wasn't exposed," Henry reported, pulling himself out, "I think we should give Emily a break."

"Don't set her down yet," Murdoch said, rushing out for something. Henry switched with George and Muil with Sampson to give them a break before the senior detective came back in with two different bottles.

"What are you doing?!" she demanded.

"Hydrogen peroxide and vinegar," he said. Periacetic acid. Oh, Bloody Hell. Absolutely petrified at what her husband was going to do, she had the medics ready several masks and the cart to get Emily out of there as soon as possible. Murdoch knelt exactly where Henry had been. Seeing a good chasm, he sprayed both bottles where the metal and concrete met. Remembering the last time he did this, he brought up his jacket to cover his mouth when the mixture started bubbling and hissing.

After two minutes, he used a piece of wood to knock around the rod. It didn't snap, but it did move. The concrete gave more and he used the wood to dig it out, the substance a bit like wet sand. "Okay, slowly start lifting Doctor Grace, and the rod up," he directed, standing up and away. He had the bottles ready to spray more on the area, as he wasn't sure there was enough give.

Thankfully, what he had used was enough of a give to snap the rod. The medics quickly moved forward, one wiping off the rod with a towel to get rid of the chemicals. Twisted so the rod was higher, Emily was rushed out. "All right, everyone away from the hole until the acid stops giving off gases," Ogden ordered, turning to her husband, "You have absorbant, correct?"

"Yes." She made a gesture about pouring it out and he went back to his car while she watched for lingering issues.

Little pathfinder update

Writing a fuck ton of lore for my Pathfinder game. Right now, I'm focusing on getting it down in writing rather than figuring out how to naturally incorporate it into dialogue instead of just lore-dumping. It's a lot of important stuff and much of it needs to be learned at this specific point in the game, but I don't want 30 minutes of exposition lol. I can't say anything more about it until I actually have it shown in the game! I might have to create a new section in the central document for "lore" as up until now there hasn't really been much of that as the players have experienced the world as it is, only now will they be seeing much deeper into it. I decided the time for them to be confused about what they are even doing is over, even though it did make for some fun for a bit I watched my players really have to think hard about who they trust VS. what they feel is right.

Anyways, let me recap the important parts from last session. It has been a few days but I remember quite a bit and have my smart player's notes on it.

The party asked Therix about the note they had found in her cave waaaaay back in session 4. It was in Aten militia codespeak, and basically said "Something dangerous here. Moving further up mountain" signed by someone named Golgi. Therix says she does remember some people camping in her cave all those years ago, but didn't bother them as they were armed and she didn't want her kids to get hurt. She offers to take the party to the top of the mountain, letting them ride on her back as she flies to the top. She says she doesn't like cold weather, and never bothered to closely inspect the top of the mountain, so even she doesn't know what's up there. She takes them for a test flight and then flies them up to the top (the writer's barely disguised fantasy) where they find a really old abandoned campsite. There is a stone hut here with a frozen preserved corpse of someone, presumably Golgi, who Zara concluded died in his sleep. He has tattoos on his breast that identified him as Aten Militia, as well as a modified harpoon gun that was handed out to certain volunteers when actual weapon production couldn't keep up. Desk drawers were open and empty and there was no sign of food or drink, which implies that Golgi wasn't here alone and his pals left at some point, and then after running out of food and water he died. The most important detail though, is a telescope fixed into a point in the wall. Looking through it, it points directly at the cave that the party was trapped in waaaaaaaay back in session ONE. Flashback to session one, the party found a weird ass cross-shaped object on the ground next to a mouldy old tent. The object was made of what Zara could only identify as titan flesh. They didn't know what to do with that back then, so they exited the cave disturbed. Now back to present. Context starts to seep in. That whole time, possibly for years after the war against the titans, someone was up here watching that one specific spot. That was their whole life, and no one ever knew about them. Something was in that cave that needed monitoring, and that really disturbed my players when that realization crept in that Golgi's comrades must have been the ones to set up the mouldy tent down there in that cave. Judging by the tent's state of decay and overgrowth, that must have been a few years ago. What happened to this covert group of Aten Militia that seemingly no one knew about and that had the task of watching this particular spot is still up in the air. :) The party went back down to Baobab where they slept. Early in the morning, Morty knocked on Zara's door and Stuffy let him in. He stayed downstairs until Kalan showed up and they shared a.... Brief, one sided conversation. Morty expressed his nervousness about coming back here after eight and a half years, when everyone had thought he was dead. He was afraid that people would either call him a coward, or would welcome him back, but still treat him differently. Like a wounded animal who can't live for himself anymore, a widow who needs to shut themself away in their home. He wants to reconnect with people here, but he does not want them to treat him differently for the rest of his life here. Kalan shares these exact same fears, and was the very reason she set out from her hometown on the Wollachian border in the first place. Her husband died when a large titan attacked her town, and after that people there started treating her differently, acting like she couldn't take care of herself or like a poor sad widow who had no place in the world anymore. She hated the feeling so much that she ran off into Aten to become a barbarian and to be productive with her life, helping with rebuilding efforts. She sees herself in Morty now, and she went silent in their conversation. Morty didn't get it, and he just drank his juice. Eventually Zara comes down from upstairs and they talk a bit, and Morty decides he's gonna go reconnect with people in the village, starting with Sallow. Zara wants to go with him, but deems that he doesn't need the special help. Check reblogs for the rest

I just wanted to say briefly I love your book the way it's written and capturing the thoughts of the individual in such a moment is just incredible and I hope there will be many more episodes to follow 🔥❤️💕 but I still have a few questions open to me your book floating around in your head 😅🤔 everything points to you basically just breaking the series into pieces at the beginning, if I do say so myself, but since Rex and Ahsoka have the tape, they also have the research that the aging of the clone being stopped and then not forgetting Rex's dream/vision on Mortis as a kind of silent warning that Rex mustn't let it get to that point, I'm torn as to how it ends I don't have to answer if you it doesn't matter the book or the exact future action it would be just nice to get some answers 😅

that was a bit much actually i just wanted to ask you not to let it end with catastrophe 66 it's enough that it i n the series had to end like this 😭😓 but who a I can ask for a favor like this if we don't see more I wish you all the best 🍀🍀🍀💕👍🏽

(P.S I'm sorry for the spelling mistakes, the missing punctuation marks and for the text that shouldn't be that much 😂 )

Haha no problem! I’m glad you’re enjoying everything! As for your questions:

I’m not sure what you mean by Rex and Ahsoka having ‘the tape.’ It’s slipping my mind right now if that relates to one of my plot points.

The aging clones plot line is progressing just as I want it to. It’s not really a spoiler at this point but you can safely assume that the Nulls are working on a way to pass it around behind the scenes so that all the clones can take it.

For Rex’s vision. In all honesty, he’s not meant to understand all of what he saw. It’s just not possible since he’s just one man with limited knowledge. Rex’s vision is meant to clue him in to the Null’s aging cure plot line and make him question his future, which he’s taken to heart by now. It might also give him a heads-up to a few upcoming events, but that’s on the down-low for now. In a meta sense, it’s meant to give the reader hints as to some things that might happen.

As for Order 66 and the very end of the story, we’re getting closer to that time. All I’ll say is that things don’t end exactly as they do in the show/movie, but there are still similarities. Some things that happen might hurt, but I think the ending isn’t all doom and gloom; there’s some happiness to be sure.

Hope this answers some of your questions! ❤️