#after a long slow death

[theyhoolikeowls]

.

[swordheld]

hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?

hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].

but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.

it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.

and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.

the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.

an emptiness, like you said.

but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.

you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.

he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.

but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.

how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.

the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.

think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.

i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.

but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one. wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.

as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛

[dirtytransmasc]

I hope we get a scene of Alicent with Aegon's body. If her son is damned to die, if she is damned to spiral into insanity, if she is to lose her life too the grief, let me see her with his body.

let her hold her baby in her arms one more time. let her wipe the blood that poured from his mouth and nose as he died. let her run her fingers over the viscous burns that adorn his skin. let her fix his hair. let her bathe him with a cloth as she had when he was a babe. let her kiss his cheek, his forehead, his hair, his hands. let her lay her head against him, hugging him like she had failed to do for years.

he was her firstborn and yet, her heart was still beating and his was not, she was not yet cold in her grave, no, no her son was cold, her flesh was warm, too warm. he was her baby, her son, the boy she tried so hard to protect, who had loved even when it hurt, who she had stood in front of a dragon for. she loved him, the very bones of him, and now he was dead.

let her lose her mind right there, in that room, still clinging to her body, one that's too cold, too still, too quiet. let her scream out to the gods, damning them, cursing them for taking her eldest son, amongst everything else in her life.

I want her to drive away anyone who tries to take him from her, forcing the silent sisters or whoever would be left to deal with his body at that point. let her curse and spit and claw at anyone who comes too close.

she would stay there for hours, reflecting on her memories of him. maybe she talks to him or hums a lullaby until she finally loses her battle with what remains of her consciousness and sanity, falling still against the table.

she dreams of Aegon, she dreams of the life she wish she could have provided, the life she had tried so hard to give him. a life where he was safe, a life where she had been a better mother, a life where she didn't need to live in and impose fear up on her children. maybe if she had tried hard enough he would still be alive, she'll think as she floats in the space between consciousness and unconsciousness.

she'll wake in plain chambers she only partly recognizes, she'll learn of her sons lackluster and sparsly accompanied burning, she'll learn her son was gone and she was alone. there won't be much of her left to care. she just continues dreaming, dreaming of her dead children and spiraling to madness until her broken heart finally gives out.

[my previous post inspired this, cause all I can think about now is Alicent mourning her son and its gonna put me in an early grave]

[fregget-frou]

@autisticempathydaemon said they loved my Angel listener (along with everything else it was SO SWEETTT OMLLL<333) so here’s a doodle for you! They’re also one of my favorites!

Look at that face.

Full of mischief.

Some fun facts about them: they’re native! Specifically they could be from the Salishan (but I don’t know too much so I leave it ambiguous) and are half Filipino, born and raised in British Columbia, Canada around Vancouver. They were raised by their mom and brothers, then moving to dahlia for college.

They originally planned to secure a high end job in Vancouver just going to California for school but they met David. They still visit their family as often as they can.

They’re 5’4, the shortest listener! Aklag is still beefy and could definitely throw David over their head. Their callouses are from being raised on a farm, and they’re starting to fade now.

I took them out of another story I made a while ago so I’m still trying to tweak them seamlessly so I’ll actually maybe probably not but make a backstory sheet for my listeners?

Thank you sm for your words and I hope you like it!

[sysig]

Wake up somewhere better, maybe (Patreon)

[fedoraspooky]

What? What's that?

There's stuff happening at tumblr?

Oh no!

Anyway,

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

One day, you comes across the staffbot in the abandoned theater.

There is a fine layer of dust to them, just as there is on everything else in the room. You are hesitant to even walk in, at first. You climb the stares from stage right, approaching with enough time to let them back away if they wanted to. They don't. You come up so you are face to face with them. Though frozen in an empty, static pose, their eyes are dusky, lifeless. You stare for a while. It's odd, seeing your reflection like this.

You take the time to lower their suspended hands to a more relaxed position. You straighten their hat and adjust the front of their vest, dusting off the shoulders. You stand, looking at them for a while.

You don't check as you leave and carefully, noiselessly, close the door behind you, but you know their head turned to follow your silent departure. Both you know it will be a long time before you return. Hopefully, they do not blame you. No one ever likes coming to a silent theater to look upon the long-cold corpse of themselves.

[talesofwhimsy]

WHY?, “Sin Imperial" // Car Sear Headrest, “I Can Play the Piano”

[owl127]

Could I possibly request some hurt/comfort bees? I just found your writing and really enjoy it (plus yang deserves all the comfort)

Blake shoots the beetle swarm on top of her group. Qrow finishes the coming beowolf with a quick swipe of his scythe. Sand clings to the sweat on Blake’s forehead, but she pushes forward, leaving an ice shadow behind as she jumps from an upcoming beetle and reloads in the air.

It happens when she lands.

Bleeding darkness opens in the middle of the battlefield, shimmering under Vacuo’s unforgiving heat. From within the portal, Ruby emerges, or more like she's thrown from it, landing square on Qrow’s chest. Yelling, Yang follows, holding an unresponsive prosthetic. Yang tries to jump back into the portal, and that is when Blake looks into it.

Yang, Qrow, and Blake watch as a hound’s overextended jaw closes over a mask. It breaks into multiple white fragments that turn crimson with blood.

Blake has never seen Yang yell like that—a primal yowl of desperate pain. A long, thin grimm hand tries to breach the portal, but then it closes for the last time.

Blake reaches Yang the moment she passes out.

0000

Weiss is the first to breach the barrier, as it usually is. They sit quietly in Yang's bed at the field hospital, exchanging words and touches in their own bubble, ignoring the chaos around them. Blake watches, her ears trying to pick up anything, but they are too quiet, and everything around them is too loud. Blake feels useless as Yang hugs Weiss close, her stump trembling.

It takes another two weeks for Salem to retreat; it's ugly—the mangled bodies, the growl of grimm, the fires. The despair. If there's a reason why Blake became a huntress, it was to prevent humanity from going through this ever again.

She finds Yang in Shade's training room. She's magnificent—not that Blake didn't think that before, but now it's out for everyone to see. She burns like late-spring forest fires, consuming and destroying while also bringing new life in its wake.

"She will come to you."

Blake turns to see Weiss also watching Yang from the sidelines. Weiss looks older; they all do.

But there's a weight that Weiss and Yang carry that Blake and Ruby will never understand.

"I know." Blake hugs herself, her ears flat on her head.

Weiss nods, her gloved hand touching Blake's shoulder. She steps into the arena, and Blake can see Oscar—more Ozpin than ever, leaning on his cane—on the balcony, observing.

Blake wants to stay but leaves the Spring Maiden and the Winter Maiden to train by themselves because watching them hurts.

It takes a month. It could have taken a year; Blake would wait. She's at the tail end of a call with Ilia, relieved to hear good news from Menagerie. Yang knocks at the Team RWBY room door with her hand in her pocket. She hasn't received her new prosthetic yet—there are other priorities on Dr. Polendina’s list in the Salem aftermath.

Blake finishes her call, and she knows—she just knows—and opens her arms, welcoming the woman who owns her heart.

In that first hour, Yang doesn't say anything. She simply cries and cries in Blake's arms, the forced facade of Spring Maiden she has to wear outside this room crumbling like Raven's mask did under that hound's jaw. Yang tries to speak, words jabbed and broken, but Blake hugs her closer, whispering into a golden mane to take her time. When Yang controls her breathing and her sobs wane to gasps, she takes the longest breath of her life.

"I shouldn't even be sad," she starts, her face hidden in Blake's neck. "She was a horrible mother. She abandoned my mom and dad. She abandoned me."

Blake tightens her hold when Yang swallows a new sob.

"But she saved Ruby. And she saved me." For that, Blake Belladonna would be eternally grateful to Raven Branwen. "And she was thinking of me when she died."

Blake wants to say that Raven loved her. She wants to say whatever Yang needs from her right now, but she doesn't know. Was that a last sacrifice to atone for a life of sin? Was it spur of the moment, based on overwhelming guilt? Was it love?

Raven Branwen was a mystery in life, and she will remain a mystery in death.

So Blake does what she's certain is true. She hugs Yang and says she loves her, misses her, and will be there for her no matter what.

"I'm sorry." Yang's voice is wet with tears. "I'm sorry I couldn't talk before. I, I—"

"Yang." The kiss on Yang's forehead lingers until she stops talking. "It's okay to take time for yourself. And even if I'm not by your side, I'm still with you. You know that, right?"

Yang leans back, her red-rimmed eyes finding Blake. Blake hopes her smile conveys the comfort Yang needs, and as lilac eyes brim with new tears, Blake initially panics, but Yang smiles too.

"I love you." Their foreheads touch, feather-light. Blake responds,

"I love you too."

"Stay with me tonight?" Yang places a hand on Blake's stomach, which shivers at the touch.

"Always."

[barrenceallence]

[Image ID:

Tags that read #reblogging this because I was instantly in love with August Heart the second I saw him #and now am looking up Manuel Lago #although unfortunately Manuel Lago seems to be a fairly common name. #really should have added 'comics' but well hon live and learn. #this is a not so subtle request for a primer #COUGH.

End ID]

@benbamboozled I have been summoned lmao

Manuel Lago was a character introduced in Brian Buccellato and Francis Manapul’s run for the New 52 Flash series in 2011. he’s there for a CRIMINALLY measly 5 issue arc called Mob Rule.

He’s repeatedly called Barry’s oldest friend — there’s all these flashbacks (THAT ARE CUTE AS HECK) that show Manuel and Barry’s history together, from first meeting in college right up until Barry’s gets struck by lightning. He goes MIA after that and the arc starts off with Manuel barging back in Barry’s life after all this time.

(lichrally flirting idk what to even say)

(AHHH Barry just looks so HAPPY to see him damnit)

He’s got a pretty wild backstory for a character who’s literally only there for 5 issues — his dad was killed in a plane hijacking so his natural course of action was to….join the CIA to track down the hijackers (a group called Basilisk). With the CIA he’s some sort of a deep state operative and subject to some experiments that give him a regenerating ability like a healing factor.

(That James Bond meets Batman line is the funniest thing in the world to me. No wonder Barry gets along fine with Bruce.)

he ends up getting captured by Basilisk after going rogue and they torture him for WEEKS by cutting off his hands and fingers. But those cut off pieces actually fully regenerate into straight up clones of Manuel and they start calling themselves Mob Rule.

(ITS SUCH A RANDOMLY METAL BACKSTORY LIKE oh yeah the dismemberment)

(In which manny is an absent father for his 52 clones)

(I honestly don’t even know what he was trying to do here. As far as he knows Barry is just a normal ass civilian how’s he gonna help you? He literally just wanted to see Barry)

I just really like his character bc I love the potential of what kind of friendship they must have had. They’re a bit of an odd couple but they consider each other ‘family’ and Barry’s actually knows and IS CLOSE WITH Manuel’s mom. The person Manuel calls when he’s got no one to turn to in a dangerous mission is Barry. When he thinks Barry’s dead, Manuel goes into a rage. So there’s this really close bond between that doesn’t get much spotlight besides those brief flashbacks that makes me so curious.

Honestly Manuel reminds me so much of that post that’s like men say they’re fighting their demons and then the demons are just bisexuality.

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"O-Oh! Interesting!"

Not quite the answer he was expecting (again, he had been hedging his bets on her being a movie starlet eloped from Hollywood), but not one he was actively against either. He supposed that accounted for her free time, being able to drop in and visit him whenever she wished (something he certainly had no complaints about)...

...still, he couldn't help but wonder to himself what the hell then she was doing, hanging around someone like him, someone nowhere even near that income bracket. Of course, his folks taught him from early on that things like money and looks weren't everything, but still, he found himself wondering what she might see in a scrawny geek like himself, who didn't have much to show for in the way of looks or monetary means...

"I-I think that's great!" Randall finally managed to say, smiling lightly as he said, "I-I think that's very smart, um, doing that, giving yourself a means of living comfortably, wi-without worrying about things!"

Beautiful, kind, charming, bold-tongued, a horror fan, and savvy with her savings? Was there anything Emily wasn't, honestly? He sincerely doubted it... ...he just hoped she wouldn't think he was some kind of gold digger, going out with a gal who probably had more money than he'd ever manage to scrimp and save up in his lifetime...

[brad-bakshi-loves-bugs]

one of my absolute favorite bugs, antares (my scolopendra dehaani centipede), passed away last week and it was pretty embarrassingly upsetting for me considering the fact that I had him for less than two full months, but he was so calm and sweet especially considering how bad of a place he came from before I rescued him so I got super attached. anyway, to work through my own Issues, here's my headcanons on how brad handles death among his own pet bugs:

for starters, brad shuts down VERY easily (it's a survival tactic, one that many people who have suffered abuse are intimately familiar with), and something as devastating as losing a beloved pet is no different. as bad as it sounds, he would do what im doing right now with antares - refuse to touch the enclosure or the body for the first several days, hating himself whenever he accidentally glances at it because he somehow manages to find a way to blame himself for the death regardless of the pet's age or prior health. that's the worst part of keeping bugs: there aren't any vets you can turn to for help, so you'll never truly know who to blame for a bug's death.

once he's done avoiding the pet and their enclosure, it's time to discard the body, which is always the part he hates the most. he hates touching dead bugs, hates the way they're limp and lifeless and can't fight back or run or stop him from handling them. he doesn't want pets that won't snap back at him for disrespecting their space, and a dead body can't do anything at all.

brad always buries his bugs. he doesn't have the heart to throw them away like trash (they're so much more than garbage to him, even dead), but he cares too much to feed the bodies to his other pets, so he goes to the local park a few blocks from his apartment building in the middle of the night and buries them. he always buries them beneath the mulch where trees are allowed to grow as they please, hoping that one day, fifty years in the future, they'll become a tree and live on and thrive without him.

brad isn't naïve or stupid. he knows the dead bodies of his beloved bugs won't turn into trees. but sometimes, when he loses a particularly close pet, he allows himself to believe they will. because then, even if they suffered under brad's care because he somehow fucked everything up (he has a funny way of doing that), at least they can have a new life, free of suffering and walls. a life where they can be admired and appreciated by thousands of people, rather than by just brad.

a life away from someone who may or may not have accidentally killed them because he has a nasty habit of losing (killing) everything he loves.

a life away from brad.

[edwardshundredyearoldspunk]

not to be optimistic on main but I'm pretty confident the new harry potter tv show will never finish adapting the entire series. it's gonna crash and burn, I can sense this with my feelers.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Elf lover who researches immortality to make sure you, his human wife would never die. Unfortunately, he spends most of your lifetime with his nose buried in a book, and misses out on so much.

When he realizes you’ve become old and gray in the blink of an eye… he’s heart broken. You’re in pain, he couldn’t burden you with an eternity of this. If only he had spent more time with you, given you his all instead of researching something that might not even be real.

When you die, he’s inconsolable. You were everything to him. His love, his life, the very air he breathes, and without you he feels like he’s suffocating.

One day he learns about reincarnation, and that’s when he begins searching for you. You had always said the bond you shared would last forever, and god he hoped it was true.

When he found you, all he could feel was… impatient and upset. You were a newborn, unable to do anything but cry, feed, and sleep.

He let you be, making sure to come back when you were an adult. All he wanted was to be in your presence, to feel your warmth and soft touch again.

Part of him knew there was a chance some man would ask for your hand in marriage before he could return… but he held on to the words you said.

“I’ll always love you… not even death can change that.”

Although you didn’t remember your past life, you still felt a strange sensation in your chest when you met him for the first time. He had been watching you the past few years, scaring away potential suitors and making sure you were safe, but this was your first meeting with him.

He was gentle, kind, and attentive. When his hand brushed against yours, there was a spark that made your body feel like it was on fire.

It didn’t take long for marriage to come up after he started courting you. He wanted you back as soon as possible. Despite being an elf that would live forever, the two decades he spent apart from you felt like centuries. Time slowed down with your absence, and he couldn’t bear being apart from you any longer.

After marrying you, he finally felt at peace. Getting to see you underneath him, mewling in pleasure as he held onto your hips and fucked into you was nothing short of ecstasy. He hadn’t taken another woman the entire time he had been waiting for you, and it felt nice to feel the warmth of your cunt after being lonely for so long.

He spent most of his days holding you, his hands tracing your soft sides and belly, moving down your thighs and then between them.

Finally, he got a second chance, and this time he would cherish you with everything he had.

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads

[bi-writes]

who to call to clean up after an "accident" than your sick and twisted military boyfriend? :D (dark!ghost x dark!fem!reader, 18+)

cw: dark!reader, dark!simon, horror movie vibes, graphic depictions of character death/murder, unhealthy relationship dynamics, one slip of daddy, smut, unprotected piv, simon "spit in my mouth" riley, reader and simon are kinda psycho :D

you've been so nice to her. really nice. you've let it slide off your back whenever she doesn't do her dishes. you pretend you don't notice when she borrows your shoes from the hallway and wears them out to dinner. you hide yourself in your room when she has her awful, loud guests over, and you have never once said anything about how she takes her sweet time in the shared bathroom in the morning and makes you late 2 days a week for work.

but this? this?

she needs to keep simon's name out of her fucking mouth.

"excuse me?" you say finally. your roommate is shrugging on her jacket to leave, her purse in her hand as she types on her phone, using it as a way to not make eye-contact with you. her long nails are tapping against the screen, and it feels like fucking drip water torture. "what the fuck did you just say?"

she sighs, irritated, rolling her eyes as she keeps tapping away at the screen.

"you're so dramatic, it was just a fucking joke."

"you know, i let a lot of things slide," you laugh, humorlessly, and you cross your arms over your chest as you follow her into the kitchen. "but you need to be careful what you say."

"i don't do anything except call it like i see it," she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking at herself in the reflection of the mirror hanging on the wall. "you need to just...go out more. man like that isn't gonna stay for long if you don't give him something to go for. he's bored, you know. when you have him over here all the time. and i've totally caught him peeking at me after i shower, y'know."

"well why the fuck are you wearing nothing but a towel when my boyfriend is here, anyways?" you snap. "he's trying to be polite, he's a guest. what if i wore a fucking towel when you had your guy friends over?"

she laughs, poking at the edge of her lip to fix the gloss of her pout. "trust me, honey, no one's looking at you in a towel."

you step back, a little shocked. she rolls her eyes again, sighing.

"i didn't--"

"are you kidding me?" you retort. "you're the worst fucking roommate in the world, and i put up with all your bullshit, and now you're going to go so low as to insult the way i look just to make yourself feel better?" you make your way around the kitchen island. "you don't wash your fucking dishes, you steal my fucking clothes, you're always late on your rent so i have to spot you--"

"you know what, just because i'm fucking happy, and you're not, doesn't mean you have to take it out on me!"

"i am happy, you sorry bitch!" you cry. "i'm so fucking happy, you're the only thing in my life making me constantly miserable!"

"oh, shove it up your ass, you ungrateful little shit!" she snaps. "you're just so fucking insecure and hate me so badly just because simon would rather fuck a girl like me than have to spend another minute with--"

the crack of cast iron against her head shuts her up. it dents the side of her head easily, and her face smacks against the countertop before she crumples to the floor.

it's so fast. one minute, she's yapping, high-pitched voice straining your ears. the next, she's silent.

and she won't say simon's fucking name again.

you watch with bated breath as she folds into herself, her head hitting the hardwood last, a slow puddle of blood beginning to grow under the tendrils of her hair as your eyes move to the heavy pan you're still holding in your hands.

fuck, that's a lot of blood. god, you thought she was just full of fucking air.

you drop the pan once the rush of anger leaves your chest. it thunks onto the ground, and your hands shake as you see the specks of blood that are on the back of your hands, sprinkled over the shirt you wear. it stains your bare legs, even your toes, and you don't even want to look at the spray of it along the counters.

you should be crying, you think. you should feel bad. you're trembling a little, but you think it's just the adrenaline beginning to fade and not the guilt you know is supposed to be racking your insides.

you turn your eyes back to her. her eyes are dull. she doesn't move. it's so quiet now, utterly silent, and you take a deep breath as you take in the silence that you've craved for a long while now. you make your way quietly out of the kitchen, stepping over her body before going for your phone that sits on the coffee table in front of the couch.

you keep your eyes on her as you put your phone to your ear. it rings, and you tilt your head to the side as the blood begins to spiderweb under the kitchen table.

"'ello?"

you blink, looking towards the door. you clutch your phone a little tighter to your ear.

"simon?" you say softly. "a-are...are you busy?"

he hums lowly, chuckling, "no' at the moment, swee'eart, why?" he asks. "mmm...missed y'r voice..." you close your eyes as you hear the buckle of his belt. you try not to picture your giant of a boyfriend leaning back on his worn couch and shoving his jeans low enough to fuck his fist. "tolk t'me, luv...tell me 'ow much ya miss daddy."

you clear your throat gently, willing yourself to ignore the soft squelch of what you know is his hand around his cock, to not let it distract you from what's more important. "uhm...i liked the flowers you gave me, simon. t-they were beautiful."

the sounds on the other end of the phone quiet. you hear shuffling, and then a few moments later, the clink of his car keys.

"tha' right, baby?" he asks, and you close your eyes as you hear the front door of his flat opening. he's already on the way, already coming.

"yeah," you sniffle. "really nice sunflowers."

a yellow flower. he huffs on the other end of the phone, breathing a little easier.

"good girl," he murmurs, and then the line cuts. you set the phone down, making your way back to the kitchen and taking a seat at the table. you watch as the blood continues to curl over the floor. you make no attempt to help her; you just swing your feet under you as you look at her spoiled outfit, just grateful she isn't wearing your shoes or one of your jackets. you would hate to have to throw something out that she got all dirty.

there's a curt knock at the door ten minutes later, and then it opens. simon shuts the door behind him, cracking his neck by moving it from side to side before narrowing his eyes at you. you bite your lip, blinking, forgetting suddenly why he is here when he looks so fucking good. he's got a sweatshirt on under his windbreaker, worn jeans tucked into his boots; you like these jeans, his ass looks incredible in them.

"wot happened?" he asks. you stand, remembering your place. your lip starts trembling, and simon's eyes soften just a little. he's wearing his balaclava, hood up over his head and jacket zipped up, shadowing any true expression on his face. his gait sounds heavy as he lets his hands out of his pockets, coming towards you. when he steps into the kitchen, his eyes dart towards your roommate who's still on the floor, laid out unnaturally just by the oven.

he lets out a low breath, clicking his tongue under the mask. you hold your breath as you wait for his reaction.

"bloody hell," simon mutters, reaching up and throwing his hood off. you wring your hands together nervously, your eyes beginning to sting with tears. you brace for the accusations, for the inevitable terror of facing the music. simon is military, for fuck's sake, why the fuck did you think turning to him would be a good idea?

"i...i-i--" you start, looking up at him, and he holds up a hand, taking the side of your face into his palm before smoothing a gloved thumb over your bottom lip. you blink in confusion, not understanding.

"'s olright, baby," he shushes you, shaking his head. "don't cry."

"simon, i--" you sputter a little, gripping his wrist gently. "i just--i couldn't do it anymore, she just--"

he pities you. maybe you can explain. maybe if you tell him a warped story of what happened, he can help you. he must know someone. he must have important friends, he must--

he uses his free hand to move his mask up over his nose, and you lean into him when he bends, kissing you warmly. your eyes flutter shut, and you shuffle closer as he kisses you sloppy, kisses you hot. you mewl as he slips his tongue into your mouth, licking over your teeth and humming low as he pulls away. his eyes are flashing.

mmm. love.

"hmm..." simon licks his lips, smiling a little. he looks over you, almost pensive, his eyes scanning over your face before he settles back on your eyes. it's tender, the way he looks at you. romantic. "let's get this off of ya."

he reaches for the large shirt you are wearing, pulling it up and over your head. he crumples it into a ball before tossing it on top of your roommate, nodding his head behind you.

it's then that you realize simon isn't going to do the noble thing. he isn't going to call the police. he isn't going to turn you in, make you explain, he seems uninterested in knowing what really happened. no, he already knows what happened. but that's not important.

his pretty, perfect girl got into a little trouble. and he's going to make this go away.

"go on, luv. take a nice shower, yeah?" simon turns you around and pushes on your back gently. you suck in a shaky breath when he fondles your ass, pulling on your panties gently. "mmm...take these off, too."

you slip your panties down your legs, handing them to him.

"they have blood on them, too?" you ask, wiping your face, and he chuckles lowly.

"nah," he shrugs, stuffing them into his back pocket after taking a little sniff. "these are just for me."

jesus fucking christ, there's really something wrong with him. there's something really, really wrong with him.

and something wrong with me.

simon looks you up and down, his eyes catching on your naked body for just a few moments before he nods his head again.

"go on," he tells you. "before i get distracted." you pause for a moment, tilting your head back a little as he reaches out and cups one of your breasts in his big hand. you bite your lip, swallowing back a heavy breath as he flicks his thumb over your nipple gently. "greatest tits 've ever seen," he mumbles, scrunching his nose under the mask before he lets you go. "yeah, go on, baby." it takes everything in you to walk away when you see him reach down with that same hand and grip his bulge through his jeans, adjusting himself as he turns back to the mess in the kitchen.

when you shut the bathroom door behind you, you hear shuffling in the living room. the coffee table scraping. the couch being pushed. the rustle of the rug you have there. he grunts a little, and you hear his boots track from the kitchen back to the living room.

you turn the water on hot. you decide to take a bath, not looking at yourself in the mirror as you sink into the tub and plug the drain. you make the water scalding, and it soothes your sore muscles as you rest your cheek against the edge of the tub and stare at the door.

you're not sure how long you stay there. long enough for the water to nearly slosh over the edge of the tub and for simon to swing the bathroom door open, seemingly done with his...tasks.

he's taken his sweatshirt off. just a black t-shirt tucked into jeans, and there's a slight pant to his breaths that tell you he's exerted some energy. you notice he has his gloves still on, but before he touches you, he takes them off and tosses them into the sink.

"move over," simon mutters, starting to undress. you look up at him as he undoes the button on his pants, shucking his shirt off and into the corner before dropping his jeans. the water swishes as you sit up, and you swallow hard when simon kicks his boots and pants off, his cock hanging heavy as his mask is the last to hit the floor.

fuck, he's so pretty.

he has no regard for his size. he simply steps into the tub behind you, taking a seat. he looks comically large in your small bathtub, and you squeak a little as the water spills over the edge of the bath and wets the floor. he hums as he feels the hot water on his back. you don't say anything as his hands start to turn the water a little red. you just look up, away, at him.

you shuffle between his legs, tucking yourself into his space. you can't help but look him up and down, admiring his naked physique. he's just hot. big arms, thick thighs, sunburnt tattoos and scars cutting across his face. he hasn't shaved today, so there's some stubble along his jaw, but your eyes focus a little too much on his girthy length, heavy as it sits on his stomach and leaks a little there. his fat stomach, all solid and pudgy, such a nice place for you to rest your hands.

"you did good today," simon says finally. you look at him, and he tilts his head to the side. his approval makes your chest warm. "callin' me like tha'. wot a good girl you are."

keeping quiet on the phone is what he doesn't add out loud.

you purse your lips, trying not to keen at the praise, but it's hard not to when he reaches over and slides his hand over your shoulder, thumbing at your jaw.

"i-i didn't...didn't know what to do," you admit, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. you didn't know what to do, so you called him. level-headed enough to not do something rash and call someone else, no, you called him.

"mmm...tha's wot i'm 'ere for, luv," simon soothes you. "made such a little mess..."

you close your eyes. it's sick. deranged. fuck, it feels nice.

why don't i feel anything?

"i know. i'm sorry."

"nothin' ta be sorry about."

you slump into his arms, resting your cheek on his solid chest. you can feel his cock pulsing against your tummy, and you adjust yourself in the water, straddling him as you rest your chin on his pecs and look up at him through watery eyes.

you aren't sad. no. not sad at all. simon has shown you what he will do for the you. the lengths he will go. what he'll forgive just to take care of you. he's so capable, so understanding.

sick. twisted. mine.

"then i'll just say thank you," you mumble, grinding your hips slowly. simon hums, a wicked smile coming over his scarred face. he licks over his bottom lip, big hands gripping you by the fat of your hips as you grip the edges of the tub for stability. "say thank you to my big, strong man for taking such good care of me..."

he chuckles, his eyes lowering, watching your tits sway as you fit your pussy over his length and grind down on him.

"tha' so, baby?"

you nod.

"mhm," you whine. "how can i thank you, my big boy? how can i show you how grateful i am for cleaning up after me, hmm?" you bend at the waist, kissing him wet and warm, and he hisses as you suck his tongue into your mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, and normally you would curse him for it, but right now it tastes so much like him, and you lick around his teeth trying to taste more of that sweet nicotine.

"fuck--such a naughty little girl..." he snickers, reaching down. you sigh when he slides his big palms over your ass, forcing you to grind slower, the tip of his cock sliding through your folds leisurely. you grip the edges of the tub tighter, pressing down to give you more leverage to grind down harder. "make such a mess, oll the time..." you gasp when he presses into you just enough, the tip breaching your entrance and forcing you to squeeze around him, your cunt trying to suck him in. "olways needin' me ta pick up afta ya..."

you giggle, sliding your hands up his chest, gripping his shoulders for leverage as you sink down onto him. he grits his teeth as you do, his eyes focused on the way his cock disappears inch by inch until you're seated down in his lap, his length kissing deep and twitching excitedly. he always feels like a teenager again whenever you fuck--like you're the first pretty girl to ever wet his cock.

you cup his cheeks finally, smoothing your thumbs under his eyes as you bring his gaze up to meet yours. you swallow hard, looking down at him.

"i-i love you, simon," you breathe. he stills underneath you, his jaw clenching as he frowns just a little. you come a little closer, nuzzling your nose against his, your thumb falling to trace the outline of his torn lip. "i should've said it a long time ago...i-i..."

"heart's beatin' out y'r chest, luv," he mutters lowly. "'s olright...'m not goin' anywhere."

it's so disgusting. you should be fucking ill. you should be scrambling to the toilet, your breakfast halfway up your throat. you should be crying, emotional, begging simon to tell the cops that it was all your fault, because it is. he should've come here and made you do the level-headed thing and confess your terrible crime.

he shouldn't be here, sitting underneath you in your tub, cock-deep inside of you after helping you commit murder and then fucking clean it all up.

"what did i do?" you gasp, sitting up. you move to get out of the tub, but simon growls, putting two firm hands on your ass and shoving you back down on his cock, making you cry. "w-what did i do? s-simon, why don't i feel bad, why am i not sorry--?!"

simon tsks, feigning comfort. he juts his bottom lip out into a pout, mocking your little cries.

"oh, luvvie, don't start cryin' now," he chuckles. "don't start pretending like y'care."

uhm...

"simon--"

"no one likes a liar."

you're still trying to pretend, and he knows this. you're still trying to act how someone normally would react. someone normal, someone who thinks rationally, would never have picked up the pan in the first place. and even if they had, they would've scrambled, cried, picked up the phone and confessed, called an ambulance as they tried to get her to start breathing again, put both hands on her chest and tried to get her wake up.

but you didn't. you watched, unnervingly calm, as she stained the hardwood with her blood. you watched as her eyes glassed over, lifeless, and you watched as her insides began to paint the floor in abstract shapes as you gave it time to spread. and not once during that time, or waiting for simon, did you think to help her.

you didn't want to help her. and you certainly didn't think she deserved to get back up. maybe she hadn't done anything quite harsh enough to deserve death in someone else's eyes. annoying, overbearing, rude.

but it's hard to feel bad when she talked about simon. when she called him by his name. when you've seen her let her towel slip when he's in her vicinity, trying to coax him into her room when you're looking away.

you should've taken one of the throwing knives that simon hides in his boot and thrown it at her then, just for that.

"we're cut from the same bloody cloth, baby," simon says, almost accusingly. you grip the edges of the tub, trying to stand again, but he cants his hips and fucks up into you, drawing a frenzied moan out of you. you reach for his shoulders as he does it again, his tongue darting out before he licks a fat stripe over your pebbled nipple. "'s olright. 's okay, luv. don't worry. don't hafta get y'r hands dirty, swee'eart, i've got it."

"but simon," you whine, but all he does is shake his head. you don't have to put on this morality act for him. you don't have to pretend that you are sorry for something that you had every right to do, you don't have to explain to him why you aren't feeling the way you should be feeling.

simon doesn't care about how you should feel. he only cares about how you actually feel.

"she was in y'r way," simon grunts. "always bein' a bloody brat." he fists your hair and brings your mouth to his, groaning as you tighten around his cock. "'ow many times did she fuck ya over, baby, hmm? 'ow many times did she steal y'r fuckin' things, come outta the loo wearin' nothin' but her fuckin' knickers, yeah? 'ow many times?"

you kiss him, frantic, digging your nails into his pecs and dragging them angrily.

yeah. fuck her. fuck what she did to me, fuck the way she behaved, fuck her stupid face and her stupid attitude and her stupid little games.

"called ya names..." he's hitting your sweet spot now, making you cry from pleasure. your pussy feels so hot, squeezing him because you know he's right, and the way he fucks this time makes you think he really knows what you are and knows exactly how to get you there. "wot a fuckin' twat. deserved every bit o' it, baby."

you meet his eyes, dark and cruel. he's still moving, still holding onto your hips and drawing out little whines, but it's different suddenly, it's more. you nod, understanding.

simon is terrible. no good. his head isn't in the right place, maybe it never has been. you wonder, briefly, if this is what he does when he's at work, if these are the things that he's used to. maybe simon has been in service too long--maybe he doesn't understand that you aren't at war here, that you can't just kill and clean up, that you aren't in the field.

"she deserved it," you whimper, and he grins, all teeth, all mean.

"tha's it."

"she was such a bitch."

"fuckin' right."

"she got what was coming for her."

"nnghhh--fuck, baby, gonna make me fuckin' cum, tolkin' like tha'," he hisses. you practically smack him as you grab onto his scarred face, gritting your teeth as you glare down at him. his lips part, and you spit in his mouth as he fucks up into you, thighs hitting your ass with a wet smack that makes your head spin.

"and i'll get rid of the next bitch that so much as looks your way, simon."

the kiss is searing. hot, blinding, white noise fills your ears as he cums with you, stuffing you full as he cums hard, a pained groan leaving him as he collapses against the porcelain tub with a harsh thud. you follow him, chasing after him, kissing him between heavy breaths as you don't make any effort to move off of him. when simon opens his eyes, he can't help but smile.

he's never seen his reflection without a mirror.

[systlin]

So, to explain my little adventure I just got back from, it is necessary to set the scene by explaining a few things.

My dog is a Great Pyraneese. She weighs 90 Pounds. It is mostly muscle.

My neighbors a quarter mile down the road have chickens. They like to let them free range.

Now, this is not a problem at all, EXCEPT for the fact that whenever Tyr sees them something deep in her little livestock guardian breed brain goes "Oh, I am supposed to be Responsible for this Livestock." She will attempt to plonk her 90 pound furry ass down as far towards their yard as her leash will permit and want to sit there and simply stare at the chickens. She is not aggressive towards them, she simply wants to lie down and Keep An Eye On Things, the way a good livestock guardian dog is supposed to. It is the same reason she would love to fight the foxes that live under the falling down farmhouse down the street to the death and is very upset that I will not let her.

The PROBLEM is, well

3. My neighbors also have a miniature poodle. She is convinced, in every cell of her 15 pound body, that No Other Dogs Should Come Anywhere Near Her Fucking Yard. She has no concept that Tyr outweighs her by 75 pounds and is absolutely convinced that she could win this fight.

Normally if she's outside she is out in the fenced backyard and this isn't a problem. I also don't let Tyr wander into other yards, because it's rude to let your dog pee on the neighbor's grass unless they've said they're fine with it and also I live in Fuckass Nowhere. There's plenty of county owned grass on the roadside for Tyr to pee on. Still, even if I'm coaxing her along past the chickens, she will want to slow down and drift over to that side of the road to look at them.

TODAY, however, the mini poodle was NOT in the backyard. She was in the unfenced front yard, and as soon as we walked past she saw another dog not ON her yard, but heading TOWARDS her yard, and she hurled herself into battle with no thought for her own safety.

Now, Tyr is not aggressive towards other dogs. There is an exception to this, though, and it is 'unless an off leash dog comes running full speed in the general direction of one of Her People while snarling and barking'. If this happens, I suddenly have 90 pounds of Great Pyr ready for mortal combat on the end of the leash.

This brings us to item 4

4. I broke my left arm in April and while it is healing and good for light use now, 'Light Use' does not include 'restraining 90 pounds of furious livestock guardian dog convinced her person is about to be attacked by a reactive dog'

This means that I looped up the leash short and controlled her one armed. I did not think about this twice particularly. I know I can do it and just. Did it. I wouldn't walk her if I couldn't control her, after all. Once she figured out that no, the poodle was NOT going to attack me, she calmed down, but was still growling.

But I did this as a panicked neighbor dude came running out to try and get his dog, convinced that his kids were about to watch their beloved pet get turned into Great Pyr chow.

Oh and

5. I did this while wearing a Wonder Woman tshirt

So, long story short, his 4 year old daughter is convinced now that I actually AM Wonder Woman, because "She's Strong Like Wonder Woman!" and my neighbor learned that his poodle dug out from under the fence, how's everyone else's days going.

(All dogs unhurt)