#and clings to her out of the guilt of her dying

[nyt1ba]

     He expects her to vanish at any given opportunity,   she seemed ready to depart ever since he had known her,   a look in her eyes that held a secret he could wordlessly understand,   she didn't belong here and she fears the hurt that would come if she allows herself to find her place,   she's ready to run,   to avoid the pain before it can settle into her bones.   A part of him still wishes he could find an escape like her,   to forget everything for even a moment   &.   delude himself with the safety of a new world so far away from his own.   But he loved earth,   in all its disarray,   he loved it.   It had lost all meaning of home to him when the war robbed him of everything he had ever loved,   and yet,   he still labors to save it from the ashes,   he clings to life with an absurd hope when it was slipping right through his fingers like falling sand.   If his endless quest in salvation fails when all life is finally snuffed out of existence then he can at least fade along with it knowing he had done everything he could.   The strain between them caused by his elaborate lies was on the mend,   but Adam still feels that divide that sits between them,   there was always a line neither had dared to cross,   an uncertainty that made trust so difficult to give.   Still,   it was more to him than it was with anyone else,   a sort of freedom he had been denied when he had to renounce his own emotions and any sense of self to live for others,   if this is how it's meant to be,   then he's content to have remembered some parts of himself at the very least.        ❛❛   I know.   i won't stop you, the choice is yours in the end.   You can have my drone too if need be,   i'd be happy to help in any way I can.   ❜❜        though his voice doesn't communicate the sentiment correctly,   he means what he said,   her cause wasn't anything to concern himself with but he would like to lessen her load even for a little bit.

  Unlike her,   he's bound to earth not for sentiment alone,   it was his many burdens that kept him so rooted to earth,   a wish to protect what's left and what will come to be                     an ironic part for him to play when he had been the one responsible for all that had happened.   However,   guilt gives him further reason to take responsibility,   to right his many wrongs in relentless self punishment.   The people of Xion,   the Naytibas,   their continuity was hanging by a thin thread he had to keep intact with both hands,   for if he let go for one moment all would be lost.   It's exhausting,   he knows it,   he feels it,   a deep ache between shoulders,   crushing at him ever so slowly.   He never utters a word despite the days when his body is screaming for it,   it was his penance,   the price he must pay in order to find healing.   The scavenger allows himself the luxury of a sigh,   a weariness within dark hues as they drifted to look elsewhere.        ❛❛   I hope you never have to.   ❜❜        at first it was unbearable,   a torment he could not withstand,   now this endless toil had become his way of living,   [   if it can ever be called as such.   ]   He wouldn't wish that upon her,   while she had been similarly ruined,   there was much of her she didn't know still existed,   a goodness in her he wants to keep safe even if she doesn't want him to.

  Rolling onto his back again,   his empty gaze doesn't find solace within the stars despite how much he had tried,   he understands their meaning to her,   how special it must be to be able to bask in their gentle light that gave a safety similar to her home,   their glow is faint to him,   slowly dying the more he looks onto it,   when did life become so pale in his eyes ?   They come to a close,   favouring the familiarity of his own darkness instead.   Her little jab had stung at him once before but now it only brings out a huff   &.   a smile.        ❛❛   Its nice,   if you have something soft to land on.   ❜❜        he remarks,   a hand raising to rub at his temple in recollection of the headache he felt afterwards,   he never means for it to happen,   but always finds better things to do than to rest even for a few minutes.        ❛❛   I want earth to heal,   I want us all to heal.   That's my purpose,   my only goal.   It's why I keep going when everything seems   ...   hopeless.   ❜❜        it's a forlorn admission that slips past his lips,   aware of its impossibility but not willing to give up,   he can't afford to.        ❛❛   As for you,   I suppose that's for you to find out,   though, I hope you remember that you no longer have to do it alone.   ❜❜

Death is her truest wish — still held like a secret within her heart, unaffected by the shuffling of her priorities. While more reluctant than ever before, what she feels for him isn’t strong enough to keep her here forever — but it is strong enough to draw her back to his side time and time again. It is a strange sort of peace she feels with Adam, but at the same time there is an unmistakable fear lingering there as well. There comes a point in time where she generally cuts ties completely — leaves before she can be left. Her intention was to let the chips fall where they may, but talking to him feels so easy … a natural simplicity to it that defies all her usual instincts. Before she can even think twice, she’s already talking about staying.  Teeth press into the flesh of her cheek – but is staying really the best idea? Hand curls into the exposed side of her skull, fingers sweeping back ashen bangs as she responds,      “ I’ll consider it. Earth may not be the most hospitable planet, but … it’s free of Coalition control. That makes it much less – exhausting for me to be here. ”     The alternative is watching her back pretty much everywhere she goes – the added pressure of keeping herself free of injury is more taxing than she lets on and she finds herself more and more drained.     “ But ... I still have some things I need to take care of. ”

Revenants still wander empty battlefields, run amok within ruined cities, and rampage against the forces of the Sovereign Union – who try endlessly to recruit her to their cause. But Elektra’s days as a military leader are over, she can barely stomach recalling them – even the good memories leave her sickened. When all is said and done with the Revenants and the Coalition, there’s always bounty hunters seeking her head or former allies looking to stab her in the back to make a quick fortune. Not to mention the notable members of the Cult of the Falling Star whom she also hunts as often as she can. It seems that every direction she turns bears a new knife just waiting to flay her skin – with the exception of Adam, of Earth itself. While she never complains, does the work without a second thought … it is difficult to be denounced as nothing more than a traitor and a villain. Hard to exist in a galaxy full of people who would rather watch her bleed out than help her in any way shape or form – but she does it wordlessly, endlessly, days stretching now into oblivion.     “ Life just seems – never-ending knowing what I do now, ”     a sigh and the revenant rolls onto her back, wincing at the chill as the rockface presses up against her joints,     “ I don’t know how you do it.  ”

Elektra has never been stupid, she seeks death because it is a release – a way out of a life that does not want her. This galaxy is decidedly against her; living is akin to the feeling of being trapped inside a room with no windows, no doors. No way out. Nothing to do but surrender to the crushing pressure of it all, and yet – being here lessens the weight in a way she does not yet understand … which is why she’s not entirely ready to give up on Adam, Earth, or the concept of life itself.     “ Maybe you could give me a few pointers – although you don’t seem to be much better at it than I am, ”     a laugh, fingers settling upon her midsection, absentmindedly running along the scar that separates her synthetic skin from it’s genuine counterpart,     “ although … a week long coma does sound pretty nice sometimes. ”

[nereidprinc3ss]

please don't say you love me

in which fwb!spencer reid and fem!reader get into an argument about the nature of their relationship.

18+ (implied intimacy) warnings/tags: friends with benefits arrangement, it goes bad, reader is so clearly anxious avoidant, reader is so me-coded, self-loathing, difficulties with emotional intimacy, arguing, derek and penelope make an appearance woo, a little dramatic, no happy ending (a nereidprinc3ss first!) a/n: it happened guys I stopped writing for a few days and last night randomly was inspired to finish this fwb piece and it essentially turned into a vent and went a completely different direction than i thought it would but here we are!!! i hope you enjoy, I loved writing, ilysm

“Are you reading it? Did you get to the part yet?” You ask, buzzing as you peer around Spencer’s arm to see where he’s at in the book you’d handed him. Sometimes you think it takes him longer to flip the pages than to read them. 

He doesn’t answer, but you see the flickering quirk of his lip like something is amusing him. It’s been a few minutes and he’s maybe halfway through. He has to have seen it by now. 

You’re clinging to his arm, eyes darting pointlessly between the text and his face, searching for a reaction. It comes in the form of a furrowed brow, a disbelieving smile, and something between a barking laugh and an exclamation of, “what?”

“You read it?”

His eyes narrow and he flips back a page, taking a bit longer to reevaluate. 

“Our moans and grunts drowned out the screams of the dead and dying only a few hundred feet away.”

You giggle furiously, clapping a hand to your mouth when you snort, and you feel Spencer’s focus shifting to you, even with your eyes screwed shut. 

“And you read this whole series?”

At that you sober up some, still hiding the bottom half of your face and brows drawn sorrowfully as mirthful tears well. You’re slow to admit your guilt with a nod, and his expression is somewhere between horror and fascination. 

Your cheeks heat and you cover your face, laughing again and shaking your head shamefully as he ridicules you. 

“Why? Why would you do that to yourself? I don’t even know if I can be seen in public with you, that’s—” he’s haphazardly tossed the book back on its display table and grabbed your wrists, pulling gently and laughing too. “No, show me your face. This is—you need to explain yourself. This is unforgivable.” 

“No! I swear it was a morbid curiosity, I didn’t like it, I’m sorry! I—”

“Reid?”

You both freeze. 

It’s not the most dignified position, admittedly—hidden among the shelves in a bookstore, pressed too close to be friendly, his hands around your wrists. 

So you don’t mind when he drops them like hot potatoes and gives you a few inches of breathing room. 

“Hey! Uh—you’re—”

Spencer is looking between you and two other people at the end of the aisle—a quirky bespectacled blonde in a flouncy polka-dot dress and her taller companion, ripped and head shaved, sporting some impressive eyebrows. Right now they’re conspicuously raised—his eyes are also pinballing between you and Spencer. 

For a moment, everyone is just sort of… looking at each other. 

It’s a little bit… awful?

Finally Spencer clears his throat. 

“Um, what are you guys doing here? Just… looking at books?”

Something is off, and you feel like shrinking or running, but you just stay glued to your spot. 

In sync, they hold up copies of the same book—and it takes you not a second to place the author’s name, in imposing red font at the bottom like it’s important. Rossi. 

The pieces click into place. These must be Spencer’s co-workers—Penelope and Derek, if his descriptions of the team have served you well. Part of you is starstruck. Part of you is embarrassed. They’re clearly shocked to see Spencer with a girl in the wild, so you know he hasn’t told them about you—and why should he, you think, why should he tell his friends about the girl he’s been sleeping with for months now? 

Finally, the blonder half of the duo speaks. 

“You’re—this is a girl. That’s. Who is that? Hi! Who are you?”

She’s literally pointing at you, eyes drifting between you and Spencer like it just doesn’t make any sense. Derek gives her a look and gently pushes her hand down. 

“Hey. That’s enough.” Then he offers you a polite smile, though you sense a bit strained, and his eyes too keep wandering back to the man next to you. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, no! You’re not… interrupting…” Spencer trails off and you sense he’s looking at you and gauging a reaction but you’re just smiling idly at his friends and waiting for this to be over. He finally thinks to introduce you by name, and you offer a shy wave and a smile to your new acquaintances. 

Penelope points (that damn finger again) but this time it’s less accusatory, and stays below chin level. 

“Cool shirt. I love that band,” she offers genially. Your brows raise and you look down, trying to remember what shirt you’d tossed on before leaving Spencer’s apartment an hour ago. 

“Oh! Thanks,” you smile, and you’re relieved to mean it this time. 

Another frosty silence begins to descend, but Derek doesn’t let it settle so much this time, to everyone’s satisfaction. 

“Alright, well. It was nice to meet you. Enjoy your date.”

There’s too much weight on the last sentence, and Derek gives Spencer a eyebrows-raised-meaningfully look you don’t understand. You’re just glad Spencer keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t immediately insist that it’s not a date, because it’s not, and that’s fine, but the vehement denial would bum you out. 

The pair walk away in the kind of clenched silence that means they’ll start fervently whispering as soon as they are out of ear shot. You watch their retreating figures and chew your lip, sensing that the carefree and playful energy of five minutes ago will have evaporated by the time you turn back to face your companion. 

“Strange,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, and you’re slightly jarred when Spencer replies from beside you. 

“Which part?”

All of it. 

Turning to face him, you smile, and it doesn’t reach your eyes but it doesn’t need to. 

“Oh—nothing, sorry.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, only stares at a point somewhere above your head and narrows his eyes like he’s thinking unpleasant thoughts. 

“Was I an asshole, to you, just now?”

It’s unexpected. You don’t have an answer prepared, so you say something that feels like a lie because you can’t prove that it’s not the truth. 

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“I just… I don’t know. I get weird around them, sometimes. I don’t always know what to say, like, when my personal life and my work life intersect, because for a long time I didn’t really have a personal life. And I think they still think I don’t know how to talk to girls, so…”

“You don’t know how to talk to girls,” you remind him. “Let’s go look at the puzzles.”

Maybe you spend too much time with Spencer Reid. Maybe that’s the problem—too long in his presence and he’s eating away at your neural tissue like you’ve got cysticercosis and he’s the T. solium (a terrible thing he had explained to you a few weeks ago.)

Maybe you need a break from him, to stop breathing his air and sleeping in his bed and wearing his clothing, because you’re forgetting that he’s not the entire world and that is a very bad thing to forget in a situation like yours. The entire world cannot be the size of his apartment. 

But you also just like him so much. As a friend, of course. That goes without saying. You like his strange sense of humor, and the way he lights up when you ask him an obscure question. You like your legs across his lap while you watch his old shows. You also like being kissed by him, and hugged by him. You like being taken care of like no one has ever taken care of you, and you like the way he always touches you, soft and kind and so on purpose. 

You never meant to like him so much. 

This affection—it has grown, insidious and parasitic, and now that it’s been pointed out to you like a lump in your side, it’s impossible to ignore. 

What you and Spencer have works precisely because you’ve kept things platonic and casual. That way, there’s no worrying about emotional baggage or arguing about feelings because there are none to be found and no precedent that any such things should or need to occur. You can’t hurt each other’s feelings if your feelings aren’t on the table. 

So why can’t you stop thinking about earlier?

Why can’t you help caring that he’s been keeping you a secret from the people he loves most?

“So, essentially the book is his first deep dive into meta-fiction. It was pretty revolutionary at the time, and while not his most celebrated novel, I’d argue it was his most relevant and culturally pervasive. I’d actually love to hear your interpretation of the story—it’s truly different for everyone. It’s a little like… like a literary Rorschach test. Do you wanna borrow it?”

You’re a tangle on his bed—arms, legs, sheets—it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins. All you’re sure of is his hand, tracing his fingers in chaste lines, feather-light up and down your inner thigh in the way he knows you like. Usually it’s so soothing you melt and fall asleep within minutes. Right now it’s only stoking some sparking electrical fire in your chest—the buzzes and bursts from which have you on edge. Ready to cave in at any second. You wish you could relax. You’ve been trying.

Spencer is in no hurry for you to respond, and so doesn’t seem to mind when it takes you a long while to find your answer. 

“I think I need to go home.”

It comes out too scratchy, as you haven’t really spoken for several hours. Not as casual as you were going for. He angles his head down toward you and his hand stops and you realize it’s actually worse like that. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Everything is fine, I just… I wanna sleep in my own bed tonight, I think.”

It’s late and you shouldn’t be making him drive you across town, but he’s always amenable to what you want. This is the longest you’ve ever stayed at his place, after all—a rare long weekend—and before that a few weeks had passed with no cases to speak of, during which time you’ve been staying with him more and more. Spencer seems to be completely content letting you eat his food and use his shower if it means you don’t leave. 

“I know the feeling well,” he admits, and your heart twinges with the care he takes to not bump or bend you or pull your hair as he shifts. He’s already been out of bed, and so is more dressed than you. Really, most people on the planet are more dressed than you, and you pull his nice sheet higher up your chest as he sits on the edge of the mattress, looking down at you and with a sort of worry in his eyes. He finds your knee through the fabric. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been quiet.”

Stop paying such close attention, you want to tell him. And in the same breath, please don’t ever look away. 

“I’m… good.”

It is easily the least convincing performance of your life. Either you’re self sabotaging or you want him to push you further, and you don’t know which is worse. 

When his brow ramps just the slightest bit, you know you’ve fumbled it. 

“I don’t believe you.”

You shrug. “I don’t need you to.” And then you sit up, still holding the sheet to your chest. “Can you hand me a shirt?”

Enough clothing has accumulated around the room recently that he could pretty much reach out in any direction and find something for you to wear.  He grabs a sweatshirt hanging from the bedpost and holds it out for you, and you pull it over your head, before dropping your feet onto the cool wooden floor and grabbing the first bottoms you see—a pair of floral pajama shorts. How have so many of your clothes ended up at his apartment?

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

You scoop your bag up from a chair and flit around the room, haphazardly stuffing away discarded clothing to take back home. It’s true that it’ll be nice to get back to your stuff—your shower products and your closet and your silk pillow cases. You shouldn’t be spending so much time here. It’s not your space and you’ve been sacrificing your own needs to be closer to him, which is something you’d rather not do for any man. 

“You can drive me home. I’ll send you gas money.”

“You don’t need to send me gas money,” he says, tacking your name on to the end of the sentence in a way that raises your hackles instantly. 

“Yeah, I do. You drive me around constantly. I’ll pay you back and start taking the metro, or something.”

“I don’t want your money,” he scoffs. 

“Fine. Then I’ll call a car.”

“That’s unnecessary. I’m happy to drive you.”

“Why?”

Silence hangs. Spencer has by this point stood up, and he’s watching you with a furrowed brow and slightly parted lips like he doesn’t understand where this animosity has come from. Honestly, you’re not entirely sure either. You didn’t realize you were harboring so much of it. 

“Am I supposed to see you as an inconvenience?”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

“No. You’re not. We have a relationship and I don’t mind doing things for you.”

“You’re not my boyfriend.”

You didn’t mean to say it, but you sure as hell were thinking it. 

It feels good to say, like stretching a sore muscle beyond its limits or pressing into a bruise until you get past the ache. Sometimes when things hurt, it’s best to feel the pain and move on. 

He looks absolutely perplexed, the lines between his brows only ditching deeper. 

“Is that what this is about?”

“Oh my god, Spencer, no, I don’t care—”

“Because earlier at the bookstore I asked you if I was being an asshole and—”

“I do not give a fuck about earlier at the fucking bookstore!”

It’s too late to be yelling, but he doesn’t scold you. He just sort of looks at you, like you’re something mildly unpleasant. It makes you feel worse. 

A long moment goes by. 

“Fine. I’ll take you home.”

You let him brush past you, nothing more than a breeze on your shoulders as he disappears from the darkened bedroom. For a moment, you can’t follow him. All you can do is stand there and try to contain that sour, stinging, crying feeling in your eyes and nose because there’s no reason for you to be crying right now. 

From the living room, he calls, rather abrasively, “Are you coming?”

“Yes,” you huff, and it is as wavering as it is insolent, so obviously the only word holding back a full-fledged deluge of tears. 

One minute. One minute to sniffle and take deep breaths and wipe abashedly under your eyes because you refuse to be dramatic about this. Refuse to get over-emotional. You will not let it matter this much to you. 

When you decide you can show your face without making a scene, you march out of his bedroom and straight past where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, keys in hand, to the front door. 

He doesn’t move. You burn smoking holes into the dark wood of the door with your eyes, and the two of you are apparently at an impasse. 

“I’m ready,” you eventually snap, always the impatient one between the two of you, casting a sharp glance over your shoulder. 

“I’m not.”

“You said you would—”

“I know what I said,” Spencer cuts you off and shuts you up, “and I changed my mind. I’d prefer to talk about it before I take you home.”

By the time he finishes the sentence you’re already wrestling your phone from the depths of your bag in search of a ride sharing app. 

“Okay, well I’m done talking because I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, so—”

“No, you’re done talking because this is what you do. You can never admit it when you want something because that would mean acknowledging that you’re a human being with emotions, and that’s too scary for you.”

Surely you misheard him. You turn around, a deep frown contorting your features. 

“Excuse me?”

He only looks at you in that expectant, knowing way of his. 

“It’s too scary so you run away. You’d rather burn your relationships to the ground and rebuild them with a new person every time than actually let someone in.”

“You don’t know me!” You yell.

“Do you actually think that’s true?” Spencer says, pushing off his perch against the counter, voice shrilling and raised slightly as he gets visibly agitated. “You think I’ve spent hours upon hours with you and I don’t know you at all?”

“You have no idea what I’m like in a relationship because this isn’t one. You have no fucking idea what I want, so do not presume to,” you seethe. 

“You want a relationship. You wanted my friends to know you and you didn’t tell me that because you’re fucking terrified of the fact that I do know you. You can’t stand the idea that regardless of how many times you tell yourself it’s just sex, you have been vulnerable with me, and you’ve told me things you’ve never told anyone before, like why your last three relationships really ended, and how you constantly self-sabotage when you’re on the verge of getting what you want because you think you don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up!”

“No. I’m not just going to let you walk away from me like you did everyone else who could’ve ever cared about you because I know once you walk out that door you’ll stop responding to my calls and texts and I’ll never see you again, which is a juvenile pattern and completely unsustainable if you don’t want to keep pushing people away for the rest of your life!”

“God, Spencer, stop!” You sob, staggering back like you’ve been stabbed. 

The urgency, the raw, desperate scratch of your voice, stops him in his tracks. 

Every place an arrow penetrated a chink in your armor aches, and it hurts so much worse because he knew exactly where they were. You don’t know when or how it happened, but he’s right. Despite your most valiant efforts, Spencer Reid knows you. Somehow he crept in and grew over every limb like ivy. It’s crawled over your feet and up your legs and it’s keeping you there, rooted in place in his apartment, sobbing silently into the crook of your arm because you feel utterly paralyzed with fear. 

Just as he’d said. 

It’s silent for a long stretch of time, unquantifiable the same way the distance between the beach and the horizon is unquantifiable. It’s sprawling and infinite and desolate. The only relief from the drowning quiet is the occasional gulp of air or gasp from you which furthers your humiliation. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer finally whispers, soft and unsure like rays of weak sunlight over staggered tides, in the grey morning after a raging storm. It’s an attempt. It’s earnest and afraid. 

The energy radiating off of him is so tangible that you can sense his desire to come near. To hold you. But that would be your worst nightmare come to fruition. This—this warbling and crying in front of him in silence in his dark apartment is god-awful enough. But to be comforted? For him to bear witness up close and personal to your humility and your ugly, jagged pieces—that inspires true catatonia. That is everything he said you were afraid of, and he was right. 

You resent your human nature, and the fact that you care how his friends look at you and that it stung when they did so with little more than apathy. You hate that you care that he hasn’t told them about you. You hate that you feel so unimportant—because more than anything, you want to be fine with being unimportant. 

You want to be fine. Constantly. 

You hate that you feel. You hate that you care. 

But you always have. And so fucking deeply. 

Somehow, Spencer Reid is the only one who has ever noticed. 

Eventually, his self-restraint snaps and he surges forward at the same time as you take a shuddering inhale and step back. 

“Please don’t touch me,” you whisper. Afraid that if he did, his fingers would only sink into your flesh like decaying fruit. That you would disintegrate in his hands, and he’d finally see you’d been rotten the whole time. 

He speaks softly, holding his hands up to show you he’s not a threat. 

“Okay. I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“I need to go home.”

“I’ll—”

“No. I don’t want a ride. I’ll get a car.” You speak quietly. Efficiently. There’s no point in pretending this doesn’t feel catastrophic anymore. 

His brows furrow. Like a moth to flame, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, he draws nearer again. 

“I’m not comfortable with you on the street at this hour.”

“I’ll wait in the lobby,” you insist, pleading, a wounded animal, because he doesn’t seem to understand how every casual notion of kindness is a violence, how he’s ripping into you and making it so you’ll never be able to put yourself back together. He can’t be kind like you’re easy to be kind to. 

If you’re easy to be kind to, you are just as easy to hurt. Accepting that kindness is a sort of vulnerability you feel you can’t afford right now. 

Another moment of silence, of stillness, as if you’re both bolted to the ground where you stand. 

When he speaks it’s a blow to the chest because you’ve made him cry too. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, quietly, and a venomous self-hatred drips down your throat. Because you’re doing it again.

Maybe this is all you will ever be. 

You fail to stifle a sob and Spencer steps closer still, saying your name desperately and so quietly like it’s his last rite. 

And you try. You try harder than you ever have to stay in one place, to get a hold of your vibrating and to swallow all those slithery feelings and ignore every alarm telling you to panic when he reaches out to touch your arm because it’s never safe to let people in. But when his hand finally brushes you, it’s like a cow prod. You jolt backward. 

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” you whisper all in one harrowed breath, and there’s so much you’d like to say—you’re right, about everything, you do know me, you know what I want, I tried, I’m ashamed—but none of it matters. None of it is enough. He’s backed you into a corner of your own making, and the only way out is by pushing him aside even if it hurts you both. 

So you don’t say anything else. You leave him there, in the dark of his own apartment, and you disappear down the hall. 

Maybe this is all you will ever be.

[a-random-weeb]

Bsd men when their S/O is on their period

I'm currently making my monthly blood sacrifice, so why not make headcannons? My emotional stability on my period be like: 📉

I get really angry, pissed at everything, clingy, and sad (mostly angry) while on my period, as well as really bad cramps, and the mood swings are horrible, so that's what I'm writing for.

Also, sorry I haven't been writing, remember how I said I was sick? Yeah well I'm so sick I can barely eat, I'm going to school but I constantly feel like I'm gonna throw up, I feel like shit, and that's why I'm posting as much. I've been trying to post once a day though

Characters: Akutagawa, Chuuya, Dazai

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Akutagawa:

•he probably doesn't even know what a period is

•When you begin to get mood swings, he's so confused

•When you explain what a period is, he thinks you're dying

•He offers to call an ambulance, and is so confused when you say it's normal

•you have to bleed your guts out every month and there's nothing you can do about it?

•I mean- he knows what a period is from gin, he's not completely ignorant

•Gin probably never talked about it much though

•she was probably one of those girls who was really embarrassed to be on her period, and still kinda is.

•When you try to struggle explain it's physically impossible, he's even more confused

•he thinks periods are so complicated

•He still secretly thinks you're gonna bleed to death, and is really worried 💀

•He also thinks it's kind of gross😭

"Why are you in so much pain?! You're bleeding?! What the hell?! Wdym, you're dying, do I have to call an ambulance?! .... What do you mean by 'period'? Oh wait, Gina told me about them..."

─── ⋆⋅ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ⋅⋆ ──𓂃········╮-`♡´--`♡´-___________༄-

Chuuya:

•Unlike Akutagawa, he's a little more educated

•He doesn't know EVERYTHING, but he knows a bit

•He definitely knows about the mood swings and cramps from the girls in the Mafia (Gin, Higuchi, Kyouka, Kyoyo ←(idk how to spell her name), ect.)

•He's too afraid to ask questions, he has to keep his pride!

•you both probably got in a big fight because of how angry you get and his anger issues, resulting in you crying and clinging to his side.

•He kind of likes it when you're on your period, even though it's not the end of the world, he treats it like it is

•what? Its an excuse to take care of you. Plus he loves how clingy you are

•He buys you pads or tampons while in your period, aswell as those cute animal heating packs

•He also buys you chocolate.

•He cuddles you while you're having cramps, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you hold the heating pack to your stomach

•other than the mood swings and cramps, it's pretty normal

•I mean, it doesn't change your whole day-to-day schedule (depending on how bad your cramps are)

"You're on your period? Are you good on pads and whatever? Alright, we can buy more? You want chocolate too? Jeez lady... Oh nononononononono, don't cry, we can get chocolate!"

˖๑‧˚꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖˖๑‧˚꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷

Dazai:

•He feels bad for all the cramps you have

•That doesn't stop him from teasing you though

•He's an asshole about it at first

•Until he learns his lesson

•He's scared of your period after you snap at him

•Though, he finds it adorable when you cuddle up to him, all apologetic after snapping at him

•if he teases you about it... well... He's probably too scared to 💀

•He buys you pads, heating packs, and chocolate with Kunikidas black card

•His excuse is "My baby is on her period, you want her to bleed her guts out in pain?" He guilts Kunikida into letting him use it (manipulative bitch- )

"Oh? My belladonna is on her period is she? Aren't you being a little dramatic about it- I TAKE IT BACK I TAKE IT BACK PLEASE DONT HURT ME!" (he's not serious btw, you're not abusing him 😭)

𐦍༘⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖*.+𐦍༘⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖*.+𐦍༘⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖*.+𐦍༘⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖*.+𐦍༘⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖*.

[mercyll]

A moment in the manga that always stuck out to me was chapter 307. Kagome chooses to save Kikyo's life, putting her own life at risk in the process, and ends up being saved by Kikyo.

Kagome stated that she did it out of obligation and Kikyo's feelings of conflict towards her answer was always a striking moment in their interactions. Kagome didn't even mention the fact that Kikyo saved her in return. She probably didn't even realise that just like how Kagome could have left Kikyo to die in that pool, Kikyo could have left Kagome to die in there as well.

But she didn't.

This page alone. Kikyo feels where her heart would be and talks about the kindness of Kagome who just saved her life, and talks about the warmth she feels!!!

IT'S STILL WARM.

The layers of meaning in that one line alone.

why a love triangle when we could've had:

[commanderfoxdeservesbetter]

So Far Away: Part 1

Okay I keep reading the fics where Fox is named Dar’Vod after the Fives incident

And it keeps running in my head but imagine:

Rex, in the heat of his anger, calls Fox dar’vod and that’s the last he’s ever spoken to Fox when he’s alive

Their friendship is ruined and Rex, despite regretting the words, doesn’t try to fix the relationship and Fox throws himself into his work to avoid Cody’s prying of what happened

Well, the empire rises and Fox dies by Vader’s hand and Rex survives - guilt-filled - because Fives was right and he doesn’t know if that meant Fox was under the chip when he killed Fives or not and he never got to make amends and figure out the truth (and Rex knows it’s his fault and it’s just another burden added on that he’ll have to carry)

What I’m saying is: Fox stuck in a limbo, unable to march on because being named Dar’Vod means he is unwelcomed

And all the Vod’e - those who have died or are dying - pass him as they go to the Vod’e

Most All have tried to free him, tried to redact the title

Cody, most of all when he died, stated that the title was never meant to be given and Fox should be able to March on and yet when a barrier separates him from his vod’ika, he screams

Even Fives tried coming back to remove the title - talking with Fox for hours about he never blamed Fox for his death but still Fox cannot march on

It’s only when Boba (who died an unfortunate death by Vader earlier than he was meant to and knew a bit more of traditional Mando culture than his clone brothers) tells them only the person who gave Fox the title can remove it

And so the Vod’e wait

They wait and watch as more Vod join them

Echo (which was a cheerful reunion for the Domino squad)

Hunter (who got shot protecting Omega)

Omega (who took it upon herself to off herself to prevent the Empire using her - first thing she did was punch Boba for leaving her behind before learning of his unfortunate death which still makes her mad but not as much)

Howzer

Thire (the last of the Corries to have died but he gave a hell of a fight)

Bacara and Neyo

More and more and it dwindles to only four clones left

Gregor comes first, cackling and the 212th rejoice his return

Wolffe follows and he gets his Wolffepack back

Rex is stubborn though

He clings to life like it’s all he has, searching for the last clone because he refuses to leave a brother behind

Ahsoka helps him where she can, pointing him in directions that she can vaguely feel Kix but she has her own battles

And Rex searches

And he remembers

And regrets

And says his remembrances

He always includes Fox in his remembrance because while he was young in the war, time has brought a new perspective to their life and he knows that Fox was young too

Young and under the thumb of Palpatine

And so he searches and remembers and regrets

[the-possum-writes]

Hi! Could you do a Finn x Fem reader lemon? Maybe it could be with and inexperienced reader while finn already has some knowledge about it and shows her how to do it. Thank you! <3

[Finn with an Inexperienced Reader]

❥Character: Finn Mertens

❥Tags: NS/FW hc's, handj0bs, established relationship, fem!reader

❥Synopsis: Finn takes things slow with you but you convince him to teach you how he likes to be touched.

❥A/N: I was going through a writing block so there's no full smut but rather some handsy stuff.

❥Whether you've been dating for years or just a few weeks, if you tell Finn you want to take things slowly, he'll respect your wishes.

❥Only kissing and hugging, nothing more.

❥But that doesn't take away how startling it is when a kissing session becomes too intense, and just as you feel the warmth cling to your heart and stomach in a tightening squeeze, Finn pulls away from you and acts as if nothing happened, resuming whatever video game you were playing or changing the subject.

❥You know where babies come from and all that basic biology class, but you have yet to personally experience it and are kind of wary of unplanned pregnancies, that's why you told Finn you wanted to take things slow.

❥And he was okay with that, but it didn't stop the growing doubt since you know he's had past encounters with other girls before. "Is he getting frustrated at me cause I'm making him wait?" you'd start asking yourself.

❥Finn is a passionate and outgoing guy who pours his heart into everything he does, whether it's fighting monsters, reading comic books, or simply indulging in his favorite meals. And, given how much he adores you, you're filled with illogical guilt at the thought of preventing Finn from physically expressing his feelings for you.

❥You've already asked him directly. "Finn, are you mad that we haven't done couple things?"

"But we always do couple things."

"No I mean like, tier 15 stuff and all that."

"Oh... Not really.."

❥He's a straightforward and laid-back guy, so it didn't occur to you until lately when, on a day when you didn't feel confident, you pushed yourself to kiss him by placing your hand on his thigh and running it upward. Finn stopped you by holding your hand so he could ask you, "Are you sure you want to do this now?"

You try to kiss his neck while saying, "I know you've been dying to-," but Finn is insistent. If there's anything he's learnt from his previous relationship, it's to avoid diving into pleasures on a whim.

"It's not about what I want, I'm asking about you." His tone has changed a little bit, especially in light of your earlier question.

❥As self-doubt circles in your thoughts and seeps beyond your eyes, you choose to keep quiet, but Finn squooze-hugs you to his chest.

"We don't need to rush anything; I'm pretty happy with you so far. We can do those things when you don't have any more uncertainties in your lovely head."

❥"Alright, there's something I can teach ya but we have to keep our voices down. You don't need to take off anything so don't worry, we'll just be using your hands."

❥"But what if I do wanna do those things but I want to take it a small step at a time? Like when you taught me how to swim." you bring up.

Finn adjusts his hold on you, the two of you were in the middle of a movie night and are currently on the couch. Jake is already asleep and BMO is probably lurking around the treefort but he promised to not peep at you two during visiting hours.

❥Finn leans back on the couch's headrest, allowing you to rest on his thighs as he tells you."How about I give you a lesson in Finn-biology?" he chuckles."I can't say no to my favorite subject." you respond. Considering the stories and experiences you've heard from your close friends, you have only a rough idea of what he's considering, but you're nonetheless anxious, intrigued, and interested about it.

❥Finn starts out by smooching you, easing a bit of your nerves as he gently grabs your hand and lowers it down his chest until it reaches his groin, he motions for you to rub him through his shorts, feeling something grow underneath.

❥It's warm, really warm.

❥Finn raises himself from the couch to lower his shorts with his underwear, and you remain silent while watching his half hard dick peeking out from the confines of his baby blue trousers. You temptingly touch his head with the tip of your fingers, unconsciously wrapping more and more of your around around him until he finches a bit, pulling away at the discouragement. "It's okay, it just needs something slick." he assures you. At the mention of it you're unconsciously rubbing your thighs together upon feeling something getting wet downstairs, but you don't bring it up.

❥The attention has Finn squirming in his spot but he continues with the lesson.

"Give me your hand." he asks. When you do he purposely spits on his dick and guides your hand to smear it all over him, amplifying the prominent musky smell coming from him.

"It's sensitive here." he explains in short breaths, hearing his panting picking up the more you run your fingers over the underside of his shaft right where it connects with his pink gland.

❥Once you've gotten the hang of it, Finn releases your hand and lets you try a few more things. What if I squeeze here? What if I touch this tiny hole with my finger? What if I gently squeeze his balls? Finn struggles to form meaningful sentences any longer and is only able to utter things like, "Just like that," "That feels good," and "Wait not like that, there you go... Oh Glob..."

❥It's a hypnotic and undeniably sexy experience, watching him lose himself in his own pleasure to the point where he forgot the reason for this little lesson until he came all over your palm and soiled his own shirt in the process.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

in an "Emily ends up in hell too somehow" AU, and things have been busy since THAT happened-

but Charlie finds time to looks over one day like "wow i feel like I've only ever seen your wings folded up these days... oh! you haven't been flying much lately! you know you can whenever you want to don't worry about me- i'd LOVE to watch you and Vaggie get some good swoop swoops in!"

Vaggie's like "babe i can just carry you. you can come for the swoop swoops too"

naturally Charlie is just "!!!" excited bc getting wing uppies from her dad is one thing, but the idea of going for a fly with the two angels who are happier down in hell (with HER) than they were up in heaven is just so "!!!!!!!!!!" she cannot WAIT

Emily has the most nervous, guilty smile on while listening to this.

Vaggie notices, asks what's up, and Emily (also bad at lying out right) (also good at not saying things) quietly admits that

she can't fly anymore

(THIS WONT BE SAD LISTEN I SWEAR THIS WILL BE OKAY)

there's a silence so quiet they can all HEAR IT when one of Emily's feathers detaches and falls softly to the hotel floor

Emily goes on: it's not a big deal compared to what else they're all dealing with- (Charlie's horrified face says otherwise) -but every day Emily's been here down in hell her wings have worked less and less and now she can't even glide with them- which is fine! most people in hell get on fine without wings, right? It's, one of the big differences between here and heaven, and- well Vaggie was fine without flying for years, so really-

-but it's not fine to Charlie it's not fine it's not fine- she's not fine with this, she's not OKAY with the idea that being in hell has to HURT every angel in her life somehow- she's not okay with being so busy Emily didn't even feel like she could even MENTION THIS-

Vaggie is grabbing their hands and reminding them both to breathe okay? Hold on, slow down, let's check what we're up against here before we all go rushing into any guilt or blame or whatever

(vaggie is already happy to blame heaven for whatever this is and maybe scream up at that damn distant light from rooftop until she blows her voice out, but she can't do that while Emily's smile is still frozen determinedly in place and Charlie is shaking like a leaf, so-)

So it's let's all sit down and, brushing Emily's hair over her shoulder while Charlie clings to her hands and, it's Vaggie quietly asking her fellow angel is she can unfold her wings

the stiff, ginger way Emily slowly spreads all six of them giving lie to that brightly brittle smile

the words that slip out now, as Vaggie's hands gently run through dulled feathers and the bases of Charlie's horns press into feathery bangs as Charlie leans in and Emily slumps, wings limp in Vaggie's steadying hold

(the difference between wings just being gone, taken- and coming back- but always working and whole while Vaggie had them, and this, this gradual failure like a wind dying down, a light fading out, the wrongness of wings that felt heavy and air that passed over them like nothing, not catching and holding or lifting but just feeling hollow, an emptiness pressing her down- trapping her- only she didn't feel trapped she didn't she didn't this was the right choice to make and she made it-)

(Sera up in heaven, hesitating hesitating, all hosts of heaven's divine armies and powers at her command and her little sister down in hell, playing hostage with herself for the lives of sinners-)

(it was all Emily could do and she was GLAD to do it, but)

(maybe creation thinks she wrong for it- fine, let her be wrong like Vaggie was wrong like Charlie could NEVER be wrong- maybe there's a price and a pence for a seraphim who strays too far from heaven's light- even Lucifer hadn't LEFT. even Lucifer had just been caged...)

the black marks on Charlie's cheeks look like tear tracks as she listens, and Emily can't look at them as she wipes them all away. she can't look and still keep smiling

Behind them, Vaggie sighs.

"Emily."

and it's a stiffening in the shoulders at hearing her own name because Vaggie is pragmatic and practical and a realist and she wants things to work as best they can so she faces the flaws in them head on- hopeful words and songs dredged up only when Charlie and now also Emily needs them- but even then she doesn't pretend hell is all rainbows or heaven is full of mercy, and whatever she says next Emily maybe doesn't want to hear and maybe has been holding her breath for without knowing it, desperate to at least know and breathe out-

"Your wings," Vaggie says, running a hand over the tip of one "Do you know how to preen them?"

Emily blinks.

(she has a lot of eyes to blink with, so it takes moment)

"...preen... them?"

she says the word like she's never used it before- and she HAS, actually, just not- never in a sentence about wings, specifically

Vaggie tugs gently at one wing, tickles the back of Emily's neck with pulled free feather- one of the long ones- as Emily turns to stare at her and Charlie leans in further to crane around goggle at those six seraphim wings

"Preening." Vaggie has a small smile on, a little dry, mostly soft. "It's not really a thing up in Heaven, right? We- the Exorcists only did it right after Extermination day, to get ride of the blood and stuff, settle all the feather's that flying round in Hell had ruffled."

"ONCE a year?" Charlie, sounding a little stuffy, but mostly now just shocked. "We clean yours twice a DAY or else you start getting twitchy about it! Dad spends half of every EVENING fixing his!"

Emily sitting up between them, heart thumping- "Wing cleaning? I didn't, is that normal?"

"Down here it is." A shrug, Vaggie's own wings spilling down her back in example. "Hell doesn't play nice with an angel's wings."

"So- so mine, are they-"

"They're fine. A mess sure- but yeah, they're fine."

There's so many feathers on the floor just from Vaggie's light and tender touches of inspection and Emily still can't get the lump out of her throat-

Emily letting go of Charlie to pick up one of those lost feathers, and NOW her hand is shaking.

"Are you sure? They, it's like they're falling apart..."

"Molting!" Charlie scoops up some feathers too, hugs them to her chest and flops over backwards, bonelessly. "You're just molting... unholy FUCK."

Charlie pressing the feathers to her face to muffle something that might be a scream or a laugh.

Vaggie patting her hell princess girlfriend's lashing tail- "I freaked out about molting the first time too, remember babe?" - "I THOUGHT THAT WAS BECAUSE OF ONLY JUST HAVING GOTTEN THE WINGS BACK AND TRIGGERED TRAUMA AND- UGGHGHGHGHG!" - Vaggie chuckling, smiling as Emily runs a finger tip over the frayed edges of her own lost feather, scooting in and draping herself and her own wings over the other angel as the shakes get bigger, as Emily finally lets out a slow, shivering breath

a small whisper, into the side of Vaggie's hair, bending under the weight and snugged in Vaggie's arms circling secure around her waist "I'll be able to fly again? Once this, the molting is over?"

"You'll fly," a squeeze and the first tears squeezing out in answer, "We're gonna have to start preening all of them too-"

"Which we WILL have time for!"

Charlie swinging upright, eyes blazing, arms scooping both angels close.

"I don't care if the damn hotel catches on fire AGAIN- wing care first, catch up on everything else LATER!"

it's around now Emily tries to giggle and maybe lets out a sob instead. Charlie kisses her damn bangs, Vaggie nuzzles her wet cheek

"We'll imp some of my flight feathers to yours for now, okay? Get you in the air again tonight, get the wind in your feathers, at least just a little. You'll feel better after a bit of swoop swoop time."

"I- Imping...?"

"Pull off mine, stick 'em on you."

"Wha- but what about- you?"

"I'm due for a molt anyway, don't worry. A few days more without flying is nothing after three years-"

"Vaggie."

(Charlie, chiming in lovingly and KNOWINGLY)

(Vagige's eye roll and full bodied sighhhhh making Emily giggle for real this time) "Fiiiiinee sweetie, I meant that I'll be happier seeing her in the air again, more than I would being up there myself right now. Happy?"

(Charlie smug, Charlie melting, Charlie smooching Vaggie's bangs too) "Very. VERY happy~"

"Me too."

(Emily grinning to herself inside her snuggle chaggie sandwich of hugs) "You two sure know how to make Hell a happy place, don't you?"

"Charlie has a whole song about it." Vaggie points out, and it's all three of them shaking together, laughing, after all the dramatic and permanent pains they've faced- here's ONE that turns out to be simple, something fixed with a slight change in schedule plus a few freely given feathers

and isn't that nice, for a change

[starlightshadowsworld]

Bsd Beast except it's Atsushi who has memories of the "original world."

He is the books guide afterall.

Though Atsushi did not make this world, nor know who did.

Atsushi who gets hit by a wave of nostalgia when he enters the cafe but doesn't let himself think on it.

He befriends Kyouka, his heart feels lighter whe she's by his side.

He wonders if they were always destined to be friends, and that makes him smile.

Atsushi finds it funny that there was a time he saved Dazai when here the man saved him.

Though he supposes both of them bought him to them for their own means and plots.

Not that Atsushi minds, he owes everything to Dazai. Though the memories of the other are wild, seeing him as a goofy lazy detective.

But Atsushi knows Dazai, knows the other possesses the same wit and cunning as his Dazai.

Akutugawa makes him pause... A world in which they both swapped, Atsushi went to the agency and Akutugawa to the Port Mafia.

It makes him laugh.

That boy was not Mafia material and yet.

He watches his originals memories, so many things changed and yet so much stayed the same.

Atsushi does not wish for his other self's life, but sometimes he wonders if he could ever be that happy, in control.

He dismisses those thoughts.

The Akutugawa he knows is so much happier than he is in these other memories. So much changed, so much stayed the same but that is a constant.

The lonely boy from the slums found a home.

Atsushi refuses to take it from him. Maybe it's out of guilt for Gin, maybe it's because of their coffee talk and the understanding the two now share.

Whatever it is, Atsushi won't let him lose this.

He looks at the wrist watch, the one from the Headmaster. Atsushi would be nothing if he couldn't save those infront of them.

So he completes his orders, he hides a smile seeing Dazai and Chuuya subtly (well not to him, not now) flirt at each by other's sides.

A Dazai who never thinks of dying and a Chuuya who was never left behind.

He tells Kyouka he'll always be there for her, he sparrs with Akutugawa and sees his eyes light up talking about the agency.

All while hiding the existence of something more.

A world in which Atsushi got his happiness and freedom, while this one wears a collar.

Akutugawa smiles more easy every time they meet, and Atsushi thinks of that everytime the fear and his ability get to much.

He screams into nothingness, clings to his humanity on a severed thread and pretends there's not a world where he never had to suffer like this again.

All for them.

All for him.

[elliemarchetti]

My AU Headcanon: after surviving the attack on their house, James had constant nightmares about seeing Lily & Harry dying & Voldemort, Wormtail and Snape taunting for failing them, despite being the great James Potter. It hurt Lily to see her once happy and mischievous husband be in so much pain.

I'm alive! Risen from the ashes like Fawkes!

Lovely anon, thank you for your patience and for sending this prompt, which allowed me to write James from another perspective and analyze his marriage with Lily with a more mature eye.

As always feedback and other suggestions on how to continue this (or any other) story are welcome but I'm also open to having a chat, exchanging headcanons and making moodboards and playlists for your favorite characters/couples.

Words: 700

After years of uncertainty and terror, with heavy casualties on both sides and entire bloodlines wiped out, the war ended, and the Wizarding World celebrated with displays of fireworks and jubilation. He Who Must Not Be Named was dead, just a corpse made of skin and bones buried beside his father in a forgotten graveyard, his remaining followers were locked up in Azkaban, and peace reigned once again, an outcome Lily failed to truly believe in as she held little Harry to her chest on the darkest nights, in fear it could be their last moment together. They had been lucky to survive Pettigrew's betrayal, something he did not, and Lily was grateful for every quiet day she was allowed to live, but James hadn’t gotten over the tension and the constant fear as well as she did. When there was light outside, from breakfast until he put Harry to bed, everything seemed fine despite the purplish dark circles under his eyes, and at work he was his usual mischievous self, at least according to Sirius, but when he got under the covers, once he had given a kiss to his wife and they both turned off the lamps on their respective bedside tables, he became a mess, clinging to her body as if she was a lifeline. The nightmares hadn’t given him a full night’s sleep for months now, and if sometimes he didn’t feel like talking, if sometimes the only thing that soothed him was sinking into Lily, taking her in desperation, letting her gentle words of encouragement and muffled moan ground him, during others he was more inclined to dialogue.

“He killed you,” he had murmured one night, heavy tears sliding down his sunken cheeks. “You were dead, and he… Harry… I couldn’t do anything but watch.”

It was like this, between stammers and fragmented sentences, that Lily discovered what was plaguing her husband’s sleep, a sense of guilt he shouldn’t have felt, an anxiety he couldn’t leave behind.

“It’s not my fault, Snivellus, it’s not my fault!” he had shouted on another occasion, before sitting up in bed, his forehead drenched in sweat.

“Dad?” Harry had called from the small corridor dividing their rooms, rubbing his eyes with the small fist.

“Dad had a bad dream, love,” Lily had quickly explained, as he guided him back to bed. “Every now and then it happens to adults too.”

“Can you give him this, then?” her son had asked, with the innocence only children possess, handing her one of the stuffed animals he usually slept with. “It will protect him from monsters.”

“He will appreciate it very much,” she replied, taking the fuzzy Welsh Green, his favourite birthday gift from uncle Remus.

“Did I scare him a lot?” James asked, defeated and worried, as soon as she closed the door behind her.

“No, but he wants you to have this, to protect you from monsters,” she answered, passing him the stuffed animal. He stared at it for a while, as if seeing it for the first time, or glimpsing something in his black plastic eyes, and then he hugged it tightly, curling up his knees and bowing his head until his dishevelled hair almost touched his arms. Seeing him like this, it was evident how young he actually was, how the weight of the carefreeness the war took away from them weighted on his hunched shoulders.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered, breaking the heavy silence engulfing the house. “I wish I was stronger, I wish I had been able to do more, but instead I had to hide like a rat, I had to wait for others to defend my family for me.”

“We’re all alive, and that’s enough,” was all Lily could say as she caressed his bare back, where the bones of his spine visibly protruded. When had he gotten so thin? When, among the pile of things he had to care about, had he stopped considering eating a priority? Just two more questions to add to the thousand she would have to find an answer, a solution, to alone, so as not to break the young man who that night slept hugging his son’s stuffed dragon.

[icrypop]

Hello it's me again from your messages, I was wondering if it's possible to request yandere sbg x reader but instead of Tyler dying it was reader and they went to the hospital blah blah, and the next day were Aiden dies it's her she pushed him out the way. So in the end she dies twice there. What do you think there reaction is when we die twice.

(Also I'm the same person that send this in your messages a few days ago)

Thank you!

Yandere SBG x Fem!Reader

Reader sacrifices herself twice in the Phantom World

WARNINGS: Yandere tendencies, injuries/slight mention of gore, dark themes

Im sorry it's taking me so long, I start writing each request and then put it in my drafts until I can look over everything and post it but I feel bad for not posting so heres one that i did at work!! Please enjoy, I'll try to get the rest of the requests out this weekend!!!

-Writer Icy<3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ashlynn:

- First Death (Tree): When the reader dies for the first time, Ashlynn is completely shattered. Her immediate response is disbelief, unable to comprehend the reality of it. She cradles the reader’s lifeless body, tears streaming down her face as she screams for help, her mind racing with the thought of how she couldn’t save them.

- Second Death (Aiden’s Sacrifice): When the reader dies again to save Aiden, Ashlynn’s grief turns into something much darker. She’s angry that the reader sacrificed themselves once more, furious at the universe for forcing them into that situation again. Ashlynn starts blaming everyone around her, even Aiden, for "taking" the reader away from her.

- Hospital Reaction: When they finally get the reader back in the real world, and she’s taken to the hospital, Ashlynn refuses to leave her side. She’s terrified that if she takes her eyes off the reader, they’ll slip away again. The relief that the reader is still alive is overshadowed by the obsessive need to protect her from any future harm, making her more possessive than ever.

Tyler:

- First Death (Tree): Tyler is frozen in place when the reader dies the first time. It takes him a moment to process, and then he’s overwhelmed with guilt. He feels like it should have been him—he should have protected her. His grief turns into self-blame, and he becomes consumed by thoughts of what he could have done differently.

- Second Death (Aiden’s Sacrifice): When the reader dies again, this time saving Aiden, Tyler completely breaks. The guilt from the first death is nothing compared to how he feels now. He becomes erratic, angry at himself for not being the one to die instead of her. Tyler feels helpless, like the universe is conspiring to take the reader from him repeatedly.

- Hospital Reaction: At the hospital, Tyler refuses to leave the reader’s bedside. He’s constantly watching her, terrified that something else will happen. His yandere tendencies intensify, and he becomes almost paranoid, wanting to shield her from everyone—even the rest of the group. He’s determined never to let her out of his sight again.

Taylor:

- First Death (Tree): Taylor is heartbroken when the reader dies the first time. She immediately becomes a mess of emotions, sobbing uncontrollably and lashing out at the Phantom World. She’s consumed by the need to undo what’s happened and tries to cling to any hope, even if it’s impossible.

- Second Death (Aiden’s Sacrifice): When the reader dies again, Taylor’s reaction is even more chaotic. Her grief turns into a frantic desperation to "save" the reader somehow. She’s constantly talking about finding a way to keep the reader alive, as if it’s something she can fix. She becomes consumed by the need to prevent another tragedy from happening.

- Hospital Reaction: Taylor is relieved when they return to the real world and find the reader alive in the hospital, but the trauma of losing her twice makes Taylor more obsessive. She clings to the reader constantly, trying to bring them gifts and stay by their side at all times. Her emotions become unpredictable—one moment she’s cheerful, and the next she’s panicking at the thought of losing them again.

Aiden:

- First Death (Tree): Aiden is numb with shock when the reader dies for the first time. His analytical mind tries to rationalize the situation, but it can’t. He feels an overwhelming sense of helplessness, knowing he couldn’t protect her. This helplessness transforms into an intense need to prevent anything like this from happening again.

- Second Death (Aiden’s Sacrifice): When the reader dies saving him, Aiden is devastated. He’s consumed by guilt, believing that her second death is his fault. The fact that she gave her life to save him breaks something inside of Aiden, making him more obsessive and controlling. He vows to never let the reader sacrifice herself for anyone again.

- Hospital Reaction: At the hospital, Aiden becomes overly protective, standing guard by her bedside. His calm demeanor is gone, replaced with a quiet but intense resolve. He monitors every aspect of her care, questioning the doctors and nurses at every turn. His possessiveness grows, and he becomes determined that no one will ever harm her again—not even herself.

Ben:

- First Death (Tree): Ben is silent when the reader dies the first time. He doesn’t show much outward emotion, but inside, he’s boiling with rage. He’s furious that something like this could happen and is already thinking about what he can do to prevent it from happening again.

- Second Death (Aiden’s Sacrifice): The second death hits Ben harder than the first. When the reader dies saving Aiden, his rage turns inward. He blames himself for not being able to protect her and becomes hyper-focused on ensuring her safety from that point on. Ben’s yandere tendencies evolve into an obsessive need to control every aspect of the reader’s life.

- Hospital Reaction: At the hospital, Ben is a silent but constant presence. He rarely leaves the reader’s side, his protective instincts on high alert. He’s colder and more distant with the rest of the group, focusing entirely on the reader’s well-being. Ben’s possessiveness grows, and he becomes determined to shield her from any future harm, no matter what.

Logan

- First Death (Tree): Logan is a wreck when the reader dies. His usual cheerful and kind nature is shattered, and he breaks down, sobbing uncontrollably. He can’t handle the pain of losing her and is consumed by the thought that he should have been able to protect her.

- Second Death (Aiden’s Sacrifice): When the reader dies a second time, Logan’s grief turns into desperation. He feels like the world is playing a cruel trick on them, taking her away repeatedly. He can’t understand why it keeps happening and becomes consumed by an obsessive need to protect her in the future, should she come back to them.

- Hospital Reaction: When they finally return to the real world and find the reader alive in the hospital, Logan is overjoyed but also terrified. He never leaves her side, constantly checking on her to make sure she’s okay. His yandere tendencies intensify, making him cling to her emotionally, unable to cope with the thought of losing her again.

Ashlynn (First Death):

Ashlynn cradled the reader in her arms, her voice trembling as she whispered, "Please, don’t leave me. You can’t leave me. I need you." Tears mingled with the rain as she held on tighter, as if refusing to let the world take the reader away. "I’ll never let anything hurt you again, I swear."

Tyler (Second Death):  

Tyler screamed in agony as he watched the reader’s lifeless body fall to the ground after saving Aiden. "Why? Why did you have to go again?!" He pounded his fists against the crumbling walls of the Phantom World, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. He would never forgive himself.

Aiden (Hospital):

Aiden sat by the reader’s bedside, his eyes glued to the monitors beeping rhythmically. "I’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "It should’ve been me…Im sorry, I didnt- You shouldn't…im sorry…" 

*The gang is left with deep emotional scars from watching the reader die not once, but twice. Their love for her turns obsessive, each member pushing their protective instincts to new extremes in their desperate attempts to keep her safe. Even as the reader recovers in the hospital, the trauma of her deaths will haunt them, fueling their yandere tendencies.

Taylor (First Death):

Taylor knelt beside the tree, her hands shaking as she reached out to touch the reader’s cold skin. "No, no, no..." she murmured, her voice cracking as tears blurred her vision. "This can’t be real. I’ll fix it. I’ll find a way to fix it. You can’t be gone, not like this." Her fingers gripped the reader’s hand tightly, as if she could pull them back from death with sheer willpower. "I’ll bring you back. I’ll do anything."

Ben (Second Death):

Ben stood silently at the foot of the hospital bed, his eyes fixed on the reader’s unconscious form. His expression was cold, but his mind was racing with thoughts of revenge and control. "I won’t let this happen again," he muttered under his breath, his hands clenched into fists. "You’ll never have to sacrifice yourself again, because I’ll make sure no one gets close enough to hurt you." His gaze darkened, his possessiveness growing stronger with each passing second. "I’ll protect you... even if it means keeping you from everyone else."

Logan (Hospital):

Logan was paralyzed with horror as he saw the reader push Aiden out of the way, taking the fatal blow in his place. He dropped to his knees beside her body, sobbing uncontrollably. "Why did you do that?" he choked out, his hands trembling as he touched her face. "You didn’t have to... I was supposed to protect you!" His heart shattered, a raw and aching pain spreading through his chest. "Please, come back. I can’t do this without you."

[pagannatural]

2.13 Houses of the Holy

- Religious plot begins in earnest. Sam is Able and Eve and original sin and also Christ dying for those sins. He is Dean’s disciple. Dean is Cain and Adam and the Holy Spirit and God. Their conflict is destiny/blood/family vs free will/choice/love, the pure vs the tainted vs the merely human. The muddy non-dichotomous nature of love and of good and evil.

So far the question of the brothers saving each other and the world has been self-contained: only Dean can save or kill Sam, and in doing so, himself. In other words only Sam can succumb to evil and damn his brother or retain his humanity and his brother. Their struggle is religious by definition. Religion in supernatural is characterized by the trinity of good, evil, and human, and the brothers are twin souls who need each other to stay human. Sam needs to overcome his shame and belief that he isn’t chosen, that he doesn’t belong; Dean needs to overcome his guilt and belief that he can never be enough. The threat of them losing their humanity and free will is literal as they will learn they’re destined to become vessels, but they don’t know that yet.

- Dean is lying on the motel bed listening to “Hair of the Dog”. Right when Sam walks in these lyrics are playing in his ears:

Heartbreaker, soul shaker/I've been told about you/Steamroller, midnight stroller/What they've been saying must be true

These lyrics pertain to Sam and his fate. This song was chosen very intentionally, it’s shown on Dean’s iPod screen. It’s foreshadowing. And Sam is Dean’s heartbreaker soul shaker.

Sam stands there next to a partition decorated with burlesque silhouettes of women, watching Dean’s body being shaken on the bed. It’s kind of a weird image. Dean looks like sleeping beauty the way the bed is lit. Or like a main course.

“You’re enjoying that way too much, it’s kind of making me uncomfortable” Sam says while looking up at the wall behind Dean exactly like he did when he was trying to avoid staring at Dean’s ass in an earlier episode. Very heaven-help-me.

His discomfort seems like attraction. I want to break down this scene because it’s played as a joke, like it’s funny that Dean is so hedonistic, but he’s essentially just using the massage function on the bed. He’s fully clothed and he’s listening to music, just chilling. He’s bored. So the joke is either that this isn’t really that intimate and yet Sam is so uncomfortable for Some Reason that he’s having a hard time looking straight at Dean, or that Sam really has walked in on an intimate moment and he responds by staring and going up to Dean all flustered and asking him to stop. Either way, Sam is watching Dean experience pleasure, and gulping because of it.

It highlights that Sam is uninterested in sex, and food, and pleasure in general, and it bothers him that Dean is. Sam later calls it Dean’s “sick habit” and tells him he’s like one of those lab rats that pushes the pleasure button instead of the food button until it dies.

I noticed recently that even in the pilot, Sam is shown kissing Jessica and acting loving with her, but the shot of them in bed has them apart and Sam facing away from her in his sleep. It’s Dean who ogles her in her underwear. Sam has been shown clinging to Dean, sleeping facing him, checking him out, and chastising him for his womanizing. The one woman he kissed was for Dean’s benefit. Sam’s relationship with his sexuality is consistently shown linked directly to Dean. Maybe exclusively to Dean at this point.

After this exchange, Sam goes into the bathroom and washes his hands for Some Reason. Because he’s feeling unclean?

-interesting how the killers’ houses shake like there’s an earthquake before what they think is an angel appears to them- the second guy is even lying on his bed when it starts shaking. Dean is on his shaking bed when Sam appears to him at the motel, like Sam is his angel.

-Dean says Sam has him on lockdown. So Sam insisted that Dean stay back for his safety. He’s looking out for him, always asking Dean to stay safe.

-Sam believes in angels and god because of the monsters they hunt, Dean doesn’t believe in angels or god because of the monsters they hunt. The difference in the way their beliefs developed is that Dean believed in angels as a small child until his mom burned to death and he learned monsters are real, whereas Sam was certainly never encouraged to believe in religion and had to find something to cling to in the chaos and uncertainty of how he was raised. Sam felt unclean or like something was wrong with him so he tried to separate himself from the monsters. Dean believed he wasn’t good enough so he chose not to believe in a god that was a disappointment and that he believed he would surely disappoint.

- Sam tells Dean he prays every day, which Dean didn’t know. He acts like this is some kind of betrayal. I think the betrayal is literally just that he didn’t know and he wants to know every single thing about Sam.

-Sam collapses after seeing what he thinks is an angel, and Dean gets on his knees to put both hands on him. He keeps touching him when they’re walking out. He hauls Sam to his feet bodily.

This frame is so good because Dean is glaring at the angel statue and Sam is looking up at Dean.

Sam wants to be chosen by an angel. He thinks that would mean he’s good. He felt left behind and second-best by his dad, and felt that Dean would choose hunting and John over him for much of his life. He realizes now that Dean chooses him.

-Dean makes sure the woman he saves is okay and has a cell phone and tells her to call 911 before he runs after her assailant. He cares more about the wellbeing of the victim than he does about catching the bad guy.

-when Sam says “you were right” Dean gives him this look that’s so full of love, it’s plain that Dean doesn’t care about being right. He just sees his little brother in pain and wants to make it better.

-Sam sits down so that he’s looking up at Dean during their conversation. He has tears in his eyes talking about wanting to be saved. Dean tells Sam “I’m watching out for you”

Sam doesn’t doubt Dean’s dedication to him and desire to protect him. But doesn’t think Dean can save him, and more importantly he’s afraid he can’t save himself. He sees Dean as fundamentally good and strong but he also harbors judgment toward Dean for needing him. It’s protective for Sam to not need anyone, which is why his arc deals with the isolation of shame. Religion can’t save him because it doesn’t make him believe he is good, and because ultimately it leaves him alone.

-Dean tells him that he witnessed “God’s will” the way that the perp was just killed in front of him. He’s letting himself hope and giving Sam hope. They’ve both seen so much chaos and evil, they need to believe there’s good and meaning in the world. Dean’s doubt challenges his beliefs about the world and himself, and it’s his words that give Sam the hope he needs.

-episode is about lost souls and purpose. A series of people who the show depicts as lost are given a sense of meaning and belonging to something bigger than themselves, but the problem is that they don’t question it—they simply obey, acting as if without free will. They’re wrong, but they’re happy and full of certainty. Sam and Dean are lost too, but they’re unable to have blind unquestioning faith. The result is that they do good: Dean protects and shows kindness to a woman who was attacked, Sam facilitates a way for a spirit to be put to rest. But they have doubt, which means they also have fear. And they’re left knowing that they have themselves and each other. It’s meant to be complicated and frightening and painful because that’s what it means to be human, and that’s where love and compassion live.

[awearywritersworld]

as i'm re-reading 'men are so quick to blame gods' (for like the 3rd time it's so good) what hit me is - how is yuuji going to deal with the mc almost dying? i mean, yes sukuna being so moved by love that he's able to push him down and be by her side is both sweet and heartbreaking but that's also yuujis gf who he loves and he's just what, unconscious? and the last thing he's seen is her, looking dead in a pool of blood...

(((again, i love the story, can't wait for updates<3333)))

hey there nonnie!! thank you for your love of the series!<3 i really appreciate you taking the time to consider this aspect of the story!!

sooo obviously in the warehouse, sukuna forcibly took control of his vessel, but i left it a bit more ambiguous as to how/why he was in control when gojo came by to visit.

this is how i would conceptualize the aftermath between he and yuu—

sukuna and yuuji haven't discussed what happened at the warehouse, even if it was the first time sukuna had ever assumed control of his vessel's body by force.

sukuna doesn't try to do so again. for now, he's too preoccupied with your condition.

but that doesn't mean the occurrence hasn't nestled itself somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind. was it a one time thing, driven by his desperation to save you? or did it open a door and give him the freedom to do so as he pleases? and if that is the case, what would that mean for him?

yuuji, on the other hand, is too busy with the guilt riddling his every thought. he can't get the image of your near lifeless body out of his head. he can't get over the way he just stood there frozen and staring.

he's forced to grapple with his morality, a notion that he's always held in high regard. he knew those sorcerers. he'd even gone on missions with some of them.

and now they're all dead, save for one. would he have been able to bring himself to kill them eventually, or would his feet have stayed planted on the concrete while the last bit of life you were clinging onto slipped away?

would it have been wrong of him to value your life over their's? sorcerers do nasty work for the general good, and he's already seen enough of his comrades die as it is... can he really say that killing them all was the best option?

so he's in agony— caught between his usual selflessness and his desire to be a good lover to you.

perhaps you deserve someone willing to throw morality out the window if it means you'll live to see another sunrise.

and so he and sukuna wordlessly alternate between who is in control, seeming to have an understanding on some level neither of them fully comprehend.

yuuji sits at your bedside, your hand in his and his mind in disarray. sukuna does the same, performing rct in timely intervals and praying to the gods he doesn't particularly believe in.

[ofthemorningstars]

Nap Time

TerzOmega ~ Domestic Family Fluff

730 words

Ao3 Version

It's nap time in the TerzOmega household, and everyone is still getting used to their new routine following the birth of their second child.

Content Warning: implied mpreg(cis), mention of pregnancy complications

---

It was the early afternoon when Starlight started to get cranky. Right on schedule.

Omega wasn’t surprised; his first child, now a precocious three year old, was blessedly predictable, as far as young children went. His youngest, still a newborn, was not quite so easy-going yet, and after nearly an hour of trying to settle her down for her nap, Astrid and Terzo were finally asleep in their bedroom.

Omega knew he’d likely have to sit and read to Star for about ten minutes before she fell asleep, so he ran to the bathroom first, telling her to stay put. When he returned, of course, she was nowhere to be found. Omega sighed and began hunting for her, checking her room first, hoping to find her waiting with a book. He grimaced when he found her bedroom empty.

As he passed his and Terzo’s room, he glanced through the half-open door, not expecting to find her there as he thought she knew better than to disturb her sister, but he had to backtrack, doing a double take. There was Starlight, laying with her head on the shoulder of a still-sleeping Terzo, eyelids heavy and sucking her thumb.

Omega’s heart melted at the sight. Silently he crossed the room to them, gently sitting on the bed, taking care not to shift too much and risk waking his sleeping husband. Terzo needed all of the rest he could get, since the birth of Astrid. They both did, really, but Terzo had so much anxiety after she was born that he had been struggling hard to fall asleep. He’d come closer to dying once again this time than either of them liked to admit, and they had reluctantly agreed that their second child would have to be their last. The experience had shaken them both.

Omega put a hand to Starlight’s head, brushing her silvery white hair out of her eyes.

“My little Star baby, we need to let Papa and Astrid sleep. Come on, we’ll go nap in your bed,” Omega spoke softly to the toddler. Starlight shook her head, curling up closer to her Papa and clinging to his shirt with the hand that wasn’t in her mouth. Omega couldn’t help the tender smile that threatened to overtake his face.

He couldn't bring himself to be upset with his daughter for wanting to be close to her Papa. He was sure it had been a difficult adjustment, having to share her parents’ attention with a new baby, even though she loved her little sister. Guilt tugged at him. 

Rather than argue and risk causing a commotion, he decided it would be smarter to settle down beside them, placing a hand on his daughter’s back, rubbing slowly. Soon her breathing deepened, became more steady. Even as he was drifting off himself, he couldn’t wipe away the grin. He allowed his eyes to close, grateful for this peaceful moment together as a family.

—

Terzo opened his eyes groggily, trying to get his bearings. He became aware of his body in increments, eventually noticing the weight pinning his right shoulder. He looked down in confusion, vision still blurry. All he could see was white.

He propped himself up on his opposite elbow, trying to get a better look. His heart sang when he recognized his daughter’s face, looking positively angelic as she slept with her head in the crook of his arm. He chuckled warmly, kissing the crown of her head. He had missed getting as much time with her as he used to, but he knew it would level out once Astrid wasn't as high-demand as she was now. He hoped she realized that this imbalance in attention was temporary; his Star would always be his baby. 

It was then that he noticed Omega’s sleeping form behind her, his hand still resting on her back. Terzo’s stomach did a backflip; all of them sleeping soundly in the same room was a rare sight indeed. He turned his head, craning his neck to check on Astrid in her bassinet, humming happily when he saw that all was well.

Terzo took a moment to reflect on the last few years, on all of the impossibilities that they had overcome, on how lucky they had been. The gratitude soaked bone-deep. He let the warmth he felt in his chest overtake him, lulling him back to sleep.

[phramboise]

— gold dust woman :: lieutenantjohnpricexfemalereader

heart’s blood in ink piece, part II

tags and warnings: heavy substance use; blood, scars, death. this is more of an addiction piece than it is cod fan work, this is vivid imagery. none of this is romanticising.

wordcount: 1.1k

There’s a biro on the bedside table, and some napkin that she found that he put in her pocket, with nothing to write down in her language of inarticulate phrases. Should she wake him? What would she say if she does so? What would a dying person say? Would an apology of someone who kills herself deliberately be accepted? She should just let him sleep, that’s the better thing to do. There’s no fixing it anyway. Maybe she’ll writhe and hiss and that’ll be ugly. She doesn’t want him to remember her like that, she doesn’t want him to remember her at all. He’ll blame himself; he’ll make a mess out of it. Death feels futile until it comes. Somebody should’ve slapped the fact to her face, when dead there’s no him. Or it would be better if she were to be intoxicated now, it hurts to feel yourself dying.

Feels different. Feels heavier than grave. She should clean off her filth, she figures as much. Gets up and picks dusty ziplocks that she swiped in haste under their bed, wipes the glass table clean. Useless prospectuses and an ashtray turned upside down for her bedside carafe. Ash in the bottom of the bottle. Crystalline, her sybarite hair in morphs he loves best. Demure, a defatigable ennui. Puts on his favourite dress. She apologises, she cries silently. Then she washes her face, puts a bit makeup on. Forces herself to throw it all up so maybe she’d have another day without thinking of death, nothing comes out. Health is a hefty burden in her heart tonight. Has he ever seen a dead girl lying on his side?.. she puts on some more colour. They were supposed to go on a winter holiday this season. The dog has her vet appointment tomorrow.

He’s sleeping, she heads downstairs.

Swallow it down, there’s a clot down at her throat and it’s not of guilt this time. This one is physical, copper and iron, cocaethylene and dried blood, hints of cologne and sweat. Caramelised tobacco, blood scabs. They mix, scented lotion itches on her track marks, pooling some ill-warmth on red splotches of her wilting skin. She doesn’t remember the last time she had a dream. She doesn’t recall a REM sleep. She doesn’t remember the last time her hands were steady enough to hold the needle up to the insides of her elbow to inject it proper. She tries to settle with the veins of her hands, misses once, wastes one; pokes the vein through, wastes another. It melts in everywhere but the right places, it boils inside. Feels it swell, sees the thinned blood pooling under her skin instantly. She can’t be slow enough; she can’t be precise. Steady. Keep her hand still. She can’t find her clean straw, and saline spray is out. Her peripheral is blurry, and her skin is prickling hot, whisper-thin warm linen clings to her and she’s conscious of her breathing as it wheezes through snivels. She’s far too gone to cook and draw it anymore, -the latter try surely went straight to her brain- and everything in her tells her to just lay down, go back to his side to shake him to hold her through withdrawals. It’s not some impulsive want anymore; it’s a strangling need. A call, which she has no freedom to deny, a pull towards the ugliests of deaths. Fingertips grow colder as pearls clog veins, and some thunderclaps at the side of her brain. Nsaids were always a bad idea; now she literally feels the blood in her skull as it tingles her nape.

She sits at the base of the stairs. Knowing that the sun won’t shine this bright in one instant, it’s her eyes that are this sharp, stark white. It’s so white it almost buzzes at her ears; she won’t hear if she’s to make a sound. It’s funny how she prays. She thinks she wants to pray; she thinks she wants to redo it over. Relive it all from the start, and not do anything. Nothing to herself, nothing for herself. She wishes the thorny roses would caress, not wound his tender hands, she wishes that he would not drown in melancholy that is her. She wishes that a rain would wash away what she has rotted inside of him, that the flowers she could not bloom in would sprout within inside. She wishes so much for him that she forgets herself. She wishes he would always laugh. She wishes so much for him that she forgets herself; she loves herself when she wants him.

Hugs her knees to her chest. She thinks her mouth is making whispers up to the ceiling, her mind choosing words to make her seem faithful somehow. All that goes is a whine, and a hiss that living don’t speak.

It starts in her stomach, up to her heart. Nadir of her life, the tingling on her nape ivies around her arm, not letting go as she shakes it off. The horror and the wonder, yet she waits calmly for it to vanish for only a minute.

It will be over soon.

—

The flame of the candle had reached the end of the wick and began to drift like a drunkard struggling to stand. The last glow before it went out was a weak flutter. The candle goes out and the smell of paraffin reaches her nose for the last time with the rising smoke. She wiped her tears, sent a postponing mail to the vet, filled the dog’s food bowl for the morning, turned to head for the stairs to lie down next to him again.

No one slaps the death to her face; it’s herself that does it. Few steps intertwining, a limp body that thuds onto the parquet. A silent plea, one single tear, not a last breath but ragged gasps and her kind of snaste. She wanted it to be him, to decide for her, leave her no freedom. He’s the kind to lose the bets, bets on losing hands. One tight grip on her heart is what robs her the last bit of freedom to decide when and where to die. Harsher than a slap, hurts more than a needle through infected wounds. At least backlofen soothes the muscle. Each inch of her is burning, but at least he’s not here to see it. She couldn’t make it upstairs, laid on a proper position, ready. Now her mascara is ruined too.

;

Tomorrow morning, he’ll wake and find her on the ground. Solid and steady, not warm anymore. He won’t be angry for she didn’t keep her pinky promise, didn’t call him when she needed; he’ll feel he should’ve come over somehow. Her thought is the thorn that burgeons and rends, and her face is the very essence of the rose in his restless dreams.

Tonight, she spares him a sleep.

;;

I was about to give to ends for you to pick, the other was slightly happier. Then this happened. Thank you to you two anonymous angels who commented on heart’s blood in ink, and one other when I posted it for the first time- for this is just for you. I hope you’ll reach to me again to tell me what you think of this, if this is as expected, or if it’s moving if not. Lots of love 🤍

[blushweddinggowns]

“Steve, you have to breathe,” Nancy said. Calm as ever as she kneeled in front of him, “Please. You’re going to hyperventilate. Count with me, okay? One, two, three…”

Steve tried to listen to her, but he could barely get past two before he was seeing it again. Eddie, pale and lifeless in his arms. Eddie, bleeding out right in front of him. He couldn’t see anything else, he couldn’t focus on anything else. Not when he was covered in his blood. Not when his whole world was on the edge of ending. 

He could feel when Nancy left eventually, leaving him alone to wheeze and cry. He was making one hell of a scene, but Steve was too out of it to even realize how many people were staring. He felt like he was going insane. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

It couldn’t.

Suddenly, Steve could feel arms wrapping around him. He almost fought it, confused and scared before he caught a glimpse of Robin through all of his tears. 

He didn’t know where she came from but that didn’t stop Steve from clinging to her. 

“It’s okay,” She murmured into his hair, “I’m here. Everything is going to be okay.”

It was a lie. But Steve from nodded along with her, focusing on her voice as he tried to calm down.

It took… awhile.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he was finally loosening his grip on Robin’s shirt. He wiped at his eyes, probably only managing to make his face even dirtier before looking at her. He had made her a mess, her shoulder wet with tears. Her front dark red, transferred right from Steve’s saturated shirt to hers. Red with blood, Eddie’s blood. A cruel reminder that had Steve instantly tearing up again. 

But he swallowed it back, “What are you doing here?”

His voice came out like a croak, barely there as he tried not to break down for the third time.

Robin frowned, wiping at her own eyes, “Chrissy didn’t… things didn’t go as planned. But that’s okay. Because she’s going to be okay. And Eddie’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be fine.”

Steve wanted to tell her that wasn’t true. That she hadn’t seen what he’d seen. It wasn't her life that was on the verge of ending.

But he didn’t. Too scared and tired to argue. Believing her felt like the easier way to go.

He put his head on Robin's shoulder, not offering an answer but not giving a rebuttal. He was too busy looking around the room, taking everything in. Everyone was there. Max and Lucas were huddled together in the corner, whispering to each other. Nancy was kneeling in front of a bloody Dustin, holding his hands as she muttered quietly at him. He wasn't really responding. Just nodding along to whatever she said as he looked down.

He looked devastated. 

He should be.

Steve shoved the hateful thought back, guilt instantly taking its place. It wasn’t Dustin’s fault Eddie was dying. It was Steve’s. 

It was Steve who let everyone else convince him to do this stupid fucking plan. It was Steve who wasn’t there when Eddie had needed him. Who left Eddie alone, cold and dying in a nightmare world. 

from the newest chapter of this fic

[goodeapple]

if ur feeling wicked, share something naughty ;)

i blame Olivia Cooke & her face for this one

.

.

.

she’s different in every physical way- black where blonde would be, toasted almond hues in place of creamy, milky wanness, a whole head shorter than her mother’s towering gracefulness. 

“yes, miss hightower.” ysilla whispers along her belly, tickling her slick lips over the pouch of skin, lingering echoes of her children’s lives clinging to her body. alicent is doused in a wave of embarrassment, comparison stealing her joy, remembering the flat plain of her lover’s golden stomach that led to neatly trimmed thick bush of oiled soft obsidian curls. alicent suddenly feels every year of her age, the threaded strands of gray woven into her auburn waves seem to jump out and say hello, the lines around her eyes etched deep and unmoving.  

ysilla bites at her hip, the sudden sting ripping alicent from her spiraling thoughts, hand lashing out and connecting with ysilla’s cheek before she can school herself. alicent gasps as if she’s the one that’s been slapped, dropping to her knees, uncaring of her nudeness and cupping the younger woman’s face with soft, warm hands. 

“ysilla, honey, i’m so sorry! you just startled me and i was lost in my thoughts and…” alicent rambles on, dainty thumbs stroking at the skin under her eyes. a red mark is blooming hot on ysilla’s left cheek and alicent whines a wounded sound, guilt tearing at her chest. ysilla’s squeezed-shut eyes burst open, alicent’s stuttered apologies dying on her lips at her lover’s expression. 

ysilla’s pupils are blown wide, swallowing up the lavender irises until only a thin circle of purple can be seen. her mouth hangs open, her vicious pink tongue drowning in the spit pooled behind her teeth. 

“alicent,” the older woman gasps. never, in the nearing twenty years of ysilla’s life, has she ever heard her first name come from that pretty mouth. have that honeyed voice wrapped around the word. it’s as decadent as yunkai sweets, stronger than bravosi wine. alicent wets her lips, the skin crackling at the moisture. she’s parched and not from lack of water; she tries not to be obvious in the rubbing of her thighs together but the heat roaring there is nearing to send the rest of her up in a flash fire. 

ysilla appears to share in her step-grandmother’s plight, unblemished skin of her chest tinged burgundy with a blush, the roundness of her cheeks cherry in coloring. alicent thinks she can see her heart straining against the thin tissue of her décolletage and she wants to sink her teeth into it like a gala apple. 

“i want you to sit on my face. i want you to put your thighs on either side of my head, spread yourself open, and let me eat that perfecttt pussy out until you squirt in my mouth.”