#and ive celebrated their death the the silence that comes after it

[orangechickenpillow]

Misplaced a cricket in my room again, hoping this one doesn't feel the need to screech all night or I might actually scream and cry

[sarahelainewrites-blog]

On Honesty

(Or, Personal Grief, Collective Despair, and Finding the Will to Survive)

CW: Depression, grief, anxiety, and loss – Please take care of yourself, and only engage if you have the emotional capacity to do so)

Can I be honest? I mean, can I be brutally – if not painfully – transparent? I am not okay, and I haven’t been for a long, long time. At what felt like the height of my professional achievements, my mom was diagnosed with Stage IV endometrial cancer. She died less than a year later. Her sister, my aunt, died six months after that. All of this happened less than a year after my Nana’s passing and only four years after my grandfather’s death.

I’ve been suffering in silence, isolating, struggling to grapple with loss, grief, fear, loneliness, and even shame. The past four years have been the hardest of my life to date. I’ve felt unbalanced, untethered, and, at times, completely broken. I cannot count the number of mornings I struggled to pull myself from bed, nor can I specify the number of nights I cried for the elusive relief of sleep. I’ve been sinking into a depressive spiral – overwhelmed with the burdens of living and paralyzed by the eternal challenges of just being. 

“come celebrate with me that everyday something has tried to kill me and has failed.” Lucille Clifton, “won’t you celebrate with me”

Lucille Clifton writes about surviving the thing that has tried to kill her, but there have been days where I have felt like death is winning its war with me. With every phone call, text, email, private message, and letter to which I struggle to respond; with every bright, clear day that feels shrouded in darkness; with every ruminating thought that pulls me from the present and traps me in the sadness of the past or uncertainties of the future; with each of these things, I have wondered if this is what it feels like, to stop living before your death.

I warned that I would be brutally honest, but I didn’t expect to divulge the ugliest bits in the way I have. It’s clear that my mind and heart were begging for relief. 

I’m writing, in part, because I need to. I have to. Writing, for me, was once (and, I think, still is) a part of my survival. It was – is – as vital as breathing. But writing also requires an honesty and openness that I haven’t been brave or bold enough to bear. That is, I think, why I haven’t written in so long. I’ve been drowning, struggling to articulate just how I’m feeling and why. I’m writing this, primarily, to save my own life. But I’m thinking about our collective survival too. 

The outcome of the recent U.S. election is heavy on the minds of many, myself included. Knowing what can trigger my own anxiety- and depression-fueled spirals, I try to keep myself away from post-mortem analyses. I cannot afford to sacrifice any more of myself to despair. But, I think – hope – that this is a moment where we will dwell upon our relationships to one another and be intentional about caring for ourselves and others too. 

….

How do you survive a war? How do you armor yourself for ongoing catastrophe, crisis, and disaster? To be sure — there are those of us who don’t survive, those of us who don’t make it to the other side. And then, there are those of us who survive, barely.

I think of my loved ones who have lived under dictatorial regimes. Their bodies carry the build up of so much pain. Some live with the physical manifestations of decades of psychological and emotional terror: constant illness, constant sickness, and premature death. Others are scarily silent. They refuse to speak about “those times,” bottling away all their memories and whatever emotions that may surface. I think of my loved ones who are  emotionally distant — never sentimental, rarely loving. Dissociated and detached. So death — be it physical, spiritual, or emotional — is always a possibility in times of authoritarian rule, but it is not the only possible future. 

For over a century, the United States has deliberately prevented revolutionary activism from transforming nations across the globe. In no region is this more true than the Americas. Examples abound, but Haiti immediately comes to mind. Whenever the Haitian people have asserted their freedom and attempted to build a state for and by the people, the U.S. has used its military and diplomatic powers to thwart Haitian self-determination and advance U.S. economic objectives. This was true in the aftermath of the Haitian Revolution, in the years that followed the creation of the world’s first Black republic. This was true during the U.S. Occupation of Haiti in the early 20th century. This was true during the reign of the Duvalier regime when the Tontons Macoutes terrorized the Haitian public. This was true every time liberation theologist Jean-Bertrand Aristide was democratically elected Haiti’s president, ousted in U.S.-backed coups, and forced to live in exile. This was true in the aftermath of the devastating 2010 earthquake, and it continues to ring true in the midst of Haiti’s current political and economic crisis. A few years ago, when there were fierce protests against then Haitian president Jovenel Moïse, I remember watching a U.S. journalist interview Haitian activist David Oxygène in Port-au-Prince. Oxygène castigated U.S. intervention in Haiti:

“It’s American policy that has a problem with Haiti. Jovenel Moïse is in power, under the control and direction of American imperialism. They’ve attacked our culture. They’ve attacked Vodou. They’ve attacked the spirit of our ancestors. They spit on the memory of Jean-Jaques Dessalines.” 

The journalist asked Oxygène if there was anything he believed that U.S. president Joe Biden should know, if there was anything Biden could “do for Haiti.” Oxygène responded, “I have no message for Joe Biden. He is not superior to Dessalines.” He went on to explain that Biden and Trump’s policy agendas towards Haiti were identical despite the politicians’ ostensible ideological differences. 

I think of that interview often, particularly Oxygène’s proclamation that Biden was not and could never be as consequential as Dessalines. For this activist who had spent decades living under the political and economic brutalism facilitated by American politicians, corporations, and even non-profits (the Clinton Foundation is especially deserving of scrutiny), revolutionary leader Jean-Jacques Dessalines constituted a guiding light. American intervention in Haiti has wrought a great deal of pain. But it has not killed Haitians’ critical engagement with the island’s history or isolated them from the beauty of their inheritance. Although centuries apart, in Dessalines, Oxygène found a model of possibility, an ancestral guide in the continued struggle and resistance against imperial rule.

….

There’s a question floating around many Left and progressive spaces across the U.S.: Where do we go from here? 

I most certainly do not have any special insight or clarity, let alone answers. But I keep thinking of how much knowledge there is to be gleaned from people who have lived under authoritarian repression and still organized, still gathered, still written, still hoped, still dreamed, and still fought. I think of folks like David Oxygène. 

One dominant narrative of political transformation positions the U.S. as the “leader of the free world.” In this false narrative, the U.S. instructs so-called less sophisticated nations on how to create an enduring constitutional democracy. After all, the U.S. has the world’s oldest and — supposedly — most stable constitution. 

To be clearer than clear — I do not believe this narrative. It’s as fictional as the United States’ Founding Fathers’ hypocritical declaration, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men were created equal” while creating a government that protected slavery at all costs. No, the U.S. has never been a true democracy, and many of us who have lived under its authority — both within its borders and beyond — have never been fully free. And, while some legal scholars still refuse to acknowledge this, the U.S. is in the midst of a constitutional crisis. What have historically been described as bedrock, foundational constitutional principles are and have long been under assault. This has been a long and steady decline, one that has occurred over the past forty plus years with numerous shifts in both the make-up of the judiciary and the forms of interpretative enterprises deemed acceptable. The depoliticization of legal education has further reversed the modest gains of the mid-twentieth century. The incoming presidential administration will only quicken what has been in motion for some time. 

Nonetheless — I share this dominant narrative because, for too long, U.S. education has wrongfully espoused the notion that the nation has a great deal to teach the world. Now is the time for us to follow in the tradition of writers, thinkers, and activists who have long rejected such a proposition. We who live in the U.S. have so much to learn from revolutionary struggles. And, like the Black liberation activists of the early and mid-twentieth century who understood the relationship between the kinds of violence the U.S. government inflicted upon both domestic and global populations, I hope we see our oppression and liberation as bound up with the plights of many others in this world. 

There’s much to be said about the lessons we can learn from history, from past struggle. And I hope that, over the coming months and years, we will find community with one another as we engage in that critical study. We must also consider the importance of shifting our own temporalities, of neither desiring nor expecting that we might live to see the labor of our work. 

A few years ago, Angela Davis was supposed to receive the Fred Shuttlesworth Human Rights Award in her native Birmingham in honor of her activism, scholarship, and advocacy. However, the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute rescinded Davis’s award due to criticism of her long-standing support of Palestinian liberation. Eventually, the award was reinstated, but a group of Birmingham natives, grassroots activists, decided to host an alternative event in Davis’s honor. In that event, Davis engaged in an hour long discussion with the writer and scholar Imani Perry. I’d like to share the end of Davis’s talk from that night because I’ve thought of it often in the years since: 

“Oftentimes, we assume that when we work for justice and equality and freedom, that we’re going to see immediate results. And capitalism teaches us to want to see the immediate…So we have a relationship to our history that is very much modeled after capital’s market. And we don’t necessarily recognize that the work we do today, while we may not see immediate consequences tomorrow, or even next year —  or even ten years from now —  but maybe down the line, maybe twenty years, or fifty years — or one hundred years from now — the work that we have done, at this particular moment, will have made a difference. I think it’s so important to try to develop that different temporality… I always point out that hundreds of years ago, there were people who were standing up against the institution of slavery, and they were imagining. They were imagining a different world. They knew that a different world was possible. They never got to experience that world, but, that world is the world we’re inhabiting today. They made it possible for us to be where we are, and so we have to begin to think broadly in that way and imagine how consequential our work can be… Let’s see if we can gauge the value of the work we do now by its possible future consequences. And perhaps fifty years from now or one hundred years from now, there will be some people gathered in the way we are gathered here this evening, who will be thankful, who will give thanks to those who came before them, who will be thankful for the work we did when we were called upon to do it.”  ….

I don’t know where we go from here or what comes next. I am, as I have shared, trying to figure out how not to die under the weight of my own depression, anxiety, and personal journey with grief. What this journey has taught me, however, is that survival is not and cannot be an isolated endeavor. To the extent that we are able to survive, we cannot survive without each other. We are moving into an uncertain future, living in an unsettled time. But we cannot make it through this thing called life alone.

I hope this note finds you, and I hope we find each other. I hope that we will be intentional about caring for ourselves and those we love in days, months, and years to come. We must create the world we seek to live in, even if we will never be able to inhabit that world ourselves.

A luta continua. The struggle continues. 

[slyvieselkie]

Regret IV

A pair of green eyes sharpened on the dainty woman dining at the table, elegant like any other lady of high society. It made her scoff, it was exactly everything Bruce Wayne hated. So she had to wonder, why the hell did he decide to propose to you?

It all began a month ago when she came across the Dark Knight himself after committing a heist. They stood on the rooftop, metres away from each other and in silence, until the woman dropped her bag of money and slowly strutted towards him. She had wondered where he had been for almost two months, but here he was back to play their little mind games.

"So Mr Vigilante, where have you been these days~? Did you miss me~?", she stopped when their chests were touching and fluttered her lashes.

Like usual the stern man stepped back and frowned, "I've come here to tell you...that I'm engaged. This game of ours, its over Selina."

Well that was unexpected. Silence fell in between them and the man awaited for a sassy quip, but it never came because she honestly didn't know what to say. After a few minutes, the Dark Knight realised silence was her answer and turned around to walk off. Staring at his back, Selina knew she had to say something otherwise she would regret it.

"W-Wait!", she swore at how her voice cracked and sighed as his head turned back, "This can't be the end, I mean...I thought we had something?", and so did the rest of Gotham. 

It wasn't Gotham news if there wasn't page about a rendezvous between the rivals, their bodies pressed together and glowing in the moonlight. The tension rising in the air before one of them would pull away, most of the time Selina pulling away and smirking at how his hands would attempt to chase after her but quickly stop to control himself. She was certain that at some point, this game of theirs would become something more and real. Yet here they were, Batman pulling away this time and for good.

He only blinked blankly and she clenched her fists, "Who is she?", the vigilante's eyes narrowed, "Why do you need to know that?", Catwoman scoffed, "Don't you think I deserve to know after everything we've been through?"

Batman was silent for a moment before responding in an unbelievably soft tone, "Maybe, if you want to know I'm sure you could find that out yourself. I'm only here to tell we're done, goodbye Selina", and with that he was jumping off the roof.

She stood there for the rest of the night, still comprehending what the hell had just happened. It must've been a joke she thought, he'll come back the next night teasing her about her reactions.

But the truth was solidified the next day when the only thing Gotham could talk about was Bruce Wayne and you, the heiress to the Astor empire. The two of you stood in front of Bruce's company, holding hands, and answering some questions. She couldn't help but notice how his eyes kept shifting over to you, and how you kept pinching his hand as a warning sign to behave. That night, you and the Wayne Family hosted a luxurious event to celebrate the happy news. The media was up in roars hearing Richard Grayson call you 'Mother' and you trying your best to maintain your elegance, wishing the boy to suffer a cruel death.

The Catwoman could only lie in her bed and feel regret, she should've done something before Bruce could walk away. But it was also his fault, he was accepting all of her advances and making her feel confident that he would be the one to do something about it. What a fool she was, 'Brucie' was just messing around with her disguised as Batman.

Now here she was, a month later, doing exactly what Bruce said she would. Sneaking her way into the exclusive cafe to find the rich girl Bruce decided to marry out of nowhere. And after watching you for a few minutes from behind a marble pillar, Selina was disappointed and pissed off. Sure you were pretty, rich, and elegant, but Selina was sexy and so much more compatible with him. How could you possibly relate with Bruce and understand the complexity of that man. You were just any other daddy's girl, pulling out her family's black card to spend it carelessly. She was-

"Excuse me ma'am, could I possibly see your membership card?", she swore and turned around to see a giant bodyguard with a threatening smile, 'Fucking hell.'

Selina was prepared to bolt when she noticed more appear and one even closed the mahogany wooden doors, "Uh-well I", the thing she wanted to do was cause a scene in front of this rich girl and be sneered upon, "You see-", "She's my friend, and she was just leaving."

Her shoulders slumped and the bodyguards tensed up, "Miss Astor, this woman-", you raised an eyebrow and the suited men immediately parted allowing Selina to dash off.

She didn't even attempt to look back knowing the looks of scorn she would receive, how humiliating to think that this was the type of woman Bruce would wed. And Selina was a petty woman, so she knew the best way to get revenge on these arrogant old money families.

Underneath the moonlight, Selina arrived at your luxury jewellery factory prepared to suck up all of your precious gems and share them with people who actually needed it. As she passed through the security systems, she still couldn't believe that you were the one that Bruce wanted. Why? Bruce Wayne, Batman, was a man of the people. How on earth could he love a greedy money hoarding woman?

Walking through the empty white hallways, she kicked down the first door and her eyes gleamed seeing the sparkling necklaces that were definitely about to be placed on the markets. Well not anymore, the Astor Family is going down. Then Selina quickly dodged a batarang and rolled deeper into the room.

Scowling she jumped up knowing who it was, "Bru-", "What are you doing here?", the darkness growled back at her and despite not being able to see his face, she knew Bruce was furious.

"I-", "First I hear of you stalking my wife and now you're here to steal from her business?", she was stunned at how he was already referring you as 'wife', "Get out", the man didn't allow her to say a word, "You're lucky that my wife had asked for you to not be charged for trespassing and attempted robbery."

Her teeth gritted, you asked? For Batman to spare her? Oh she was not having it, "You'll have to tell her to fuck off for me-", and in seconds he was looming over her leaning in to hiss, "Watch your mouth, I don't tolerate disrespect towards her."

And before she could blink, Catwoman was being thrown out onto the dirt ground as Batman vanished into the night, probably back to his not-yet-wife.

Unknown to her, you were watching from the comfort of the Astor Manor on your tablet, "Huh", you blinked somehow feeling disappointed, 'I expected her to be a bit better.'

There was a whoosh and you sighed, "Good evening, you entered the wrong manor", unfazed by the shadow covering you entirely.

"Come on, show your exhausted husband some love", Bruce Wayne stripped down to his boxers before enveloping your figure and you scowled as the sweaty man nuzzled to inhale your floral scent, "You dirty man! Go and take a bath before even thinking of touching me!"

Bruce smirked before pushing onto his arms and knees to hover over you, his eyes shone with mischief and the man leaned down until your noses were touching, "You better keep your word", and rushed off to the bathroom dodging a pillow.

You huffed and left the bed to retrieve your pillow before noticing the Batman suit laying on the floor. Silently, you draped it over the armchair and ran your hands down the Kevlar threads. This was the suit he had worn to meet Catwoman many times, allowing Catwoman to drape herself over this thin material, potentially taking it off to enter her bed, and now using it as a suit to defend you from the very same woman. The progression had you giggling and humming, 'I wonder...how far could I take this?'

Then your nightgown was soaking up the water droplets as Bruce pressed himself against you from behind, arms snaking around your figure, "What are you so happy about?", "...Nothing you should worry about", and then Bruce was dragging you off to bed.

The black haired man pulled you into his lap and began exploring your body with his lips ands hands. 

As he sucked a hickey on your neck you remembered something and spoke out, "Oh I forgot to mention, my friend is having a function for-", "Okay", he mumbled into your skin and you scowled tugging his hair, "I didn't finish-", he pecked your lips before biting the bottom lip softly, "Whatever you want, sweetheart."

And then you were being back onto the bed, "As long as you play nice tonight."

In a week, the Wayne-Astor family were preparing to leave for the function. Your eyes scanned the Waynes from oldest to youngest: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cassandra, and Damian. And of course just like their father, they were all a mess apart from Cass and Damian. Reaching out, you fixed Dick's tie before patting his shoulders satisfied.

The eldest grinned, "Thank you Mother", everyone apart from him and Bruce almost barfed, "You be quiet before I freeze your bank account", you scowled grabbing his ear, "Oww~! No, how am I gonna pay for gas then~?"

After that you went to neaten Jason's hair when he grumbled smacking your hand, "I can do it myself woman", you gave a dry laugh rolling your eyes, "I've heard that one before and it sure didn't work out well", "Hey I'm trying my best!", but the Red Hood stood still and leaned down so you could comb through it.

Moving down the line, you sighed at Tim Drake and the oversized suit to the dark circles under his eyes, "Oh Mr Drake-", "I know I know, I'm trying to work on it!", he pouted doing his darnest to look cute despite the disgusted stares being thrown his way, "...Decaf for the next week", "No!", he screeched and Dick cackled.

Upon seeing Cassandra in the yellow gown you had chosen for her, you smiled softly and pecked her forehead, "You look gorgeous darling", she melted under your touch before beaming, "Thanks."

And lastly, Damian Wayne who straightened his posture and stared forward sternly. He was an exact clone of Bruce, but more adorable and less annoying. The little boy even sent you a gorgeous painting of you two the day your engagement was announced, there was also a small pouch from his mother. You were speechless to read that Talia al Ghul had sent you a tea for 'sexy time', what on earth have you gotten into?

"Well done, Damian. You look very charming as always", you caressed his cheek and he nodded proudly, "Of course, I always strive to do my best", Jason muttered, "Demon brat", and received a snarl.

Clapping your hands, you smiled, "Alright, off we head", and the siblings walked off instantly bickering and chattering, creating chaos like usual.

Your small smile dropped hearing Bruce clear his throat, rolling your eyes you spun around and pulled on his tie. The man grinned as your lips smashed together, tempted to just run off and make Dick in charge of them. All you could think about was how ever since meeting Bruce, you've started wearing less lipstick and favoured lighter coloured glosses.

After an eventful ride in the limousine, consisting of Bruce being bullied, the seven of you were walking into the ballroom unfazed at the flashing lights around you. At the entrance, you greeted your friend leaning in to peck her cheek and congratulate her. Bruce did the same with his signature 'playboy' smile and smirked at how you scoffed. Entering the room, he glanced back at his children who perked up, 'Shoo', and they were gone like the wind.

Of course Selina had been watching all of this, sneaking in as a waitress to see if Bruce truly enjoyed being with you or whether he was on a mission and needed you. But after seeing, not only the way Bruce held your waist for the whole night, but how he clung to you every time you tried to move away...she knew it was the former. Hands tightening into a fist, the woman knew she had to give up now. However, she just had one thing to say to you and Selina found it when she spotted you walking off to the ladies room.

The anti-hero stealthily followed you inside when she heard a slap followed by a shriek, "How dare you hit me?!", and blinked before poking her head around the corner.

Despite being smaller than the other woman, your aura completely dominated the room as you pushed your pointer finger in her face and hissed, "If I hear you say Richard's name one more time in that disgusting voice, you'll be six feet under the ground", "Y-You wouldn't!", you sneered, "Why wouldn't I? Someone like you wouldn't cost much to kill. A bankrupt family about to be thrown out on the street, a couple of hundreds and you're dead by sunrise."

Selina subconsciously shivered at the cruelty in your tone and words, "Now fuck off, to another state would be preferable", and the woman rushed off almost crashing into Catwoman.

Green eyes watched as you remained in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the reflection with complex emotions. And suddenly, you weren't the dainty and elegant lady that used her family's money all day long. There was history in the way you tried your best to remain calm, history in your threatening posture and harsh breathing. The realisation caused her to flee, because now you weren't just a stereotype anymore. Why was she so shaken up by this? The woman was so shaken up, she bumped into someone and would've fallen if it wasn't for their tight grip.

"M-My apologies!", "Selina?", a familiar voice responded and she looked up into the blue eyes of Bruce Wayne.

He frowned, "What are you doing here?", she didn't know what to say and the two of them just stared at each other, "Is no one going to say anything?", their heads snapped to you who just observed them blankly, "I can leave if you two need the privacy."

As you walked off, Bruce immediately chased after you calling out your name and tried to plead his case, "Look, she just bumped into me-", "There is no need for you to explain anything", his eyes widened seeing the way you smiled so casually, "I don't care about what kind of relationship you have with her, just be aware of your surroundings."

Bruce Wayne has never felt so humiliated and insulted, "What do you mean by that?", his teeth grounded and you raised an eyebrow, "Exactly what I said", and you did not stop walking despite noticing how he had froze, "I'd like to return at 9 so please remember that. I'll be in the gardens."

The car ride home was tense and the Wayne children kept glancing between the two of you, confused why Bruce was so glum and you were just normal. The limousine stopped at the Wayne Manor and only the children got off, Bruce said he would bring you home and round back. They couldn't be more relieved to finally get out of the uncomfortable atmosphere, and immediately spilt everything to Alfred who just shook his head and sighed.

Back in the car, Bruce was finding a way to continue the conversation but he didn't expect you to do it, "You seem to have a problem with me", you state plainly looking out the window and he sighed leaning his head back, "Why did you say that? Why didn't you let me explain? Why don't you care?"

You turn and met his storming blue eyes, "...What is there to care about?", Bruce couldn't believe what he was hearing, "Are we not getting married? How can you be fine with me having an affair?", you gave him a smile that only made him more frustrated, "Have a goodnight Bruce."

He remained in the car wondering what the hell had just happened, and you were truly a special person. You brought out a playful version of Bruce that he thought he had lost, and now you're bringing out a pettiness he didn't he had. You didn't care? He'll make you care, one way or another.

Selina was confused by the aggressive advancement of Bruce these past few days. He was flirtatious, leaving lingering touches on her body, and uncaring of how they were being photographed and filmed. Batman and Catwoman were back in Gothamn's headlines, and she should be happy. They were back to how things were before this whole mess, but Selina just didn't feel happy. There was a churning feeling in her stomach when Bruce encouraged her to leave lipstick stains, marks, and scents on his suit and body. What the hell were they doing? Her mind kept wandering back to the woman in the bathroom staring at herself.

It had been a week since Bruce had become petty, and after another suggestive night with Catwoman, he was ready to see your reaction. So the man swung into your bedroom and removed his cowl, feeling a nostalgia, yet he didn't find you anywhere. The only other option was your office and walking down the hallway, the man immediately heard your stern voice talking to someone. He thought about knocking but shrugged and decided to let himself in.

Your eyes sharpened at him for entering and interrupting, but you still hung up anyways, "Bruce Wayne, why did you come-", silence fell as you saw the marks around his jawline and neck.

Bruce did his best to hide the smirk. That's it, regret it and take back everything, start caring about the man that you'll wed in a few months, "That's what you came here for?", you huffed and clicked your tongue, "What would you like me to say, congratulations? That was an important phone call-"

He cancelled out the rest of your rambling, because the man had you right where he wanted. Your eyes kept shifting down to his markings and hardening, like a jealous woman. At some point, he flashed across the room and smashed his lips onto yours. You squealed into the kiss but Bruce wasn't letting go. Then before he knew it, he was getting out of the shower admiring the marks that led him to success. Bruce walked out with just a towel barely hanging around his hips and bathed in the way your eyes narrowed.

An unexpected purr left his chest as he pulled you onto his lap and began placing kisses against your collarbone, "You surely don't expect me to bed a dirty man like you", Bruce hummed, "Didn't you give me permission though? Put up with it, or do something about it."

Bruce was disappointed when you chose the former, but he still felt like it was a win considering the things it did to you. Clearly he was on the right track and he knew the time would come when you would admit defeat. It was a push and pull, sometimes he got exactly what he wanted and other times he was just allowed to shower before getting kicked out. It was tiring, but the successes made everything worth it.

On the other hand, Selina felt like she was losing despite the way she preened under Batman's attention. She felt dizzy every time they met under the moonlight, the two of them connecting more with each rendezvous. But you were always in the back of her mind, she wondered how you were feeling. Were you actually okay with this, or were you just pretending to be unfazed by everything? She had to know. 

So Selina was back to stalking you again, this time in a department store which was much easier to sneak into and pretend to be a staff member. Slowly she was getting closer, pretending to clean items and reorder them. Just a few metres, and she'll get everything she wanted from you.

"Ask", you stated plainly looking at a pair of shoes costing way too much money, "What?", she turned to you and watch as you hand them to a staff member, "Selina Kyle, you seem to have a hobby of watching me. Obsessed much?", blushing red the catwoman was unable to find her funny bone and make a comeback.

She ended up following you around as you shop, "What did you approach me for?", she hesitated before asking, "Our relationship...are you really okay with it?", trying on another pair of heels you smiled in the mirror, "Why? Are you feeling guilty now? Doing such foul things with a man about marry?"

The woman scowled, "Y-You said it was okay! Plus...he made the moves", your eyes glanced over at her before you smirk, "I can tell you, one of the reasons at least, but are you sure you want to hear it?", there was a moment before she nodded prepared to hear whatever it was.

"Why should I stop my husband from doing some charity work?", Selina's blood went cold, "....What did you just say?", and you turned to her blankly, "I mean, the only time you're acting as Catwoman is to meet my husband. If my husband playing with a girl helps her stop committing crimes, isn't that better for all of us?"

She was shaking, trembling in fury and you smiled, "Besides, what is there to care about? A little kiss and a few marks? You weren't the first and you aren't the last. You're not a mistress or a side chick. Talia al Ghul at least gave him a child, Superwoman is a respected teammate, and Bruce will always be at my beck and call-", "You fucking bitch!"

Before she could even do anything, there was a man weighing a tonne pinning her to the ground, "Y-You...", she could only see the sharp heels you wore polished enough to reflect her position, "I hope you got the answer you were looking, have a good day."

And you were walking away like the heiress you were.

Selina was fuming, any hesitance she had about their affair vanished. She'll send Bruce home with more than a little kiss and some marks. So when Batman landed on the rooftop in front of her, Catwoman made the first move and molded their bodies together. She leaned up, staring into his bright blue eyes. You'll regret it, she smirked slowly inching to his lips.

Then there was a voice coming from Bruce's comm, "B, your wife wants to talk to you", and in an instant Selina was being pushed away as the man's eyes sparkled at this new development.

This was the first time you've reach out to him, his heart thumped loudly in his chest as he imagined the possibilities, "B?", "Y-Yeah, send her across", he whispered breathless unaware of the burning rage growing inside the woman in front of him. 

"Bruce?", "Yes sweetheart", he smiled lovingly when he heard your mellow voice, "I was just informing you that-", "Wait, why don't we talk about this at home. It'll be better face to face, I'll be there soon", "...Okay, come safely", "Of course."

Ending the call, he smiled at her like a boy in his first romance, "Sorry, my wife called", and that was all he said before walking off.

She gulped continuing to hear your shameful words. She wasn't just charity work. She might not have a child, and she's not a respected hero, but Selina still had a special connection with Bruce. They've gone through so much together, she surely meant something to him. So just before he could jump off, she lunged at him and clung to his back.

"D-Don't go, stay with me", the woman whispered as her green eyes shone in the moonlight familiar to them, "Come to my place", there was silence before Bruce spun around and smiled down at her softly, "I'm sorry, but she's my wife. I have to go, I'll see you another night."

And Selina was abandoned on the rooftop, the nosy photographers in the darkness wondering why Batman had left her. He was completely at your beck and call.

You were in the office watching everything from the laptop staring at green pools, "Come on, you're Catwoman aren't you? Surely that wasn't your limit", you whispered before shutting everything down, "Show me something more entertaining."

A few seconds later, Bruce was barging into your office and panted staring down at you, "Ah you're here, I just wanted to inform you that my aunt had invited me to visit her in the Netherlands. I'll be leaving in two weeks", he smiled softly, "That's exciting, I hope you have a lot of fun there."

You crossed your arms staring down at the laptop, "What, you aren't going to come with me?", his eyes widened and the man stuttered, "U-Uh I well-umm-it's just-", "No...or yes", the two of you stared at each other before Bruce slowly approached you stopping on the other side of your desk, "I'll go anywhere with you."

Somehow, you felt the urge to spin in your chair and went around and around when everything suddenly stopped, Bruce was hovering over you leaning his hands on the arm rests, "Have you finished testing me?", your lips pursed, "It wasn't a test", "Then have you finished playing around?"

There was a small huff, "Did you do anything?", he smirked before stripping off his suit to show untainted skin, "Would you like to come closer and check?"

Dainty fingers reached out and ghosted the ripples of his abs, "No, it is clear that...that you don't need a shower", Bruce felt like he was a virgin again, embarrassed at the way his heart and nether region reacted from those simple words, "Are you sure?", "Yeah, carry me to bed", your wish was his command.

Wide green eyes watched as the nightgown was torn to shreds and exiled to the floor. Piercing blue eyes raking over your figure like it was the first time he's seen someone so gorgeous and enchanting. His hands touched you with unbelievable gentleness, like you were made from priceless porcelain. He laid a variety of kisses, some full of lust and others marshmallow soft, smiling like you had hung the stars for him. Bruce's voice was dripping with honey, the way he praised and thanked you for just letting him in was something Selina had never seen. Had never experienced.

Her eyes transferred from Bruce to you, and Catwoman almost fell from her position against the window. You were staring right at her, unfazed, because you led her here. From when had your games begin? When did she start being the jester in your court? And what role does Bruce play? Was he your queen, another jester? Your eyes felt like a black hole swallowing her ability to process and think. For the first time in an incredibly long time, Selina was terrified.

Suddenly, you let out a soft whimper at a burst of pain and weakly glared at the man who smothered you with an aggressive kiss, "Look at me, I'm the one in your bed, I'm your husband, you chose me."

You sigh before whispering in his ear, "Then take me somewhere more private, there's over twenty rooms in this house. It's up to you how many we use and which ones she can spy through", Bruce groaned before picking you up and walking out, "What about the hallways?", "Are you going to clean it up?", "Hell yeah."

Turning around to close the door, the pairs of blue and green met each other. One threatening the other to stay away, and the other gleaming before they fell onto your naked figure. All of them were so goddam twisted, because Selina reached out to lick her lips. Don't worry, you'll be seeing much more of her soon. You're going to regret pushing her to this point because she was planning a new type of revenge.

Hi Lovelies, how you going? Hope everything's all good and well.

This was honestly such a bizarre writing experience for me because it was just a word spew from an inspiration I had that wouldn't leave my mind. I really don't how to feel about this one, I absolutely hate it because I find it really messy but there's a part of me that loves it so much. There's something about the reader that I found so shocking, like how did I come up with this type of person. I don't know how well I portrayed Batman and Catwoman, or whether the reader insert was good, but I hope you enjoyed.

Of course feedback and critics are welcome, see you another day 💕

[ladyartemesia]

The Secret

◐ PART IV of THE ALPHA ◐

◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Part III ◐ Series Masterlist ◐

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: Mature (for this installment)

Warnings: ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming. Violence and discussion of violence relating to ritual combat. Jin’s pheromones need their own warning. Yoonji and Yunli are not the same person.

Word Count: 3600

Author’s Note: This update literally made me sob because I edited it and formatted it and it just disappeared when I posted. I seriously felt my heart drop because it took so long to format... ANYWAYS I wonder if anyone guessed the secret.

”You can’t do this, Luna ... Come back inside.”

Your hand tightened on the doorknob.

“I was just going out for some air-”

Jin shook his head, letting his lanky frame collapse onto the overstuffed chair by the fireplace. 

“And after the air... then what?”

Your terse silence was confirmation enough. 

He sighed heavily, hating himself a little for what he had to do. 

“You cannot go to him. They’ll smell you on his skin and it could cost him... dearly.”

Your eyes fluttered shut.

“I just wanted to see him...,” you whispered. “I wanted to talk to him just once before-”

A sob bubbled up in your throat and your hand flew up to cover it. 

The dawn would come in two hours. 

And then Park Jimin would be gone. 

Jin’s arms wrapped around your shoulders and you fell against him hopelessly. 

“They’re going to make me watch, Jin-ah. I-I have to watch him-”

Bitter tears overtook you, wracking your body with the violence of your despair. 

“I know...,” he murmured softly into your hair, “I know.” 

“Do you think he’ll really show up?”

The chief elder glared fiercely at the young man who dared voice such a question. 

The entire pack had jammed themselves into the clearing where the challenge was taking place and despite the solemnity of the occasion, the atmosphere buzzed with barely contained speculation. 

“Park Jimin was chosen by the goddess herself to be her champion or to be the divine test of her champion. Have some respect,” he hissed. 

The young pup had the decency to look abashed, but the chief elder was already ignoring him in favor of the newest arrival... 

A Luna wore only three ceremonial colors at any given time. 

Green for celebration and harvest was worn in times of laughter and gaiety. 

Blue for mourning and peaceful resolve was worn in times of trial and hardship. 

Red for passion and vengeance was worn in times of war and signified the sacred bonds that wove the pack together. 

Your mother laid out a blue cloak as it was the color chosen by every Luna who had ever faced down a provocatione ritual.

But you arrived in sumptuous Red. 

It was a stunning act of defiance, a wordless declaration of your fury. You were here to obey the goddess, but in a crimson cloak you would not embrace this challenge with peaceful resolve. 

An attack upon your mate, even under these circumstances, was an attack upon you. 

You had come dressed for war. 

Jimin heard the gasps echo around his meditation cell.  

He and Namjoon arrived at the sacred circle a full hour before dawn and sequestered themselves in the small, free-standing hovels on opposing sides of the the site. 

The tiny pods were spaces for an individual to commune with the goddess and center themselves before engaging in the typically life-altering events that brought them there. 

Sometimes it was marriage or celebration, sometimes it was acceptance to one of the guilds or a promotion to a higher rank within your family’s clan...

Today it was life and death and the future of the pack that weighed upon the combatants’ shoulders. 

The sudden swell of movement and sound pulled Jimin from his meditative state. 

What happened? 

He got his answer soon after an elder came to escort him into the circle. 

It was you. 

Your hands and feet were bound to the ornately carved chair they had seated you in. This was a typical precaution because it was natural for a wolf to defend their mate if they were in danger and the restraints kept the Luna from doing so. 

The pain in your gaze was agonizing, but in red, flowing down from your shoulders with fiery obstinance, you were every inch the warrior queen. 

Yet it was not your rebellious cloak or even your incredible beauty that caused his heart to pound and stutter in glorious shock...

It was the familiar praesidium bracelet wrapped around your wrist; an intimate message of devotion that he and he alone would understand. 

Pride and possessiveness roared to life in Jimin’s chest. 

She’s mine.

“You look... surprisingly calm.”

Taehyung jerked guiltily. 

“What? Me? I don’t know anything - I mean I’m not calm - I’m frantic. I - I don’t even understand the question.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows raised right up into his hairline. 

“Taehyung-ah? Did you put those special mushrooms in your broth this morning? You’re acting a bit strange-”

“No,” Taehyung’s voice cracked. “This is me - this is totally normal me. I’m not - there were no mushrooms-” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “So - uh - how’s Yoonji?”

“Oh my go- really?!” 

The chief elder began to recite his speech, reminding the pack of the profound significance this moment carried...

But Yunli could barely hear his words over the ringing in her ears. Her gaze fixed on Namjoon from the moment the elder brought him forward... yet he had not glanced toward her once. 

He looked so strong and confident. 

So capable of victory. 

A faint whimper of abject sorrow worked its way passed her lips and Namjoon’s eyes flew to her instantly. 

As if he had always known exactly where she was. 

Longing split his features for a fraction of a second. 

Then his gaze shuttered again and Yunli’s wolf howled in silent, mournful agony. 

Anticipation bore down upon the assembly as the chief elder uttered the last few sentences with reluctant finality. 

The moment had come.  

Both alphas stepped into the circle. 

You began to tug frantically - futilely - against the bonds. Jin’s hand gripped yours as a tear slipped heedlessly down his cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon whispered - to you - to Yunli - to Jimin -

To himself. 

Then his claws lengthened to a deadly point and he tore forward with a chilling snarl. 

Jimin remained unnaturally still, watching his rival barrel towards him with almost calculated intent. 

Namjoon’s arm drew back to land the first strike and- 

———◐———

Last Night...

———◐———

“Wait - WHAT?!”

“It was... me. I broke the table.”

Taehyung drew back slowly. His eyebrows furrowed in profound confusion. 

“With what? A jackhammer!?”

Jimin tilted his head in amusement. 

“Hammerfist strike... actually.” He shrugged. “I lost my temper.”

“You - You lost your-“ Tae began shaking his head rapidly. “Is it a spell of some sort?! Goddess you know better than to get tangled up with witches! You let them give you a band aid and then they show up ten years later asking for your firstborn!”

Jimin rolled his eyes. 

“Of course not! No... it’s...” he bit his lip. “You remember that time I came to your house a little too early and... Yoonji had you tied to a bed...”

Tae paled. 

“We agreed never to speak of that.”

“And I haven’t - spoken of it - especially since Yoongi still thinks his precious baby cousin is unaware of big bad boy wolves and if he found out you were corrupting her-”

“Wait. You think I was corrupting her?!“

“The point is... it’s a secret. And I know you have your reasons for keeping it that way so... I hope you’ll understand what I’m about to tell you...”

———◐———

Fourteen Years Ago...

———◐———

Jimin’s hands fidgeted nervously over the flyer that the human boy offered him. 

“But I’m only in Seoul for the summer.”

Just long enough to miss Alpha Camp entirely. 

“That’s perfect because it’s only a summer program. Seriously, you were so fast catching that jar I knocked over. Your reflexes are amazing and it looks like you’ve got the perfect build for it too.” He tapped the flyer for emphasis. “Think about it.”

No one had ever told Park Jimin that he would be good at anything like this. In fact most people told him he needed to be better...

Bigger. 

Stronger. 

His eyes traveled over the large letters printed at the top of the brochure. 

“Taekwondo...”

——◐——

“...so thank you all again for signing up and attending the orientation. I will see you tomorrow for our first class.”

A strange sense of anticipation hummed through Jimin as he gathered his coat. He was finally doing something for himself; something that had nothing to do with being an alpha-

“You’re a wolf, aren’t you...”

The young instructor who gave the initial demonstration and spoke for most of the orientation stood behind him with his arms crossed.

Jimin’s eyes widened in shock. 

“How did you know?”

The stranger tapped his nose. 

“My grandfather had a human mate and his pack exiled him for it. I’m mostly human, but this nose can pick up another wolf’s scent just as well as yours.”

Modern packs didn’t exile wolves with human mates anymore, but fifty years ago the practice was still unfortunately common. 

“I’m sorry about your grandfather.”

The young man smiled. 

“He lived a long happy life with his mate and his family. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He stretched out his hand. “Lee Taemin.”

“Park Jimin.”

They shook firmly, and Taemin continued to examine him with unconcealed interest. 

“Tell me, Park Jimin, what’s an alpha wolf doing all the way out in Seoul? The only pack around here married their last child into one of the mountain nations years ago.”

“That was my mother, actually... I’m here visiting my grandmother.”

Taemin tilted his head curiously. 

“I’ve never known wolves to be interested in human martial arts. You lot prefer to fight shifted... In fact, I doubt a mountain wolf could even throw a punch,” he snorted, “not that they’d need to with those fangs.”

Jimin’s shoulders fell a little. 

“So... you don’t think I’ll be good at it.”

“On the contrary, I think you could be incredible.”

The young wolf’s face brightened immediately. 

“Really?! Even if I’m not as strong as other wolves?”

“Taekwondo isn’t about strength. It’s about speed. Master the speed and the strength will follow.”

———◐———

“Relax your body. Focus your energy.”

Jimin drew in a deep breath as he moved  through the pattern Taemin taught him. 

“The power and speed of your wolf is constant, but most wolves do not bother channeling it in human form. Concentrate on your wolf and bring that power into your strike.” 

His hand came down on the thin press wood and-

It hurt. A lot. 

Taemin chuckled as Jimin cussed and swore, cradling his tender fist grouchily. 

“You’ll get it. Just keep practicing.”

“Are you sure I’ll be able to break the boards one day?”

The boy’s face was so round and adorably hopeful. Taemin nodded confidently and offered him some ice. 

“A human with training can break boards, but a wolf who harnessed his natural speed and strength could break much more than that.” 

———◐———

Twelve Years Ago...

———◐———

“You’ve improved a great deal since last summer. Were you finally able to find a teacher near your pack?”

“Yes - but... she’s not as good as you.”

Finding a local Taekwondo teacher had been the easy part. 

Constantly making up excuses to explain his habitual disappearances... 

That was trickier. 

His mother thought he was hunting with Taehyung, Taehyung thought he was sniffing around some human girl and needed a buddy to cover his tracks. 

Sneaking away to practice wasn’t too difficult, but he panicked when Yoongi caught him moving through forms in the woods once and pretended to be doing an interpretive dance. 

With no music.

Yoongi had looked at him a little funny since then. 

Taemin grinned. “Of course she’s not as good as me. I’m the best. Now take position and let’s see if you can finally land this kick.”

———◐———

Ten Years Ago...

———◐———

Jimin glared at the thick oak board Taemin sent him home with this year. 

“It’s a 4x6 solid oak plank. I want you to break it before the winter solstice.”

He snorted, positioning the board between the makeshift vices he fashioned to hold it in place. 

“Sure, I’ll just get right on that.”

“...Who are you talking to?”

Jimin groaned internally.

Of course. 

“Hey guys,” he turned to greet Jungkook and Hoseok brightly (while completely ignoring the question). “Where - where are you two headed today?”

Jungkook’s eyes sparkled with excitement. 

“One of the elders is going to teach us how to build traps! He invited all the unmated alphas to go with him past the boundary lines to test whatever we make!”

A familiar embarrassment settled heavily in Jimin stomach. 

“Oh... I uh... I didn’t hear that.”

“I’m sure it was just a mistake that they didn’t call for you,” Hoseok rushed to reassure him. “You could come with us. I don’t think the elder would mind.”

The older boy’s gaze was filled with discomfort... and pity. 

Jimin cleared his throat and forced up a sunny smile. 

“No that’s fine - I have work to do anyways so...”

Jungkook nodded quickly, desperate to escape the unexpectedly awkward conversation. 

“Have fun!” he shouted, already beginning to jog away. 

Jimin watched quietly as their figures grew smaller, waiting till their clumsy steps no longer disturbed the stillness around him. 

He should be used to it by now... 

The passive rejection. 

It shouldn’t bother him anymore. There was no malicious intent... just casual dismissal again and again and again-

An angry roar tore past his lips as he brought his hand down on the board. 

It cracked in half. 

———◐———

Eight Years Ago...

———◐———

“It’s strange but - I feel like the better I become at this, the stronger my wolf is.”

“That isn’t strange at all. You and your wolf are two halves of a whole. The more you balance your energy, the more your strengths can be shared. Now - stop stalling and get to it.”

Jimin eyed Taemin’s latest idea with a reluctant groan.

“None of the other students have to break cinder block.”

“None of the other students are wolves. Besides, it’s been 6 years, you’ve broken stacks of boards. It’s time for a real challenge.”

“I’m lucky I haven’t broken a bone,” Jimin mumbled irritably. 

He did that day, but it was healed in a week and he broke his first cinderblock a month later.

———◐———

Five Years Ago...

———◐———

“Remember, timing is everything. Never let your opponent see what you’re going to do.”

“How many times do you think I’ve heard that over the last ten years?”

“Not enough, clearly. You’re still telegraphing with that right foot.”

Jimin’s left hand shot out and connected with Taemin’s jaw.

“Am I?”

Taemin blinked up at him from the floor. 

“Ok. I admit. That was pretty impressive.”

———◐———

Three Years Ago...

———◐———

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I was looking for Jin.”

Jimin scrambled to his feet, dumping the pile of pebbles he collected (for his mother’s garden) noisily to the ground.

“Luna...”

He took a discreet step backward as your gaze scanned the area in frustration. 

“You haven’t seen my cousin, have you?”

Jimin gulped. 

He had seen Kim Seokjin - leading a curvy beta girl (nose first no doubt) in the direction of the old wading pool. It took every bit of self-restraint he possessed not to laugh out loud each time Jin bashfully declared that he was a ‘good boy’ and to ‘be gentle with him,’ - after all, he’d given the same speech to two other she-wolves last week. 

Best not to scar her for life. Some things cannot be unseen.

His mind darted briefly to the scene he’d walked into at Taehyung’s house yesterday.

“I have no idea where Seokjin is, Luna.”

You sighed, gnawing absently at your lip while you considered his words, and Jimin felt a familiar hint of futile longing whisper through him. 

He’d never been so close to you, and now that he was, his wolf was making all sorts of insane suggestions to keep you near. 

Do a backflip. Climb a tree. Build her a house. 

Jimin bent quickly to gather his scattered stones, ashamed at the direction of his thoughts. 

You were so incredibly beautiful...

It was almost enough to make him forget that he would only ever be Park Jimin.  

He couldn’t blame the others for fighting and fawning over your attention like they did. You were the moon and every man around you was drawn in like the tide. 

“Today is my seventeenth birthday, you know.”

Jimin looked up to discover that you had moved much closer and were now looking down at him expectantly. 

He blinked. Twice. 

“I - yes. I did know.”

The entire pack was celebrating. He’d have to be comatose not to know.

“Should I save you a dance, Park Jimin?”

Up until that exact second, Jimin would have bet his life savings that you did not know his name. 

Yet here you were - so very close to him - gazing down into his eyes almost shyly.

He nodded because he couldn’t think of a single reason not to give you anything you wanted. And when you smiled so brilliantly -  he almost believed that you truly wanted to dance with him...

Almost. 

He never went to your party. 

He never danced with you.

Not that day. Not ever.

Because deep down he suspected that if he held you in his arms - even once - he would never truly let go. 

He was sure you wouldn’t notice his absence...  You wouldn’t remember talking to him by the time the evening rolled around. 

He never saw you search the crowds for his face right up until the midnight bell. 

He never saw you turn down dance after dance hoping that the beautiful boy from the forest would finally come and take your hand. 

He was your only wish that birthday. 

But he never knew. 

———◐———

One Year Ago...

———◐———

“I’ve never seen anything like your skill. You’ve long since surpassed me. I’m not sure what more I can teach you,” Taemin smiled, bumping Jimin on the shoulder, “Perhaps you should find a woman and spend a little less time practicing.”

An unwelcome flash of silver eyes and a laugh like sunshine danced through his mind. 

“No. I’m... not really the type wolf girls go for.” 

Taemin snorted. 

“I don’t believe that. Aren’t you an alpha?”

“Yes, but it’s... complicated.”

“Isn’t everything?”

Jimin laughed. 

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

Silence settled comfortably between them as they nursed several bottles of soju on his grandmother’s porch. Taemin had charmed the old hellion quite thoroughly and he would often drop by for a visit even when Jimin was back home with his pack.

“So what will you do now?” he asked. “You can’t compete. I can barely withstand sparring with you, and you’d kill a human - even if you landed a blow at half strength.”

Jimin ran his fingers absently through his hair while he pondered his mentor’s words. 

“I learned to fight because I was searching for something that would help me sort out who I was.” He scoffed. “I don’t know that I’m any closer to that goal.”

Taemin shook his head. 

“No. I think you’ve got it all wrong, Park Jimin. No one achieves what you have without knowing who they are. You’ve always been a fighter and some part of you realizes that.” He sighed heavily and finished off the rest of his drink. “Now I think you’re just... waiting.”

“For what?” Jimin chuckled playfully. 

Taemin pulled out another bottle and met his gaze with a knowing grin. 

“Something worth fighting for.”

———◐———

Now...

———◐———

Jimin remained unnaturally still, watching his rival barrel towards him with almost calculated intent. 

Namjoon’s arm drew back to land the first strike and- 

It was fast. 

So fast it almost seemed like magic. 

One moment the Kim alpha was the barest breath away from a swift and decisive victory-

Then he was crashing backwards onto the dirt. 

Those who watched carefully saw Park Jimin spin into a vicious kick, one that connected solidly with the middle of his opponent’s chest. 

Stunned silence pressed in from every side as Namjoon scrambled back to his feet, his expression wavering wildly between excruciating pain and monumental shock. 

Jimin smiled, letting his razor sharp canines lengthen menacingly as he flowed back into a perfect combat stance. 

“You didn’t think I’d just let you have her, did you?”

Please comment if you would like to be added to the taglist! If you have already asked, you will be tagged automatically in every update. 

Please please please let me know what you thought of this chapter! (*insert puppy face here*) I am so excited to hear what you think of everything that went down in this update and I savor each word of feedback like fine wine. Your theories and commentary have been such a gift. It truly keeps me writing. 

[ssajemilyprentiss]

Loving you is a losing game

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x reader

Warnings: Angst, arguing, tears, mentions of death/dead body, mentions of throwing up, a curse word, no happy ending let me know if i forgot something

Summary: Emily has been acting off and no matter how many times you ask her she doesn’t tell you anything and just push you away. 

A/N: Set during the Lauren arc (majority of the things have already happened lol) just so you know where we are, this is in the storyline where Emily and Derek are where Tsia is found, but it’s Y/N instead of Derek. i just added the car ride before lol. Just for the sake of the plot here, the scene where Emily walks out of the BAU never happens, i replaced that one with what happens last in this lol

This was also requested for my 200 follower celebration from Iv @sweetprentiss​ this time “oooo and one more! emily x reader “please just tell the truth for once!” So since I kinda got free hands on this one I decided to use that fully, i hope you like this one too Iv and thank you for this request too <3 

☽ My masterlist here

☽ Want to request something from me? Take a look here

Emily had left once again out of nowhere, not saying where she was going. She just got out of your apartment and closed the door, not even saying goodbye. You look at the time, 10.26 pm and wonder if she’ll go to her place or come back. You send her a new text asing where she is and when she’s coming home. You barely get the chance to put it down before it vibrates, you pick it up and see a new text from Emily saying:

i’m out for a walk. sleeping at my place tonight, goodnight love you

You just stare at the screen and raise an eyebrow, a walk? Why couldn’t she just tell you that? You want to believe her but you get this gutting feeling in your stomach telling you she’s lying - and you know she is. You unlock your phone and reply:

okay, be safe. let me know when you’re home, love you too

You get ready for bed and as you lay down and try to sleep your mind starts racing, what is she really up to? Could she be seeing someone behind your back? You shake the thought away fast, she never would and you know that. As you close your eyes and try to sleep the feeling that something is really wrong is constant in the back of your mind. 

You wake up the next morning from a text from Penelope, you pick up your phone and read:

New updates on the case, come to Quantico ASAP!

You get out of bed and get ready as soon as you can, exit the apartment and enter your car. The drive to Quantico going a little faster than usual, but the tone of Penelope’s text made it sound urgent. You couldn’t wrap your head around this case, whole families were being murdered but the unsubs covered it up to make it look like accidents. And when Emily and Derek went to visit a potential victim they ended up in the middle of a shootout with them. You sigh as you pull up to the parking lot, the bad feeling in your stomach still not gone. 

You enter the bullpen and drop your bag on your desk and as you do Hotch walks up to you 

“Y/N DC metro has been held up, there’s been a double murder on K-street and 9. They want someone from us to take a look ” he says but before you can answer Emily comes up to you

“K-street and 9th?” she asks and Hotch nods

“I’m going with you” she tells you sternly and starts walking to the car 

“Okay” you reply even though she’s already left 

As you sit in the car you notice how tense Emily is, she keeps looking out the rearview mirror on her side and she seems distressed. 

“Emily how are you?” you ask 

“I’m good, why wouldn’t I be?” she replies

“Well for starters you look like you could jump out of your seat because how tense you are” and as your say that she straightens her posture, trying to look more relaxed but you see right through her

“And secondly your “walks” and other nightly adventures make me worried” you continue

“Why?” 

“Emily you have never as long as I have known you gone for a walk willingly, and at night also” 

“What can’t I pick up a new hobby?” she asks and you hear the annoyance lacing her tone

“That’s not what I’m saying-” you start 

“Good, then we’ll drop this” she interrupts you and looks out the window again and you get the feeling again, you just know she’s not telling the truth.

“I’m sorry” you say after a while

“I’m sorry too” she replies but keeps looking out the window

 “I love you”

But Emily stays quiet, didn’t she hear you? You feel how her silence breaks you, but you stay quiet too - still with that gutting feeling in your stomach, there is something she isn’t telling you. 

As you get to the scene you walk into the apartment and see a man dead in there, you notice Emily standing outside the door keeping her eyes on the woman that’s lying there. 

“He took two in the chest, went quickly” you say and walk out to her but she doesn’t reply

“One straight in her forehead” you say directed at the woman on the floor in front of you, and Emily keeps quiet 

“She comes to the door and he shoots her there, she didn’t stand a chance” you continue and you notice how Emily once again is tensing up, and she looks visibly shaken at the sight of the woman. Just as you’re about to ask her what’s wrong she speaks:

“I need some air” and she walks away quickly, leaving you behind 

You follow her and as you get out you see her by a fence, coughing and you see vomit on the ground by her shoes. 

“Emily, what's going on with you?” 

“I’m fine” she says 

“No you’re not” you blurt at her “You just threw up here, are you sick?” 

“No, let’s just go back to the BAU but swing by my place first so I can change” she says and walk away from you, you sigh deeply and walk after her 

When you pull up outside Emily’s apartment and you’re about unbuckle your seatbelt she stops you 

“Stay in the car, I’ll be quick” she says and get out before you get the chance to protest 

You sit back in your seat and once again let out a deep sigh, why couldn’t you come up with her to the apartment? You lay your head to the side and you feel how tiredness hits you, this case and the whole Emily situation is really tearing on you. You hear your phone going off, pick it up and see that it’s Hotch texting. 

Go home and rest for a couple of hours, you’ve done enough for the day. We’ll meet at Quantico again at 9pm when other leads have been checked

You reply with a quick ‘okay’ and just as you put your phone down Emily comes back to the car. 

“Hotch just texted” you say and show her your phone 

“Okay, can we go to your place? Mine is a mess” 

“Sure” you reply and drive off to your apartment. 

You wake in your bed at 8pm by your alarm, and notice that Emily isn’t next to you. You get out of bed quickly and look for her and just as you get out of your bedroom you see her by the front door. She looks like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar - you weren’t supposed to know she left. 

“Aren’t you coming back to Quantico?” you ask, crossing your arms

“I am” she replies turning away from you “I just need to run an errand first” she places her hand on the doorknob and is about to open the door but you stop her. 

“Emily I’m done with this” you blurt at her, louder than intended “that’s bullshit and we both know it” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say Y/N” 

“Emily please just tell me the truth for once!” you yell and grab her hand, stopping her from leaving once again

She pulls away and turns around “You want the truth?” she asks “The truth is that I don’t love you anymore Y/N”

Her words feels like a knife through your heart, and you feel tears burning in your eyes “You don’t mean that” you choke out 

She swallows thickly and it looks like she’s blinking away tears of her own “I do” she starts “I don’t love you anymore so we’re over, goodbye Y/N” and before you get a chance to reply she’s out the door and shuts it with a loud bang. And as the door slams you fall down to your knees, sobbing loudly.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @originalvampireslut​ / @ssa-sapphic​  / @sweetprentiss​ / @alexbllake​ / @emilyprsntiss /  @sapphic-stress​ / @sleep-deprived-athlete​ / @jemilyssecretlover​ /  @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos​ / @cmslvtt​ / @phatcrackdad​

[collisiondiscourse]

say amen (bkdk drabble)

(a little drabble based off of one of my favorite posts that ive ever made)

Katsuki’s not a religious man.

Yeah, okay, he believes in deities and goes to temples, the blond will admit that much. The existence of a higher power isn’t really that far from the realms of possibility when he regularly interacts with people who have the head of a bird or engines for legs. He celebrates the holidays, and on days where he’s feeling especially magnanimous, Katsuki even buys temple charms and sends out a quick prayer to whoever might be listening.

But he isn’t religious.

He doesn’t like feeling like he’s indebted to someone. That somehow, somewhere, there is someone Katsuki should be grateful to for giving him all his successes. He worked hard to get where he is now all by himself, thank you very much. The idea that everything is somehow predetermined or controlled by someone he can’t even see is one that makes the blond break out into hives.

A man with any dignity such as Katsuki’s is too proud to kneel to any god.

But then again… Izuku Midoriya is no such god.

He’s very much human, Katsuki would believe despite the seemingly endless strength his short and stocky figure possesses. He’s freckles and sunburns and scars and toothy smiles and everything that used to make the blond’s blood boil. Deku can’t dress himself nicely to save his life and sings All Might show tunes in the shower when he thinks no one can hear. Katsuki’s seen the boy throw up on his dumb red shoes and laugh so hard he scared himself with his own snorts.

He’s seen Deku at his worst. Crying and crumbling, body all bloodied and torn up after giving it his all. He’s seen him angry--borderline murderous even--with rage consuming him and leaving him gasping for breath as he saddles closer and closer to the line betwean life and death. He’s seen Deku broken and hollow, unable to eat for days and smelling like a decomposing corpse because the demons in his eyes had all but haunted him from even getting up to shower.

The point being, Katsuki knows that Izuku Midoriya is flawed.

He should, at least. Having seen these cracks and imperfections over and over should’ve cemented the idea that Deku was far from perfect. He sees sides of Deku that even their best friends, let alone the public have never seen. Bakugou knows that Izuku Midoriya is not a God--and is in fact very far from one.

But fuck if he doesn’t worship him like he is.

When Izuku confessed to him in their second year, Katsuki thinks that he learned what it feels like to die.

As dramatic as it sounds, it’s true. Watching those green eyes peel away from their locked gaze on his red ones to stare nervously at the ground causes Katsuki’s heart to jump. His palms were sweaty and blood roared in his ears, deafening him from all sounds except Deku’s voice. He’d initially thought that this was it. This was Deku preparing to tell him that he couldn’t stand being his friend anymore, that no matter how much Katsuki tried to atone for himself, Deku finally realized that Katsuki would never be worthy of his love.

It built up and up until Katsuki couldn’t breathe, willpower alone keeping him from gasping for breath as he awaited Deku’s rejection. The sun set in a brilliant cast of oranges and purples, but neither boy on the rooftop could stand to appreciate it when the sights in front of them were far more important.

“Kacchan,” he blurts at last. A sliver of his pink tongue peeks out to lick at his chapped lips. Katsuki’s chest constricts with want. “I like you.”

And it’s at those three words that Katsuki truly believes in an afterlife.

His heart clenches and stops for a different reason--a different feeling entirely. The world tilts on its axis and his breaths come up short, yet Katsuki’s never been happier to have been wrong. Parts of him shrivel up. Shudder in anxiety. Embers of raw anger and determination (leftover from years of scars and charred notebooks) tell him that he’s not worthy of Deku. That Katsuki is yet to even deserve to take the hand that has been waiting for him for his whole life.

Admittedly though, Katsuki Bakugou is a selfish, selfish man.

He stares at that freckled and blushing face like it’s a reflection of the universe itself. Green eyes that mistakenly take Katsuki’s silence as rejection grow watery, and yet as Katsuki stares into the molten pool of emerald and moss, he thinks he may see his entire life in those pretty eyes.

“...Kacchan? It’s okay if you don’t, uh, like me back. I u-understand if you feel uncomfortable or no longer want me be your friend even if it kinda s--”

“W-well really, it’s more of love. I... love you. Like, a lot. Have for a while I mean and I tried really hard to hide it but I’m sure it was obvious from the beginning and well, Uraraka said I was really bad at lying so I wasn’t really sure...” he mumbles. Stutters, because he’s human and very much not a god.

Katsuki Bakugou kisses Izuku Midoriya for the first time.

He kisses Izuku Midoriya because he wants all of him. He wants the sorrow and broken bones. The awkward laughter and nervous tics. Katsuki wants those green eyes to never stop looking at him and that mouth to never stop muttering the most inane nothings. He wants the beautiful and the ugly, the victories and the losses. He wants and he wants and he wants and he wants, and now that all of it is within his reach dear god is he never letting go.

The blond pours his soul into the kiss. Mouth harsh and unyielding, ever determined to prove to anyone watching that he’d throw away his life for this boy in a heartbeat. The desperation in their kiss practically daring anyone to try and pull them apart. Katsuki wants the kiss to say everything that he, in his weak and human state, cannot even begin to phrase. That somehow a single kiss could show the other that Katsuki loves him so much it breaks him inside. It’s so good that it’s painful. It’s painful and excruciating but fucking hell if Katsuki pulls away for one moment he thinks he might actually truly die.

They’re training to be pro-heroes, so of course their pain tolerance is higher than most. They’ve been taught to fight in any environment no matter what—could probably fight five people underwater for an hour without breaking a sweat. All of those hours of training somehow still mean nothing to Katsuki in the brilliance of the storm that is Izuku Midoriya.

Because as they kiss and breathe in each other’s air, Katsuki forces himself to pull away with a gasp.

Izuku thinks he’s hurt the blond accidentally, somehow. That he’d been too rough or pushed Bakugou into it or even just took his breath away from him in the literal sense. What the green-haired hero didn’t expect was the sheer devotion in ruby eyes.

(It would’ve scared him, if it didn’t make his knees shaky and heart rate speed up in exhilaration.)

Meanwhile, Katsuki’s drowning.

He’s drowning so deep in emotions that he’d never let himself feel until now. Drowning in his insecurities and greatest desires. Drowning in emotion and vigour. Drowning in the feeling of kissing Izuku fucking Midoriya. Part of him screams in agony, protesting this weakness as it fucks with his mind and squeezes at his heart.

The rest of him lets it happen.

Bakugou pulls away, gasping for breath. It’s too much and not enough, because he loves this boy so goddamn much that it actually hurts. He’s crying, and it’s kind of pathetic, really. So undone by a single kiss that tears streak down his face while white spots appear in vision of ruby eyes. A man so weak--so overcome with emotion that he can’t help but sob at the torrent of devotion that overtakes him. His heart throbs painfully and he struggles to take gulps of air, because Katsuki doesn’t truly love many people but there’s something about Izuku Midoriya that destroys him so thoroughly.

Ever understanding, ever patient, and ever too good for his damned, hell-bound soul, Izuku holds him close. He lets Katsuki weep into his jacket and runs scarred fingers through pale blond strands as the other boy tries to stifle his sobs. He hushes him with a light kiss to his temple and listens patiently as Katsuki whimpers every variant of ‘I love you’ under the sun.

Izuku Midoriya is no such god, but Katsuki Bakugou worships him like one nonetheless.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Confidence to inspire fear

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

The bridge of the freighter felt like it had become a nightmare as Lithel awoke.

He tried to open his eyes but even when open the room refused to stop spinning. One of his upper left eyes refused to open and as Lithel attempted to reach up with one of his arms he found that he could not move it as well.

Tilting his head down and saw through his blurry eyes that a section of the bridge ceiling had collapsed atop him and was pinning him to the deck. He tried to rise but the weight was too heavy. Just as he began pondering if this would be his end he felt the debris shift atop him. "Captain!" Lithel heard someone calling him but the sound felt like it was coming from everywhere. "Captain can you hear me!?"

Blinking several more times Lithel was able to focus and he saw his second in command Michael rushing over. He could hear several other footsteps approaching and not long after the metal pinning him to the floor being lifted off and a strong pair of arms pulling him out.

"I got you sir, just take it easy."

Lithel moved his mouth to thank him but nothing came out but a soft gurgle and whimper.

Only now as he was pulled free did Lithel see the damage done to his bridge. Halve the consoles were shattered, the data streams were flickering rapidly as an overload of information from across the ship poured in, and at one of the walls had several panels blown out and were currently on fire.

Michael helped lay him down across the floor while a medic rushed over and began treating him. Lithel was about to sit up and take back his command throne when the communications officer rushed over.

"Message coming in sir; it's from the pirates."

Lithel's eyes went wide and he tried to sit up but Michael put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. They had served together aboard the Red Manta for some twenty years and had developed an understanding that needed no words.

He saw the look in Michael's eyes and knew he would take care of the situation and instead laid back down.

"Put them through." Michael said as the communication officer scurried off and began fiddling with the only remaining working communication console.

Within moments the data feeds stopped streaming information and displayed an image. On the opposite end series of figures could be seen standing around a command throne similar to Lithel's were it not for the adorning skulls and bones of various species draped over it.

They were muscular mixture of aliens ranging from lizard like creatures with sharpened teeth to thin limbed beings looking like living twigs, and even a strange blob like creature that had a knife wedged within it. But the most impressive of the figures was sitting atop the throne itself.

It had the shape of a humanoid figure but it appeared as a swirling cloud of black ink ever shifting. It wore no clothing and had no distinguishable features save for a pair of crimson red eyes.

"Surrender."

It was a single word spoken by the black ink creature before Michael could even say a word. The crew around it chuckled and laughed as if sizing up their soon to be prize; though Michael would soon throw a wrench into their celebration.  

"Are you insane!?" he spoke. His stance was firm and unwavering with his feet planted into the decking as if he was bracing for a storm. "Do you have any idea what you have done?"

"Who, are you?" the black ink creature spoke as it raised a talon like finger at Michael, the ink bleeding off of it in drips as it did so.

"I am Captain Michael Zbari of the human reformation, transporting goods to the homeworld."

The pirates appeared confused at this announcement and murmured among themselves before the ink creature held up a hand. The medic treating Lithel appeared to take just as much of the confusion from the announcement and was about to say something when Lithel forestalled him. He knew Michael was playing a dangerous game, and it might just be there only way of getting out of this.

"You, lie." The words were spoken as if through water and Lithel could barely understand them as the thing continued. "The captain, is not human; this, we know."

"First you attack my ship unprovoked and now you claim I am not captain of my own ship?!"

His confidence radiated from him as he spoke and some of the pirates appeared taken aback. They were the ones who had attacked and now had them all at gun point. With a single word they could destroy the Red Manta and be on their way yet this human was acting as if they were the ones who should be sorry.

"Do you have any idea who are cargo is for?" Michael continued. "Should, we, care?" the ink being replied. "You should when Emperor Galvoc finds out you stole his personal shipment."

The smirks of the pirates dropped away instantly at this. The mere mention of the human emperor's name gave them pause as if they had just been struck by a cannon. The ink being leaned forward now on both arms and fixed the camera with a burning gaze.

"You, lie."

Michael scoffed at this and raised his arms out. "Nineteen containers of freshly cut refrigerated Borgan meat, twelve containers of the finest wines of the Nebula Rim, thirty six crates of gem stones from the fire pit mines of Draxon Iv, and that's just the tip of the ice berg."

The ink monster relaxed back into it's throne at this. "An, impressive, haul, indeed." it said and some of the pirates began grinning again but Michael continued to speak.

"For one with a death wish, an impressive haul for sure."

Michael stepped towards the monitor. "You could kill us and steal all of our cargo to sell but it won't matter; because the emperor will hear of this and will hunt you down to the farthest ends of the universe."

The ink thing chuckled and Michael's face frowned. "By attacking his shipment you have essentially declared war on him; you do realize that don't you?"

At this the black goo like creature stopped chuckling.

"He controls the largest fleet of ships to ever sail the void;  their numbers alone change gravity of entire systems with their passing."

"His armies are beyond counting and the march of their feet can crack planets in two."

"The depths of his depravity for torture against his enemies boundless and of such horrific that even the Draxic are afraid to incur his wrath."

Fixing an equally dark glare now Michael faced down the ink being. "You have no idea the hurricane you just sailed into."

The pirates began to argue among themselves but the black creature let out a deep roar that sounded as if bubbling tar could scream.

"He, will, never, know!" it said, "We, will, be, long, gone, and, you, all, dead!"

It was Michael's turn to smirk as he pulled out a small box like device with a blinking red light.

"This, is an emergency transmitter capable of reaching across five sectors." he held it out clearly so all the pirates could see. "Once activated it calls in a relief fleet to warp to our position within twenty minutes; and I activated it fifteen minutes ago."

For the first time the ink creature rose from its throne and pushed several of the pirates aside with surprising strength for a creature that appeared to be made of living oil.

"You, bluff!" is said.

"You could stay and board us to call it, but when they arrive and blow your scrap heap of a ship out of the stars I don't think it'll really matter what you think now will it?"

The two stared down each other, neither speaking a word yet unwilling to back down in the face of this challenge.

Lithel watched with ever clearing eyes as the pirates became increasingly anxious.

"Tick." Michael made a sound similar the clock arms of his wrist time device. "Tick, tick tick tick."

"Silence!" the ink creature bellowed, but Michael continued.

"Time's running out for you." His face was devoid of emotion save a devlish smirk. "Tick, tick, tick, tick!"

"I said silence!"

"Time's running out little pirate." Michael quipped back, "Tick, tick, tick, tick!"

The pirates were not frantic and some even began talking to the ink creature in an alien language none of the red manta crew could understand but it appeared to upset the ink being.

Letting out another roar the screen suddenly went dead leaving the bridge crew silent as the repair teams finally shuffled in to douse the flames.

Through the viewport Lithel could see the pirate ship burning retro boosters and turning around as fast as it could before warping away.

Michael stood upright for a few moments more after they fled back to the warp before collapsing down to the ground. Streaks of sweat began pouring down his face like rivers and he began breathing rapidly.

Lithel raised himself on to his arms unsteadily and looked at Michael.

"How did you know that would work?"

Michael looked at him as if he just remembered he wasn't alone on the bridge and looked embarrassed.

"When you act like you have the backing of the biggest thug in the yard, the other rats tend to leave you alone."

"So by claiming to be the emperors personal shipment.." Lithel began as he connected the dots.

"They would fear the hell hammer that would fall on them should they attempt to steal from the biggest threat the galaxy has ever seen."

Lithel was surprised that such an act of subterfuge worked but they were still alive and he would be the last to complain on how it was handled. He did point to the strange blinking box Michael still clutched in his hand.

"What is that device?"

Michael looked at it for a moment before chucking it over to Lithel who gracefully caught it mid air.

"It's a remote control for my room lights."

Lithel looked at it dumbfounded but before he could inquire more from Michael he saw his second in command pass out on the bridge as the stress of the attack and the performance he just made finally caught up to him.

[godofplumsandthunder]

Twisted Fate

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Cancer, both Bucky and reader have cancer, Major Character death, brief hospital terms mainly reffering to cancer treatment. References to amputation.

A/N: This was written for the lovely @eurynome827​ 2k celebration. I got a lovely quote of lyrics from Hadestown, which I wanted to do something that was based off of the musical, but I couldn’t figure anything out. Then I had a big anniversary come up and this was came out instead. It’s very angsty, I cried a lot, and well I hope you like it.

The low, steady hum of the fan fills the awkward silence. The psychiatrist, newly assigned to the case, still doesn’t feel comfortable. “Case number 32557038” was widely known in the health care center. The whispers and rumors floated their way down the hall, past the copy machine, filling the office with this chilling tale. Some regarded it as a terrible series of bad luck, others thought it was an act of some benevolent God, pouring his rage on this poor couple. Dr. Breynord, after reading the notes on the file, Breynord knew that this case was perhaps the worst case of bad luck she ever saw in her career, and, maybe it was her stubbornness or naive belief in medicine, but Dr. Breynord was going to help this poor man get the peace he so desperately needs.

“James,” Dr. Breynord’s voice breaks the silence of the office, “I’ve read what my colleagues had to say about your case, but, I’d like you to tell me what has happened if you feel comfortable.”

Shifting in his seat, James sighs, with a small nod of the head, he starts at the beginning.

Bucky Barnes was used to change. Granted, it was other people’s change, but it was still change nonetheless. The poor folks that sat next to him each clinic visit changed, his caretakers changed, it seemed as if the whole world changed around him, while he was stuck in some perpetual hell. Every day dragged out in the same dull, and nauseating feeling, and at times, Bucky felt he was in an endless loop, forsaken by some deity he didn’t believe in. But, for however long Bucky has left in this fallen and cruel world, he’ll remember when you walked in, shattering the miserable purgatory he was banished to, he’ll always remember the day you changed his life.

It happened during his first transfusion session after his surgery. His arm, still wrapped in bandage, IV tubing leading straight to his heart, pumped his body full of liquids, as he waited for the toxic poison to enter his body. He always found it ironic, the “medicine” that was supposed to save his life, that was too dangerous for the nurses to touch with their bare hands, was willingly flushed into his body. Hair loss, mouth sores, and muscle aches were the better side effects. He can’t help but think about what is coming, especially as he sees his nurse, Thor, come over with the freshly made batch of poison [STRIKE THROUGH], chemotherapy as his doctor would want him to call it. Hanging the bag on his IV pole, Thor looks over at Bucky, giving him the “I’m going to go on a rant about something you should care about” look. 

“Now James, we’re getting a new patient today. It’s their first transfusion. They’re going to be sitting in the pod next to you. I swear to the gods, I best not hear another complaint about your attitude.”

“Me? An attitude? No, I think you got me confused with someone else. I’m the brightest little ball of sunshine here!” Bucky can’t help but chuckle. It’s not his fault he wasn’t a “warrior”, blasting “Fight Song” 24/7, as he sips on a kale smoothie with coffee suppositories shoved up his ass. T

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Barnes,” Thor shakes his head as he cleans up his station, “don’t think I won’t throw your bald ass out of here. That cancer sob story, won’t work on me.” 

Bucky goes back to his phone, already feeling the effects of the chemo. No matter how many anti-nausea meds they fed him, Cisplatin always makes him sick. So, he had the right to act like a grumpy old grandpa. While he scrolls through his social media feed, seeing all the accomplishments, brags, and just shit of his friends, Bucky hears your sniffles, as you make your way down to the end of the Oncology clinic, taking a seat next to Bucky. Even if Thor hadn’t given him the heads up, he would have known you were fresh meat. One infusion, his mom asked him how he could tell. It was easy for Bucky, it all had to do with the eyes. A cancer diagnosis shatters you. It kills all hope, light, and goodness that’s in you. You turn completely numb to the world, to the point where your own wailing and sobs feel muted. Bucky saw all of that in your eyes. Behind the puffy, redness, saw the shards of hope, the fear of the unknown. Before you could reach your seat, you stumble, spilling your possessions that you carried all over the floor. Bucky watches quietly as you quickly pick up your items, collapsing into the chair next to him. 

“Sorry I couldn’t give you a hand, only have the one,” he wiggles his stump, and he's met with silence. Talk about a rough crowd, he thinks, his nephews love his stumpy jokes. “So,” Bucky continues, “what are you in for? I’m a sarcoma, in the arm.” You sniffle as you turn your body to look at this new man.

“Leukemia,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper. It takes a real effort to say it out loud because then it makes all of this real.

“That’s good then,” the “sarcoma” man says to you, and Bucky can see the confusion, and pain on your face.

“How is that good? How is cancer good?”

Using his arm, Bucky points around the room, giving you a tour of the room.

“See him, that’s Riley, he has an inoperable brain tumor. That young kid, with the Switch? His name is Peter, his body is chemo resistant. So yeah, leukemia is good. If you haven’t learned it yet, not all cancers are made equal.”

“Oh,” you barely make out. What were you supposed to say to that? 

=====

Much to Bucky’s surprise, he actually enjoyed having your company. Your treatments lined up and so you both got to know each other well. Bucky enjoyed having someone close to his age that understood his problems. And it also didn’t hurt that you had such a great personality, you got Bucky’s dark humor (and it went without saying that you understood it was his way of coping), and you looked great. Not many people can rock a bald head. And Bucky has seen his fair share, and he can say with confidence, you rocked it. Not covering it up with caps, scarves, or wigs. Because why should you hide away? For the first time since his diagnosis, Bucky had a purpose. So, while his immune system allowed him to leave the house, he picked up a bouquet of fake flowers (neutropenia life, am I right?) and a box of chocolates to take with him to the next transfusion. When he got to the clinic, Bucky was a bit worried to see that you weren’t next to him. Instead, there sat Barb, 75 years old with breast cancer. 

“Oh sweetie, are those for me?” Barb looks at the flowers in Bucky’s hand. 

“No!” He snaps, as closes the curtain that surrounds his chair. He hears some huffs and complaints from Barb, but frankly, he doesn’t give a damn. Bucky only has one thing on his mind: you. 

“Are you alright? You’re not here at Club Med” Bucky texts as quickly as his one hand would let him. Dropping his phone, Bucky stares at it all while the nurses prep him. And because of damn, HIPAA, none of the nurses can tell him where you’re at. Minutes turn into hours, and by the time Bucky’s infusion ends, you still haven’t responded to him or shown up at the clinic. 

“Hope you’re okay. Call or text me. I'm worried” Bucky sighs, realizing how much you made his chemo treatments more bearable. How your laugh could make him forget of the poison he had to take, or how the light in your eyes could make him forget, even just for a bit, how much his arm stump was hurting. You were a drug, more potent than any he’s had before, and Bucky was becoming addicted. He’s picking at the hamburger he got for dinner, not having much of an appetite when his phone goes off. Seeing it’s from you, he rushes to answer. 

“Y/N! I… Where were you? I missed you today. I had to sit by Barb and…” The sounds of your cries cut Bucky off. 

“Are you okay?”

“No, Buck. I… Got some bad news today.” 

“Where are you?” He asks. He knows you’re alone, and speaking from experience, you never want to be alone when you get bad news. He knows from experience.

“Buck…” you sigh, “It’s fine. Really.” 

“Please, Y/N, I know what it’s like to be alone after getting this kind of news. Please, let me be there for you.” Breaking further down into tears, you cry at Bucky’s actions, actions of love. 

“I’ll send you my address,” Bucky gathers the flowers and chocolates as he rushes to your apartment, breaking a few traffic laws to get there faster. When he gets there, the image of you, opening the door, eyes swollen from crying breaks his heart. 

“Oh, Y/N,” Bucky sweeps you into his arm, as he closes the door behind, “tell me what’s going on hun.” 

You both sit on the couch, the bag with the flowers and chocolate lay at your feet, as you stay in Bucky’s embrace. 

“I’m… I’m dying Buck!” You manage to say in-between odds. “Dr. Fair... gave me three months to live. There’s nothing else they can do.” You break down in his arms, that last straw finally breaking, as you tell your newfound best friend, the person you were supposed to beat cancer with. Bucky tries his best to remain strong, to be the rock, the foundation you need, but you’re not the only one that is losing a friend. You sit in each other's embrace, as you mourn. You cry for all the missed opportunities, laughs, and memories that won’t be made. 

“What am I going to do,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from crying. 

Kissing your head, Bucky pulls you in closer, “we, are going to make these three months, the best three months you’ve ever had.”

Bucky lives up to his promise, spending every hour he isn’t in the hospital with you. The time you spent together changed your relationship. Neither had to officially say the words to make your relationship official. It was just you, and Bucky. Holding each other close, as the tempest waged on, trying to beat you into submission. You go on walks in the park, picnics, and one night when you both had the energy, went skinny dipping. Your logic being, what are the cops going to do? Arrest two cancer patients, with one of them being terminal? You threw caution to the wind and simply lived. Lived, breathed, and loved. Things seemed to be perfect until reality hit.

Your body wasn’t keeping up. Your cancer was spreading faster than they predicted. The doctors couldn’t give you an explanation as to why the cancer was spreading so fast. It shouldn’t have been. Soon, home hospice came, to try to make you more comfortable. And like the good partner he was, Bucky spent every minute by your side. That’s why, when you felt the inevitable coming, you felt your body give in to the tiredness of fighting, you grab Bucky’s hand. 

“I love you, James Bucky Barnes,” you weakly say, giving him one last affirmation, as you went to sleep, for one last time. 

As Bucky wakes up from his nap, feeling your cold body, he tries to ruse you back awake. Once he realizes what has happened, the last bit of humanity inside of Bucky snapped. He lets out a blood-curdling scream, as tears stream down his face. He strikes your face, pleas escape his mouth. Pleas to you, to a God he has long stopped believing in. His body shakes, his tears wetting your hair, as he holds you for one last time. 

=====

“Oh James,” Dr. Breynord grabs herself a tissue before handing Bucky the box of tissues. “I truly am so sorry to hear that. I want you to know that I am here to help you get happy again, and to heal.”

Bucky sighs and turns away from the doctor as he wipes his eyes. “You’re just like the rest of them. You didn’t listen to me.” 

Breynord was surprised that this was Bucky’s complaint. The other doctors had warned her that Bucky could be sarcastic, standoff-ish, and even flat-out rude to them. Breynord thought she did a good job listening to his story, what did she miss.

“I… I don’t think I understand what you mean, James.”

Bucky lets out a heartless, empty laugh, “you want me to be happy again. I’m never going to be. Not only do I have to live with the guilt of surviving, when she died, in my arms, but I’ll also never find another soul like hers. We had a connection, you know. It felt like we met before. When I held her in my arm, and her arms would wrap around me, it felt like I had the whole world in my arms. I didn’t need anything else when I had Y/N.” 

“So tell me doc, what’s the point of carrying on?”

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

Falling Together Part IV

Author’s Notes: Here it is, the finale! What fun it was writing for this mini series, and now I can’t wait to embark on something else. Thanks to you lovely readers who made this a fun journey. If you have ideas on what you want me to write next, let me know in a comment or message. Enjoy!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word Count: 2977

Warnings: light angst

From his time as King of Kattegat, Ivar had taken many lessons from his failed ruling. He was intuitive, and would never make the same mistake twice. The people had followed him in battle, feared him, revolted against his crown until finally, he had crept away in exile. After all of that, there was one challenge he had never faced, and it was an illness.

The fever first started as a whisper,  maybe one or two elderly succumbing to a quick death. It was nothing out of the ordinary, and it had not caught the attention of the healers. But as able-bodied warriors began to grow weak and pallid, and children dropped weight, the alarm was raised. 

The first blow came when Hvitserk fell ill. He had shown signs during a discussion regarding the start of the fever, and now he was housed with the others in a large makeshift tent in the center of the city. The sick were kept away from the healthy, and only the healers came and went at their own peril. They tended to the infirm without complaint, even as it kept many of them isolated from their own families.

Ivar had heard stories of when the plague had crossed through Kattegat from Bjorn. A half-sister he would never know had been taken by the illness. He was reminded of this tale because of Hvitserk's condition. Fear was ever-present in his mind about losing his brother, and he had been passing along messages to the healers to take to him. Even though they refused to let him be by his side, he wanted Hvitserk to know he wasn't alone.

"We need to do something for the healers," You said, your voice bringing him back to the warmth of your chambers.

Ivar turned to you and watched you in silence. The occurrence of the fever had taken a toll on you as well. Memories of your mother's early death had been brought up in the still of the night as you lied together. Though he didn't have the words to comfort you, he had held you close, skin to skin, your air mingling together as you each took turns whispering soft things of care.

"Any provisions we don't need will go to them first," He said, coming to sit beside you on the bed. Dáire was sleeping against your leg, and Ivar ran his fingers through the dog's hair.

"I've written to Father, and he has agreed to send food and linens. We'll have to send men to retrieve the cart. I don't want outsiders risking coming through the gates."

You were calm and pragmatic in the face of turmoil, and Ivar was grateful to have you by his side. He leaned across Dáire, reaching for you to lay a quick kiss on your temple. You replied with a short laugh.

"What was that for?"

"For being strong. I have never dealt with illness among the people, but having you here has helped me with the difficult decisions."

You took his hand from your face and gave a kiss against his palm. "It's something we have to do, right? When the people suffer, we have to be strong."

You were strong, and with the both of you together, Ivar felt invincible. But there were the first signs of exhaustion creeping up. He felt it in his frail bones and saw it on your face. This was an invisible enemy, and no amount of brute force could be submitted. It was an isolating situation, helping the people from afar and relying on the information from the healers. The air in the city was reek from the sick, and the ground damp. Neither of you ventured out from the Great Hall unless it was of the utmost importance.

"Rest," Ivar told you, gentle but firm. "The people will need you."

'I need you' was what he wanted to say, but your eyes had grown heavy, and Ivar didn't like how warm your hand felt in his.

You agreed without complaint, and Ivar didn't mind that Dáire was nestled between you. He settled into sleep as well, for the few hours he could. He had been awoken in the night the past while by thralls or guards with updates on the illness, and he couldn't afford to squander a chance at rest. Turning to face you, Ivar pulled the furs over and let his eyes close, falling into a fitful sleep.

ooOOoo

It was still dark when your eyes shot open. Your chambers were filled with shadows in the small light of the candles that burned low. The season was late, but you were warm and covered in sweat. A sinking feeling woke you, something you had been trying to hide from your husband. In the past few days, your appetite had vanished, and an increasing malaise had taken hold. 

You jumped out of bed, jolting both Dáire and Ivar awake. An empty chamber pot was near, and you lunged for it, landing hard on your knees as you emptied your stomach. With your head buried, and your hair falling around your face, you couldn't make out what was happening around you. The room fell into chaos. Ivar was already shouting for a healer, and Dáire was running around, whimpering frantically.

"(Y/N)," Ivar called, combing your hair away from your face. 

You didn't know when he had joined you on the ground, but you pushed at his chest with a weak hand. "No, stay away. You'll get sick."

"I'm not leaving you," He barked back. "Nothing can stop that. We share everything together. I'm already at risk."

Dáire let out a growl at the guard that came into the room. He had two thralls and a healer with him, and they worked to separate you from Ivar. You were maneuvered back onto the bed, while one of the thralls took Dáire out from the room. Your husband refused to leave at the order of the healer, occupying the chair at your side with an immovable resolve. 

A cool cloth was draped over your forehead, and the healer was grinding down herbs for you to drink. You had lost control over what was happening, your body spent while everyone else spoke around you. Your head was stuffy, and you felt bloated even after retching.

"For the time being, you should room elsewhere, my King. And your wife should be put into isolation with the other sick," The healer said.

"No, she'll remain here with me," Ivar argued. "I will help look after her."

You felt the first drop of hot brew as the healer tilted your head up to drink the medicine. The taste was aromatic and bitter, and you hoped your empty stomach would be able to keep it down.

"How long has she been showing signs of the fever?" The healer asked Ivar.

"This is the first time I've seen her sick."

A wave of guilt washed over you for keeping your symptoms hidden. "It started a few days ago," You murmured.

You could barely make out what was being said by the healer, but you could see the anger and disappointment furrow Ivar's brow. Your marriage was a strong union and without lies. Downplaying your sickness had simply been about sparing him of the worry you now knew he felt. On top of Hvitserk being struck with the fever, and managing the concerns of the people, you didn't want to be his burden. 

When the guard stepped out, and the thralls were ordered around by the healer  Ivar took your clammy hand in his.

"If you weren't sick, I would be furious at you for your silence."

You smiled while running the cool cloth down your face. "That's unlike you to hold back. I like our arguments."

"Then I'll save it for when you are well again."

That was more on par with the Ivar you had come to know. From tales of his mother to the boat builder, Floki, you knew your husband struggled with loss. So he chose to deal in absolutes. He couldn’t fathom losing you from the sickness. 'When you are well', as if saying it aloud, it would keep you from death.

Your own mortality was not something you had considered until now either. When your mother had been taken by fever, she had still been young, and you wondered if she had thoughts about her own death before succumbing to it.

"I need to get word to my father that I've taken to bedrest," You said, pushing yourself up in bed.

"I'll help with that," Ivar said while easing you back down to rest.

It would be the first time Ivar would get to test his writing skills after your teachings. The thought would have made you happy had it been under better circumstances than informing your father you had taken ill.

The throbbing feeling was back in your head, and the fever made your eyes burn. You allowed your lids to shut, hoping to rest even if you were too worried to sleep. Thoughts of the people suffering weighed heavily on your mind, and you did not want to leave Ivar to deal with everything. You were aware that he was at your side, and you soon succumbed to the will of your body, falling into much-needed rest.

ooOOoo

"You look like shit," Hvitserk said, the first words Ivar had heard his brother say in person since he had been taken to isolating with the others.

The days had advanced, and so had Ivar's haggardness. More bodies had been piled to be burned in a massive pyre, and it was decided that once the fever was swept away, a celebration would be held for the dead. It was just one of few things Ivar had wanted to give back to the people. Their hope was clinging by a thread, and he struggled in your stead to keep it alive.

Many others had managed to fight off the illness, which included Hvitserk who was now on the mend. He was thinner from the ordeal, but his appetite had returned with a fierce need to prove he could still devour a whole chicken in one sitting. Ivar was pleased, if not disgusted, to witness his brother's return to form.

"Did you want something?" He asked around a mouthful of meat, indicating to the rest of the spread down the table.

Ivar shook his head while nursing his mead, which had begun to cool. "I'll eat with (Y/N) later."

"How is she feeling?"

Ivar frowned as his thoughts continued to swirl around that same thought for the past week. The last wave of the illness was ending with fewer people falling sick each day. You still remained on rest in your chambers, and while the fever had broken on you two days prior, you were still showing signs of illness.

"She's fighting," Ivar said shortly.

"(Y/N) is strong. I don't think the Gods would choose this to be her end."

If it was he would renounce them all...but he couldn't give in to such caitiff thoughts. You might not have shared the same Gods, but he preyed they would all grant you more time at his side. His days without you were endless, and though he had not spoken the words aloud, he knew he loved you. It was difficult to comprehend when it had happened, but it was a simple thing. With Freydis he had been besotted by her beauty but was embarrassed to find he didn't know what else he loved about her. His marriage to you was different. What started as a strange and loveless affair had grown into what he had always searched for. Perhaps it had been too easy, and now the Gods wanted to take you away. 

"I owe much to her father," Ivar said, thinking out loud his train of thought. "Without the extra supplies and medicine, our losses would be much higher."

"And how's he handling the news of his daughter's illness?"

The first letter Ivar had written to King Conall had been with your dictation, but what you didn't know was Ivar had continued to write to your father in his own words. He was the only other man who could understand his position, and Ivar craved the guidance and wise words he was able to provide.

"When he first heard of (Y/N) falling ill, he had wanted to come here, and damned the chance of catching the fever himself, but I persuaded him to remain away."

"I'm sure Ragnar felt the same way after he returned to find Gyda had passed," Hvitserk said, and it was the first time either of them had mentioned her name. "I wonder what she was like."

Ivar didn't. Dwelling on the dead was something he had done for so long after his mother's murder, and he could bring himself to do it again. He was comforted by the idea that Gyda was reunited with her mother and father in Valhalla, even if it meant peace for Lagertha.

"My King," They were interrupted by your personal thrall. She appeared rather giddy, which had Hvitserk tossing him a confused look. "The Queen requests your presence in your chambers."

"Is she well?" Ivar asked, bracing to stand on his crutch. 

"Aye, she is eating again," The thrall replied with a giggle. "Almost as much as master Hvitserk."

Hvitserk let out a belch and a chuckle. "Odin had heard you, brother."

Ivar refrained from allowing his relief to get the better of him, but he started for your chambers as quickly as he could propel his body. It was the first time in days he was approaching your shared room with excitement rather than dread. Seeing you spread out in the center of the bed with the furs pulled down to stave off the fever had weakened his heart. He took the words of your thrall with a grain of salt, deciding he would determine your state for himself.

He burst forth through the threshold the moment he reached it and was met with the strong smell of fermented fish. You were propped up with furs and cushions, a plate balanced on your lap. Dáire was perched up on his hind legs by your side as you tossed him a scrap of food.

"You're awake," Ivar said out of breath. 

"And you came all this way to see me," You teased with a tired but pleasant smile. "I missed you."

Ivar shut the door and came to sit on the bed. "I've hardly left your side."

"I know, but I wasn't aware of much that went on around me, and I must have made for dreadful company."

The only dreadful thing had been when watching the color fade out from your face as you slept through the fever. A warm glow was set upon your cheeks again, and it was the first time he'd seen you eat whole food.

"How is Hvitserk?" You asked, interrupting his reminiscing of terrible thoughts.

"He remains eating any extra provisions your father had sent to us," He explained, and you laughed at the answer. "I should grab a healer."

Your hand reached out and tugged on his sleeve, keeping him in place. "Hlíf was already here before you came. She thinks I've been free of the sickness for two days now."

"But you were sick this morning," Ivar said, not understanding the healer’s interpretation. 

"Yes, and that will likely continue for a time," You paused and breathed a small laugh. "I'm with child."

Ivar's strange first reaction was to look down at your stomach as if expecting to find a curve to your middle. It was too soon to tell by looking, but that didn't stop him from reaching out and placing a hand down on your warm belly.

"When did you find out?"

"The healer told me this morning, but I suspected it was possible as the fever faded, and I still was waking up unwell," You said, your hand joining his. "What are you thinking?"

So many things, yet his mind was quiet. There was fear that the child wouldn't survive long enough to be born, or worse it would carry his affliction. He couldn’t do to you what he did to Freydis, but he wondered if he would see his own child as a burden, much as Ragnar saw him.

"Ivar," You whispered, moving in close. "Come back to me."

He blinked, seeing the worried look appear on your face. "I'm afraid when I should be happy. What if this child brings nothing but disappointment?"

"Only if we let it. We cannot control our fate, and if we fall off one path we won't stop. We'll take a new one together, with our child. I don't believe this is a miracle or a blessing, it is just the result of us falling in love, together."

"I thought good Christians believed in those miracles," He murmured, while brought to ease by what you had said.

You wrinkled your nose in disgust. "No God should be so lazy, and they can't claim responsibility for every child born of one breath."

Ivar pulled you down beside him on the, and he was pleased by the surprised shriek you let out. "I'll make a heathen out of you yet."

"I love you, husband."

He'd held on for so long without the need for love, but now as you offered it, so safe and simple, he knew he would take it all. It was different than any other time before, not smothering or conniving. It was a tranquil pool he could wade into without the worry of squalls or tidal waves. Ivar was grateful you had both fallen together. 

"Of course you do, and I love you right back."

@peachyboneless

@didiintheblog

@soleil-dor

@zuxiezendler

@pieces-by-me

@xbellaxcarolinax

@heavenly1927

@everyartistwas-firstanamateur

@youbloodymadgenius

@xceafh

@shannygoatgruff

@tgrrose

@1950schick

@castielsangelsx

@rastakami23

[quietlyimplode]

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist of Fic Recs - Version 2.0 - Page 3

Page 1 / Page 2 / Page 3 / Page 4 / Page 5

Updated June 2021

This is not an exhaustive list (and in no order whatsoever) of the brilliant fic that is out there. Please let me know of any i have missed or any recs to put in and I will endeavour to add it. I have not included warnings or ratings. Please make sure you look at the tags, judge for yourself and as always take care of yourself first. (16 authors under the cut)

Andibeth @isjustprogress

Dialogue of Self and Soul - 7-7 series - Clint/Nat - Natasha unexpectedly gets pregnant, but everyone knows that assassins can’t be mothers. // Set Post Avengers: the story a spy who wasn’t made for parenthood, and the journey it takes to go from one extreme to the other. 

I took a heavenly ride through your silence - POST ENDGAME - Natasha dies but wakes up in 2012. CLint/Nat/Laura 1/1

Though I play at the edges of knowing - Clint/nat. Post Infinity war - five times Natasha looked back on her past -   1/1

Winter in the Pub - Natasha/Nebula - drinks in the pub. If only they knew how alike they are.  1/1

Pour like Honey, through the darkness - Nat/Bucky/Clint - comicverse natasha fakes her own death. 1/1

Like a shadow or a friend - Nat/Clint - asexual Natasha navigating the brave new world of shield -  1/1

That would be enough - Natasha/Barton family - one shots/prompts assorted.   57/?

The war can’t touch us here - Nat/Clint/Laura/Maria/Steve - Natasha is born in war but saved by others. 1/1

Laura Barton’s House for Wayward Trauma Survivors - Nat/Laura/Wanda/Bucky/Clint - What do you mean, bringing a few guests?” Laura asks suspiciously.    1/1

We will light up the sky as we burn it down - Clint/Nat - meet me in Montauk. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems. 1/1

We are not all that stares back. Clint/Nat - tell me something true. Natasha holds onto words he tells her. 

And this is how you keep her - Nat/Clint - Natasha helps Clint heal after the avengers 1/1

If we are not spies - Nat/Clint - she’s been running, but he finds her. 1/1

Synergy - Clint/Nat - five times they spent New Year’s Eve together .   6/6

And when we’re there we’ll belong. Series - Clint, Laura and Natasha: a family’s journey, and the long (and sometimes winding) road to love. [Reading order:]

⁃i. i love only that which they defend (main storyline)    1/1

⁃ii. til the clocks run down (expanded main storyline – can be read independently but does slot into the main fic in certain ways, specifically in regards to scene placement, timing, and assumed character knowledge)til the clocks run down 21/21 

⁃iii. for the half of ourselves we have lost (post age of ultron, pre/post civil war) for the half of ourselves we have lost 19/19 

⁃iv. how to feel a tranquil life (post infinity war)how to feel a tranquil life 11/11 

⁃v. moments [the world can’t stop us] (timestamps for clint, nat and laura for this universe, can be read independently of previous three stories) 7/7 

Dancing in the dark turmoil - Clint/Nat - if anyone can find this link?? (You’re my best friend. When was I not?)

Shellybelle @geniusorinsanity

Nor we need power or splendour- Clint/Nat/Laura - a powerful look at the Clint/Nat/Laura - and how they fit together given all pasts and trauma.  18/18

If the two were one - Clint/Nat/Team - five times the team found out Clint/Nat were married - 1/1

All the transparence (in shades of red) - Clint/Nat - Clint’s broken after Loki. Natasha meets him in buffalo. 1/1

If you let me through the door, we can let the world in - tony/team. Tony built the tower - for his friends. 1/1

Like a clock in a thunderstorm - Clint/Nat - thunderstorms and confessions - 1/1

Conversations by other means - Clint/Nat - fight and a good fuck - 1/1

A gift like joy - Clint/Nat - Clint comforts Natasha (non-sexually) after a mission requires her to sleep with someone for information. 1/1

Rarely short on caring - Claire Temple /various superhero’s - Caring for others is not always so hard. 

No matter what she tells you - Natasha - 5 lies Natasha tells. 1/1

Eiluned @eiluned

Read all the smut. Seriously.

Troika series - Clint/Nat/Darcy - the deliciousness of smut - 8/8

underneath and unexplored - Nat/Clint - progression of Natasha’s emotions in 5 parts. 1/1

We make a life by what we give - Clint/Nat - Christmas Celebrations - 1/1

Play it by ear - Clint/Nat - Natasha has a secret, she loves Clint. 1/1

Know Thyself - Clint/Nat - after shield collapses, Natasha searches for who she is. 

The Cat - Clint/Nat - Natasha is stealthy like a cat. 1/1

Two Solitudes - Clint/Nat - Natasha knows Clint. Trust with secrets leads to more. 1/1

Heart Hides a Secret - Clint/Nat - series of 3 one shots. 

Five Times Clint and Natasha Slept Together (and the First Time They Slept Together) - Clint/Nat - 5+1   1/1

Scribblemyname @scribblemyname

Merry Russian Christmas - Maria/Nat - Maria wants Natasha as a friend - 1/1

Shall we dance? Clint/Nat - clint took a chance in saving Nat. She wants to find him to say 1/1

Learning Natasha (again) - Natasha/team - Natasha learns how to be around people - 1/1

They died with me - Clint/Nat - Clint says I love you, Natasha responds. 1/1

Remind me how to breathe - Nat/Clint - Natasha has a miscarriage, Clint needs her to live for him. 1/1

Deep in the throes - Maria/Natasha - Maria helps to reprogram Natasha. They become friends.   1/1

For better or for worse - Clint/Nat - they’ve seen each other at their worst. 1/1

Mitigation - Clint/Bobbi/Nat - brainwashing makes strange bedfellows -  3/3

Good with strays - Clint/Nat/Laura - Clint brings Natasha to the farm. Laura is the link to bring her to shield. 1/1

Crazy4Orcas @crazy4orcas

Underneath it all - Clint/Nat - Clint learns about Natasha’s moods through the clothes she wears - 1/1

Just what the doctor ordered - Barton thinks Natasha is perfect. 1/1

Twelve days of Clintasha (with @cassiesinsanity​) - 12 days of Christmas Clint/Nat Style. 

Kiss and Run - Clint/Nat - Natasha runs after a kiss. 1/1

Arukou @arukou-arukou 

Loop - Clint/Nat - even free of the red room she’s not free of the handcuffs - 1/1

That One Blind Writer - @that-one-blind-writer

Tumblr for the one shots which range from Clint/Nat to Bucky/Nat 

Spectral archers @spectralarchers

cute morning texts - Nat/Clint- Natasha sends Clint texts in the morning. Clint doesn’t do mornings -  1/1

Swallow your soul - Clint/Laura Clint/Nat - Clint’s past comes to haunt him. 

Wildechilde17 @transparentlyfallingasleep

In the marketplace or the Main Street you are mine - Clint/Nat - one shots of Clint/Nat - men and women loving each other without being totally derailed by it.     66/66

Flipflop_diva

If it takes three - Clint/Nat/Laura - so the thing is Clint and Nat accidentally got married. Laura’s ok with this. 1/1

If I be worthy (how can this be)- Natasha/Shuri - pre and post iw- Thor’s hammer -1/1

And in the end I’ll always be there - Nat/Tony - he’ll always find her - 1/1

The ties that bind - Clint/Nat/Laura - three decades of Natashas’ life. 3/3- can be read as 1 shots

The hardest thing, this decision I made - Steve/Natasha - Natasha has an abortion - 1/1

On this sleepless night - Tony/Nat - they both can’t sleep, he tries to figure out why she’s not asleep - 1/1

Nowhere to turn except in your arms- Nat/Steve/Tony - 1/1

Miss Jeeves

any way I do - team - tony discovers Clint/Nat got married.

Unbreakable92

warm me by your fire - Bruce/Nat - Natasha needs the warmth she has searched for so long more than ever when a kidnapping brings some violent flashbacks to the forefront.

Miss adoration @adorationamy

aftershock - Natasha/Clint- scenes after natashas brain scramble in ultron -  1/1

Builder @builder051

Nat on Fire Series - Natasha has crap coping mechanisms but she’s surviving the only way she knows how. 19/?

Creedless Assassins Series - Natasha and Clint as they make their way through. 10/?

Mohini @mohini-musing

Coming Home Series - Natasha is taken care of by Clint and Laura. 6/? Clint/Nat/Laura

Salamander

Fragments - Clint/Nat/Laura - “I know you.” “Do you?” Clint takes Natasha somewhere safe. 1/1

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Epilogue

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.7k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

The first couple of weeks following the incident that had taken my long-lost mother from me was misery in its purest form. Link and I didn’t speak, not even by phone, during that whole stretch of time. In fact, I could rarely bring myself to answer the phone at all. The memory was still too vivid, the wounds still too fresh.

He’d gotten off scot-free in the end as he’d been deemed to have acted in the defence of others—namely, of me. It wasn’t long before I learned of his plea, that if I hadn’t come along quietly, I would have suffered the same fate that he’d brought upon her, and they had believed him. How I felt about this was still something I was struggling to wrap my endlessly pounding head around.

As dark and deep as this seemingly bottomless pit of despair that I’d found myself plummeting down was, however, someone did eventually toss a rope down for me. The time I spent apart from Link gave me the opportunity to properly reconcile with those whom I myself had wronged: Auntie Purah and Paya. The former and I found comfort in our mutual grieving, and even as Paya had never really known my mother well enough to mourn her loss (though, arguably, it seemed no one had ever truly known her), she was more gracious and understanding than I or anyone else would have been, which only made me regret even more deeply my past transgressions toward her.

One day, during one of our continual conversations, she shifted to the topic of the Yiga leader’s executioner. How she could even think of him at a time like this was beyond me, but I digressed. I told her everything from start to finish. It was the first time I’d allowed myself to talk to anyone about it at length. As I spoke, she listened calmly and carefully. Despite what I’d have liked to believe, she had always been the more levelheaded one out of the two of us, save for when it came to discussing things about herself.

By the time I finished, I’d begun bouncing my still healing ankle back and forth, which I’d crossed over my other leg to keep it from touching the ground. I didn’t stop even after I noticed what I was doing.

“It’s painfully clear to see how conflicted you are about all this.” Coming to sit beside me on the sofa in the Sheikahs’ sitting room, Paya placed an affectionate palm on my thigh, bringing its restless jittering to a halt. “I understand how hard this must be for you. But the way I see it, there’s only one question you need ask yourself at the end of the day.”

Whatever she was about to say, it wouldn’t be an easy pill to swallow, would it? I straightened my posture. “And what would that be?”

“Between the two of them, who do you think was the better person?”

She was looking me dead in the eyes, her hand still resting upon my leg. I uncrossed them.

I’d never thought to compare the two before. What reason would I have had to do so? But now that she’d mentioned it, I hadn’t realized how few memories I even had left of my mother, and the ones that remained were blurry and vague beyond any hope of being recovered. If only she hadn’t left me with the Sheikahs all those years ago, maybe I could have remembered more clearly what kind of person she had been.

On the other hand, Link had always been there for me. Even during the times when circumstances had driven us apart, the thought of him was what had kept my flame burning strong and hot throughout each arctic day, and what had protected me from myself, keeping me from doing the irreparable. He had stayed by my side to the bitter end.

No matter how I’d reflected back on that day previously, the sight of his steely, focused stare and the sound of his crazed breaths, short and sharp, had been ever dominant. But now, I recalled the way those eyes had then glazed over with unadulterated horror. How his arms had shivered as they’d clung to my broken form and how they’d continue to cling for what would feel like millennia until the rest of his unit would finally stumble upon the scene.

My stepsister-of-sorts gave my leg a soft squeeze as I looked back at her with a tremor in my lip. “He s...saved me,” I whimpered. “Didn’t he?”

After a month apart, I made plans with Link for a night out on the pier, where we would celebrate the end of the Organization. The ice cream I’d promised him was at the top of my list of priorities for the evening. Tonight was a dessert-first night anyway, I’d decided. From there, we went and found ourselves a bite to eat at a seafood restaurant within walking distance. I’d hoped eating with him would feel like old times, but he hardly spoke a word throughout the whole meal. I tried lightening the mood with some banter, but this proved ineffective when he brushed off everything I said with mere one or two-word replies.

It wasn’t until I’d gotten us both a bit of something to drink that he finally broke the silence. “Have you...” he started, but lost the confidence to continue.

I perked up at the sound of his voice, wanting to hear more of it. “Have I...?”

“A-Ah...” His fingers poked at the copious amount of chips piled onto his plate next to the practically untouched fillet of fried fish. “I was just wondering if you’ve thought about what you’re going to do now, since...you know...you’re not a detective anymore.”

“Ah, right. That.” I took another sip of my drink, its contents long having fled my memory. “Actually, my auntie talked about it with me and she said she’d consider letting me inherit the company once I’ve acquired the proper education. So to answer your question, I’m thinking about going to school for engineering.”

His brows rose. “Oh! My, that’s—” He cleared his throat. “That’s brilliant. I’m happy for you.”

I thanked him with a hesitant grin, then asked, “How about you? Do you plan to stay on with the force, or...?”

“Ahh, well...” What little there’d been of an upward turn in his lips vanished. “I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. It’s something I’ve been mulling over for a while now. Whether to stay on and honour my father’s work, or...whatever other options are available, I suppose.”

“Do you want to hear what I think?” He raised his head. “I think you should do whatever you think would make you happiest. That’s what you’re father would have wanted, I’m sure.”

This finally, finally, got a real, unsubdued smile out of him. And I intended to milk that smile for all it was worth.

After dinner, I dragged him back down to the arcade on the pier, where I managed to ring a few laughs out of him while we were still a bit tipsy. We steered clear of the toy gun target-type games, favouring other stands like the ring toss where he won me a plush frog that I could only just get my arms all the way around. His aim was spectacular, especially for someone who wasn’t entirely sober. Not only that, but I could never have imagined how sweet and charming he would be like this. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though we’d gone back in time again. That, or the light from the setting sun was playing tricks on me.

But by the end of the evening, he’d reverted back to that quiet, reclusive version of himself that I’d quickly grown to detest. We were out on the docks now, facing the sea. The breeze carried a mist of saltwater within its bows. I breathed it in, soaking up the feeling of it hitting me softly and coolly in the face. A hint of pink in my partner’s cheeks caught my eye, and I wondered whether it was the cocktails or my arms, which were currently wound about his waist from behind.

“Beautiful sunset,” I tried, hoping I could get him to spare me a glance at least. “Isn’t it?” But to no avail. He only continued to gaze westward at the rippling flames reflected in the water. “Hey...” Before I knew what I was doing, my palm had found the warmth of his cheek, and there was hardly an inch or two of distance between the tips of our noses. Without giving myself time to think, I tilted my head, leaned in, and started to close my eyes.

But when I realized he wasn’t doing the same, I halted. On the contrary, he’d been leaning back and away from my advances, his back so rigid and shoulders so stiff it were as though he would sprout wings and bolt were I to make any sudden moves.

“What’s wrong?”

A harsh, jagged exhale. “Zelda, I just can’t—” He grabbed both my wrists and wrenched my arms off of him. “I’m sorry. We can’t do this.” He was bent over the railing, arms folded in on each other. “Not now,” he said, dwindling, “after I’ve gone and...murdered your only family.” A weary chuckle shook him by the shoulders before he raked his hands through his wind-tousled hair.

I fell into quiet thought for a moment. Then, taking a long, thorough breath, I placed a feather-light set of fingertips atop his own. “That woman was never my family.” I’d made up my mind. Figuratively or otherwise, my real mother had moved on a long time ago. And it was time I did the same.

Link must have seen the resolve in my eyes or heard it in my voice, because now he was looking back at me openly, his body turned to face me. Though there was still an air of uncertainty lingering about him as he ran the crease of his cuff between his fingers again and again. But when I brought my arms around him and held him close, he sank into my lips, returning my embrace at long last. A lone pair of tears fell from my eyes the moment they fluttered closed—a culmination of all past ordeals—and as they fell, I couldn’t help but smile.

[aestheticvoyage2022]

Day 145: Wednesday May 25, 2022 - “Comeback Hero”

I was looking down at my phone, queuing up Bonnie Tyler’s “Holding Out For A Hero” when I heard “He Scores!!” and something in my brain after years and years of listening to sports, and knowing how the home crowd sounded that I knew it was the Blues and before I had even looked up at the screen, the song started and I screamed, (seriously SCREAMED) out in joy.  I honestly don’t think Ive been that loud and intense since I called the shot on The Big Rig sending the Stars to pasture.  Literal sudden death will do that to you. The Blues had won in Overtime. I Need A Hero was turned up to 11.  Hows that for timing?  I counted out the dog treats before it even dawned on me that I had no clue who had scored or how it had happened-  all I knew was that they had pulled it off.  

Sometimes joy is made sweeter by surprise.

The game started with the AVs running a track meet.  Here we go again. Before we knew it, it was 3-0 all the momentum was all one way halfway through the game.  I kept watching and to make it interesting I threw down a $10 bet that the Blues would win, against the odds.  Maybe just maybe.  They tied it with just a couple minutes to go, then the Hat Trick came and all those Avs fans threw their Hats on the ice thinking it was all over.  The Ball Arena was shaking a Mile High.  We needed a Hero.  An elite Hero.  And Rob Thomas delivered with less than a minute.  The crowd was silenced.  I poured some whiskey and alerted AC that it was time for playoff do-or-die hockey.  It was a requirement, I said, that they come watch with me.  I never did sit down although I was ready for the long haul.  They didn’t leave me standing and hoping long.  Just as soon as I decided we needed a soundtrack for this, they scored. The soundtrack was for the celebration.  Wm and I chanted We Want The Cup until AC took him to the bathtub as I checked my phone to raz my friends in Denver and check how that long-odd bet paid out.   Way to go Boys.  Somewhere I could hear Joe Buck saying “see you Friday night”. Thanks Bozie Baby.  

Then they started to claw back.  We’ve set the table for a fairy tale now.  This series has been epic. 10 Ws to go.

Song: Bonnie Tyler - Holding Out For A Hero

Quote: “The oak fought the wind and was broken, the willow bent when it must and survived.” ― Robert Jordan

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Until Forever - Sirius Black

Hey you beautiful people! Last chapter of Part I. 

MASTERLIST I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X |XI | XII | XIII

Chapter 14. 1978.

           Darkness was infinite and pain would linger on forever. There was no hope; hope was the biggest illusion human kind had manufactured in order to keep going when there was absolutely no fucking point. A black void was everything that ever was; nothing more that the absolute nothing. She felt weightless, as if the waves of the raging black sea could tear her to pieces, throw her to the rocks. Then, she felt as heavy as the universe – drowning in the mere thought of water. Her body felt tired, her mind was restless; not in a good way. She though that life went on but to her, that was the saddest part of it all.            It could end two ways, both equally tragic. Either she would die amongst the rest or she would live. She didn’t know what worse. Truly, never having the chance to see her family again or staying behind? Her entire body got goosebumps and her hands were trembling. She had tried to drink her problems away, just for a few hours, but it only made her sadder, lonelier.                Until she left. She wasn’t celebrating – she couldn’t celebrate the new year. Each passing second, fate was approaching them, faster than she had ever realized. Usually, it was the past that made people sad; well, she was the exception to that as well. She really wanted to go home, for this to be over, to give up Hogwarts and magic and the people. She just wanted her home back, her life, her choices – the ability to choose.                          She was making a run for it. After half an hour of pretending, she said her goodnight, only to few people – well, to the Potters. She couldn’t deal with questions and avoided them like bullets. Once the doors closed behind her, all the silence of the world crushed upon her; and it was louder than the loudest sound. It was suffocatingly loud. Refusing to go back inside, she climbed to her room, kicking her heels off, before even closing the door. A soft tune was stuck in her mind and the Greek poem that accompanied it – the moonlight sonata.              

Let me come with you.

This house can’t bear me anymore.

I cannot endure to bear it on my back.

You must always be careful, be careful,

to hold up the wall with the large buffet

to hold up the table with the chairs

to hold up the chairs with your hands

to place your shoulder under the hanging beam.

And the piano, like a closed black coffin. You do not dare to open it.

You have to be so careful, so careful, lest they fall, lest you fall. I cannot bear it.

Let me come with you.

This house, despite all its dead, has no intention of dying.

It insists on living with its dead

on living off its dead

on living off of the certainty of its death

and on still keeping house for its dead, the rotting beds and shelves.

Let me come with you.

Oh, are you going? Goodnight. No, I won’t come. Goodnight.

I’ll be going myself in a little. Thank you.

              She softly spoke the words to the still air as she was looking outside of her window, a wave of nostalgia crushing to her like a tsunami. She was deep into her thoughts, into her world of roses, poems, stardust and a serene chaos. She felt at peace in the midst of a hurricane, within dramatic lines, written by poets with elegant noses and strong beliefs. The music kept repeating memories, stirring them up as it went on. She didn’t want a happy ending, she sadly realized; she wanted tragedy, passion and catastrophe; she wanted everything and nothing. She wanted absolution. Just like every heroine in the ancient tragedies; it was in her nature.                      He didn’t dare to speak, to make a sound; he held his breath in fear of waking up from the tender dream he was having; a vision right before his eyes. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, but he felt pulled towards her as if he had no other place to be; as if he was meant to be in her room. She knew that someone was watching her, and she already guessed who but took her time to face with him, with an all-knowing smile.               He was caught of guard, trying to retain his posture and temper or he would just turn around and run away for good. Feeling rather ashamed that he got caught, not that he was invading her privacy, he looked at the floor, blushing ever so slightly. She really didn’t mind. How could she?                    “Do you like it?” she airily asked him, as she remained by the window. He gulped. He knew she was talking about the poem he heard her recite but he couldn’t shake her image, entering the ballroom. Yes, he loved it.                        “I didn’t know that one” he admitted quite subtly. She wasn’t surprised; it was by a Greek poet and it was an intense portrayal of the subject of loneliness and alienation of the uncommitted individual. The lady in the poem represented that part of the old world, which the poet thought it was condemned to perish with its aristocratic past because of its aversion to adapt and participate in the process of change. She thought that if anyone understood that feeling, was him.              “I know” she melodiously informed him. She was enticing and it was hard for him to stay away. Not that he wanted to, in any case. No, he didn’t know which magical poem had stolen her heart but he did know that she was standing under the moonlight, her essence becoming ethereal. How evident it became? She didn’t believe in happiness and that scared him; he could feel for her but even he believed that there has to be a better way, it has to get better. She seemed to contradict him by simply suggesting that there was no point in … well, anything.              Such a hopeless wanderer’s soul, she had. She was made from a different material, a nihilist and an idealist, a desperate romantic and a catastrophic pragmatist. How wonderfully vague her outlines were. Maybe it was because she was wearing a gold waterfall for a dress, but he knew better – he just couldn’t stop gawking.; to be fair he was an 18-year-old boy.            “Why did you leave so soon?” he asked her without hesitation, as if al the barriers had collapsed under the moonlight. She solely focused on his eyes and he could not avert his gaze.                   “Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques - I believe it is” she quoted Verlaine and that, he did know. Sad beneath fantastic disguises. Why would she ever feel that way? He was only fooling himself. He was lying, pretending not to feel the way he did, pretending that there was nothing between them, pretending he was happy torturing Marlene, pretending everything was fine and the way they were supposed to be.         “Votre âme est un paysage choisi” he quoted back, letting her know that his French was so much better than hers and that he paid attention to the details. He truly did. It was almost inappropriate for her to like him or even to think about how his eyes shined liked spilled mercury under the moonlight. However, the biggest problem was that it was unrequited.                             He took one step towards her direction, fully aware of the fragile moment they shared. She saw the shift in his eyes and her entire mind was screaming to her to shut up. Everyone else was probably celebrating in the midst of an upcoming war but she was fighting another one all on her own. Keeping secrets from the people whom their fates were sealed and she could not do a thing was becoming heavier by the second and that broke her.        

           “What – what is really happening here, love?” he questioned her with a slight anger lingering on in his voice – anger that he didn’t know he was experiencing. She was surprised by the very thought of him being angry. He wasn’t angry at her per se, he was really shaken off about not being in the known, having blanks that he had to fill by himself when it should have been her answers instead of his imagination.              She wanted to tell him everything and then her mind went to the time he spent in prison for no reason at all, and she swallowed hard. How would she ever be able to come clean about that. Remus was a bit easier – yes, he was still very hurt and shocked and everything in the middle but Sirius… it was always different with him. It was always different when it came to him – she was …                  “I want to tell you but it’s too much. Please don’t ask me to be honest with you. Not on that level. Anything else, I will answer. Not that” she finally told him. At least, she was acknowledging all the hypocrisy and all the lying, he thought. He wasn’t looking for that answer though, he wanted the real reason behind her entire existence in his life, and so he closed the gap between them. His tall frame was towering over her, her back was pressed to the wall next to the window and his eyes were piercing her face for clues.                    “No. You don’t get to do that. I have been nothing but honest with you about everything. You don’t get to hide now” he pushed further, making her arch her eyebrow. As he realized that he had overstepped the boundaries, he tried to take a step back but her finger was already poking his chest through his unbuttoned shirt and undone tie.                  “You? Honest? Really? Is that what you tell yourself before you go to sleep? That you are honest with me? Or that you’re honest with yourself? Because neither -                        “Fine, what do you want me to say?” he cut her off, revealing his hot temper with a flush that appeared in his face – something she had never seen before and she had to remind herself that this Sirius was not the one from the books. He wasn’t a character anymore; he was a real person – breathing down on her.                            She closed her eyes, not wanting to create any more tension that what had already been created but he was not having it. He wanted answers, now more than ever, even if he knew that he, himself, had been lying all that time – this was not the same. He was lying about his feelings; she was lying about everything.                        “Who are you? Who could you possibly be to come here through the fucking sky? To come here and turn everything upside down. To make me question things that I thought I had figured out long ago. To make me jealous of my own best friend and to make me want to destroy every sound thing. Who are you?” he bombarded her with accusations that he wanted figured out now. And all it took was one hot second before she screamed the answers back to him, each hitting like a bullet to his heart, each being louder and louder only to finish off with a dead silence.                        “You think you are the one suffering? I have been trapped here for too long, I miss my home, my family, my life. I want out. I am done playing a stupid part in this scenario. I know everything. I know how are you going to end up, when, where, who dies, who lives, who fucking betrays – because I came from the sky. The fucking sky. I don’t know how or even who I am anymore. I thought you were a book character and every single thing was only real in my imagination and the pages of seven books. But no. I fucking live in the damn past – not mine. NO. A past from a different possibility. Twenty years before my birth date. And of course, out of every mistake I could possibly make, every choice gone mad, I had to - ”.

           Usually, there were two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When people were afraid, they tend to pull back from life, when in love, the open up to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement and acceptance. And while fear was easier, almost natural to them, they knew that they had to step outside their comfort zone.                  Not finishing off her sentence, leaving it there hanging in the middle of the thick air between them, was her way of giving him space to decide and her a breather. Her mind was yelling at her to stop and think about all those things that actually mattered but not every act was a result of sensibility. Her accusing finger was still on his chest; as a matter of fact, her entire palm was being pressed against his skin – not his shirt anymore. The information was not new to him; he knew, deep down he did.              Each night before he would fall asleep, he was trying to decode and figure her out, even just a bit. He was repeating the things she had said during the day, realizing just how much of an insight she had and wondering if it was just that or… It started of small, a few words of more than wisdom were spoken, a few things were said that she could not possibly know about… and the ever-present aura of secrecy. Her tattoos were one thing, her words were another. It wasn’t news to him and she noticed that. Her anger calmed down to a side smile.                “But you already knew” she concluded and her touch became gentler against his chest. Gentle as a fire. He looked at her with a desperate look, as if he wanted to do so much, to say so much but couldn’t. Sirius was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a cheater.             Instead of pushing her against the wall and kissing her like he had already pictured in his head about a million times, he stepped back and he sat on the bed, eyes always glued to her.              “I think I did” he agreed, more to his own mind than to her words. She took a deep breath and used the chair in front of the boudoir, to the left of the big window, facing him while at the same time keeping her distance.                          “I still don’t think I can tell you everything, Sirius” she softly apologized but he shook his head.                    “It’s okay. It’s okay if I am the one dying, love, or the one going mad. You will tell when or if you’re ready. I’m sorry for… this” he said, indicating the space between them but she brushed it off. How much longer would she able to keep it hidden from James and Peter, she didn’t know.                  “Sirius… it’s not that simple. I know what I know from the books. So, basically, from I come from, the dimension and the time period, you, the boys, Hogwarts… magic, everything is fiction and contained within seven books that are not even about you. While these books go on, you are older and have gone through a lot. I know that part. I don’t know if it will happen the way it was supposed to, since I am here and I wasn’t supposed to, I think, but I also can’t change much in this plot. Or even if I can, I don’t know if I should. Messing with time and history is not something I am looking forward to do. Although, if I could change some things, I would without blinking” she admitted, staying as close to the truth as she could, without revealing too much. How could she face him and tell him what was about to happen to him in a few years? He wouldn’t even get to turn her age before Azkaban… and that hit her differently.                        “I know that there is something dark in the things you are not saying. And I know that I am neither the one who dies nor the one who lives from the way your eyes never met mine when I said it. Maybe the one who goes crazy but not exactly. That’s okay. It would happen either you were here or not. It’s better that you are. I don’t know if it is for you… I cannot imagine the weight of all those things. I am sorry” he told her sincerely. They shared so many things; intuition, depth, passion. And a five-year gap.            “So you see, celebrating didn’t feel appropriate” she concluded airily. But he looked at her in a perplexed expression.                  “On the contrary. We should. Now more than ever. Because after all, we only have this moment, isn’t that so?” he proposed and she was astonished because he was right. He didn’t want to talk about it more, knowing that something bad happened to all of them, and that she didn’t want to say what. He understood her – it was cruel, such disastrous things being delivered by her. She held answers to questions they hadn’t even thought about yet. He could never blame her for not coming forward. Even though he wanted to be her confidant, the one she would spill her heart out he knew that she wouldn’t. Some things were better left unsaid… but…not forever.                      “You should go back to your friends” she suggested, as she felt worn out, wanting nothing more than to get out of the dress and makeup.                                  “I thought we were friends” he chuckled darkly, earing a fixed glance from her piercing eyes.            “Oh Sirius. You and I…we could never be friends” she admitted and there was not a single shy cell in her body. Her entire mind had shut up and every word coming out of her mouth was a sharp slap across his face, hitting him with the truest statement she could have said. He licked his lips and tamed his tongue not to respond the only way he truly wanted to as he got up and buttoned up again, to rejoin the party.                      “Remus knows?” he asked but it came out as a bold statement. He was jealous he wasn’t the first one to know this, or how her lips felt against his. He shook the image out of his head and focused his eyes one her. She was radiant but she wasn’t fooling anyone – she might have worn a gold dress but she was the moon, dark, secret and almost untouchable. Almost.                    “He does” she confirmed, realizing just how jealous he could get. She didn’t like possessiveness, mainly because she was the one being possessive in her previous relationships, but with Sirius…she could, perhaps, turn a blind eye. He was unexpected in every way, to her. He was biting his lip, deep in thought. It was tragically doomed and yet he found beauty among the disaster. It was fragile and soft, so tender but raw, catastrophe pouring down at everything. It was problematic – making homes out of people. But he had never felt more at home than with people; his best mates, his school, her.  His house never felt like a home and yet he was surrounded by it. And now, a strange feeling washed over his heart. What was he doing, letting her go?                He waned to kiss her, without a warning, with permission, without even deciding to do so but simply because he couldn’t think of anything else. He needed that breath she was holding. It belonged to him and he wanted it back. But there was that small voice, so ever faint, that told him it was not the time nor the place to do so. He had to physically stop from heading towards her rather than the door. And he didn’t know why he stopped.             “Love, I…” he started but she gave him a sharp look.                        “Don’t” she whispered and he left with a heartbreaking look on his delicate features.       

           She found an excuse not to return to the party. She would find an excuse to return to Hogwarts as soon as possible, otherwise her entire being would implode and no one would even notice. She would just collapse under the pressure of knowledge and no one would even understand how hard her life had suddenly become. She was the girl who wanted to know everything, who went looking for knowledge every place she visited and she had become the girl who wished she didn’t know the future, who was oblivious and blissful, who stayed silent and didn’t challenge the world.                It was too early. Too late maybe. No one was partying, no one was in the living room, no one was making any sound. She tiptoed around a bit. The fireplace was livid, calming and consuming at the same time as if it was calling to her. Everything will end up in flames. Not ice, but hellfire. It was the saddest thing she could have thought of. Protecting a breakable heart. What if she got the chance to leave?              “Would I?” she whispered to herself. No. And that feeling of knowing that she wouldn’t be able to leave even if she did find a way, that she wouldn’t go back to her own family and her own life, that very feeling made her realize that this was indeed her home, that the people in this reality were her family and that this was her now. And she had to fight for her home and her family. She had to at least try.              “We missed you at the party” a soft voice caught her off guard. She took a deep breath. This was it. This hide and seek had to end. Once she turned around, he saw how serious she was and immediately understood that something was off. His eyes were tired but alert, his whole body language was signaling that he was able to grasp the severity of whatever she had to say to him.                        “There is something I need to tell you but you’ll need to sit down, James”.

__ Taglist: @must-be-a-weasley-92​ @megalificent​ @fific7​ @maraudersangel​ @tb-ctn 

[angelicmichael]

Hoax - Prologue

Michael Langdon x Mallory

Summary: After failing to kill murder house Michael; Mallory must travel back in time to Sojourn era to try again. However; she finds to her horrific discovery that jumping through time repeatedly does not come without its consequences.

Words: 3.0k+

Warnings: Death, They both almost die (or do die) so.. a lot of describing wounds and nearly dying and that jazz ✌🏻, major wounds, lowkey a dark fic, Mallory discusses wanting to kill Michael and finds celebrates it??, angst, Mallory goes and sees his dead body, blood

A/N: this takes place right after Mallory drives away from Michael in the finale btw!! I literally didnt intend on making it this dark but it just happened LOL. I feel like most of the dark stuff is vague so.. it should still be chill. This is the first time ive written millory/character x character so please go easy on me!! I also tried to follow canon and stay accurate to details the best I could but knowing me I probably fucked up somehow LMAO but enjoy 💖💖 major plot twist is coming in the next chapter btw! Also Mallorys thots are italicized.

As soon as Mallory drove away; she knew nearly immeadietly that it was too good to be true. Things could never be this fucking easy.

She felt a pit in her stomach almost instantaneously once she was in the year 2015; Even though she couldnt decipher if the anxiety was a warning or something else.. She continued on with the dark destiny she was put on this earth to fulfull.. to kill the antichrist.

Even though she was fully aware of this; and had come to terms with what she had to do - she learned the hard way that it didnt seem to make things easier at all; like how she dreamed it would. Although, even now as she continued to speed away from the infamous 'murder house', the drop in her stomach seemed to only grow; along with her self doubt.

Was he really dead??

Did I really do it??

She knew that the answer to both of those questions should be yes; but the longer she remained driving in her car, getting farther and farther away from where the incident had occured.. she knew something was wrong.

Mallory suddenly jolted the steering wheel into a sharp left; continuing to turn it until she was doing U-Turn.. She couldnt help but to feel completly bewildered at her own actions - never doing something so impulsive, like going back to a crime scene let alone commit murder, in her life.

Although Mallory felt a bit disgusted with her recent previous actions; she couldnt help but imagine how disgusted she would feel with herself if she didnt pull this off. She mulled over the previous thoughts she had had about this moment and how dreamed it would feel; she thought she would feel joy, elated, and at peace but.. instead she still felt as if she was being suffocated by his presence.

He wasnt gone. Not yet.

She pressed her foot down on the gas, she knew she hadn't gone too far away from Michael's residence yet it seemed as if it was a millenia away. The task she was supposed to complete was starting to seem more and more increasingly impossible the less distance was put between them.

If running him over with a car three times wasnt enough to kill him, whose to say anything else would? What if Constance had brought him inside?? What if she was still out there with him?? Mourning?

Mallory wasnt a monster; she wasnt going to tear away a dying boy from his grandmother in his (hopefully) final moments, even if he was the antichrist.

She felt as if she was a total loss for what to do; which made her grow sick to her stomach because she knew that was a cruel form of denial. She was destined for this moment; every moment thus far had led up to this.. so why did she feel like such a failure? Her thoughts grew more foggy and distant with panic; her throat became entirely dry as she slowed the car down. The murder house now in view; the first thing she noticed.

The red bricks and stained glass windows shined brightly in the sun. The house, which Mallory was sure typically looked beautiful, radiated a terrifying aura.. even more so this time versus when she was here only a mere minutes ago. The expanse and exterior of the house was intimidating; it held a certain danger to it that she couldnt pinpoint her finger on where the source came from.. it certainly was not Michael. Mallory knew that even if he wasnt dead; his powers would fade out for atleast a few minutes from being so wounded.

Mallory stopped the car once she saw Michael's dead body; which still resided in the middle of the road. Her feelings of panic and nausea only amplified once she saw his body -  her gaze lingering upon it. She approached him with no hesitation; she could nearly feel that he was gone.. his spirit momentarily missing.. somewhere else.

She studied him carefully and nearly pitifully as she crouched down to kneel next to his body. His body was littered and splattered with bright red wounds. His pants looked as if they were dip dyed in red paint; His once pale skin along with the majority of his clothes was covered in a bright red splatter. Long, dark red lacerations decorated his face. His mouth was still agape; his once white teeth were coated in the same shade of red his clothes were.

Even though he looked absolutely horrible; Mallory still felt absolutely no remorse for the antichrist. Knowing what he would become, and his sick ways of manipulation deserved no mercy. However, knowing only seconds ago he was nothing but a mere bloody, suffering child.. she couldnt help but to not fight the tears she felt budding at her eyes; letting one slide down her cheek before quickly wiping it away - she knew it was naive to assume she wasnt being watched.

Mallory wasnt stupid - she knew her powers and what she was capable of, like the back of her hand by now. The past few months practically consisted of her testing and expanding on her limits... She knew that healing Michael in this exact moment wasnt out of the question. In fact, it almost seemed to be more difficult to restrain herself from healing him.. but she knew better.

He deserves to fucking suffer. He deserved to rot in his personal hell; wherever that may be.

She couldnt help but to nearly laugh at the thought that he finally got what was fucking coming to him.

Mallory could feel herself shaking with how close she was to Michael now. She couldnt stand how he made her feel when they were this close - almost touching.

She now was kneeling next to his body on the concrete, her knees aching from the rough surface but she couldnt go just yet. Not when she still had no fucking clue where to go from here.

The world seemed as if it came to stand still; nothing seemed like it existed outside of the small bubble that Mallory felt her and Michael were suddenly trapped in.. The birds stopped singing, no cars happened to drive by.. everything just stopped.

All the spirits and souls that Mallory could feel that were trapped within the grounds of the house, didnt bother to make a appearance either. But she knew they were still there... she could still feel their eyes on her. Watching; waiting.

The sun's warmth, which normally Mallory chose to bask in, was starting to make her itch. She could feel her skin start to moisten with sweat.. Instinctively she knew that her sudden newfound state of being uncomfortable was her cue to leave... To go where though? She wasnt sure.

Why am I still here? If everything had happened correctly; if I really killed him.. then why havent I woken up yet??

Mallory continued to stare at him grimly; not quite brave enough to speak but still managing to maintain the courage to sit by him and look at the damage she caused. The most jarring feature of Michael's current appearance would be his eyes. Mallory couldnt help but to stare at them; and it certainly wasnt because they were beautiful.

His once vibrant, sky blue, irises were now starting to look oddly dull. A faint, milky white color looked as if it were painted over them instead.

His skin was now a bruised white; Mallory shakily extended out her hand - pressing the back of her knuckles softly to his forearm. She wanted to see how cold his body was; and when she made contact - she pulled her hand back so fast as if it had been burned. She hissed, the coolness of his skin stunned her. She stared at his body intensely - shocked that she even dared to touch him, let alone even stick around for this long. 

The sounds Michael started to make is what finally drove Mallory to wake up out her near trance she found herself amidst in and to realize the reality of the situation. After minutes of silence and stillness, and sure death, Michael's chest finally started to move. The amount at which his chest moved was nearly minuscule at first; but he was recovering rather quickly.. too fucking quickly for Mallorys liking.

It was almost sickly ironic how Mallorys chest started to move faster and faster as soon as Michael's did; she couldn't help but to feel entirely panicked. The rest of her emotions; her thoughts; her feelings; everything that used to make up her was now fleeting.. rapidly leaving until as she could focus on was the oxygen briskly escaping her.

She watched the color from his skin start to return; the off putting stark whiteness leaving and a very subtle pink gracing his skin tone. More noticeably; she observed how the color in his lips and eyes returned back.. almost appearing normal.

She unconsciously found herself rising; panic still occupying all of her senses. She quickly unfolded her legs and steadied herself as she stood up.. One thought and one thought only rang through her mind like a sick mantra..

I need to get the fuck out of here.

Mallory tried to gasp as she suddenly felt her throat grow incredibly dry; she let out a desperate dry cough. Her eyes started to tear up unwillingly as she felt a enormous amount of self doubt suddenly surge into the core of her being - the feeling slipping momentarily into her soul.

The world around her began to spin and melt away simultaneously; until she felt her physical body melt away from Michael and the Murder House incredibly rapidly before she could even fully process what was happening.

She felt the harsh coldness of the bath tub water for a split second before she emerged; the black water engulfing her as she stayed partially concealed within the water. Immeadietly she found herself gasping and gagging on her tongue from not being able to breath possibly fast enough... The next thing she felt was otherworldly pain. She felt so much fucking pain.

Mallory gripped the edge of the bathtub until her fingertips turned white and her nails threatened to split. She stayed like that for a moment; spitting and gasping, trying to find a way to consume as much oxygen as possible while managing the nearly unimaginable pain. Her entire body throbbed but her eyes felt a different pain; a sickly stinging.

Keeping her posture and preventing herself from slipping entirely back into the black water was a fucking mission in itself, she quickly learned. She didnt even bother to pretend to be quiet.. Her breaths and groans were far too loud to even begin to ignore.

Is Michael still alive?  Where is Myrtle?

Mallorys lungs seemed to return to normal capacity after a while, her gasping decreased until she was utterly and completely quiet. She arose from the water as quietly as she possibly could, biting her lip to prevent making any additional noise from the sudden cold air she felt against her body.. stinging and torturous..

Her eyes still ached, bringing her hands instinctively to her eyes to stop the pain - she realized ones of her hands was still balled into a fist.. holding onto something.

Was that.. is that MICHAELS hair??

Mallory stared at the once curly, perfectly golden strands of hair that lie in her balled up fist in complete horror - it was now a dark red from the blood that had washed off her skin and into the water.

There was no way this was HIS hair. It had to be someone elses; anyone elses! She refused to believe that she was holding onto anything that belonged or had to do with Michael... complete disgust and delirium rendered her from thinking that.

Her first instinct was to drop the hair; but something told her to keep holding onto the lock, it would only serve her well in the future.

Her vision was inky with blood; dark red clouding her vision and making her feel even more impaired and utterly hopeless then she already felt.. even with the large wound still gaping and bleeding from her stomach. Her stomach wound made her entire body ache, trying to stay conscious was a fight within itself.

It happened again. I failed.

She wasnt sure if she was just being cynical or if her thoughts were even to be trusted anymore when she was in this state.. she only knew she wanted this horrible nightmare to be fucking over with already. She wanted to wake up in Robichauxs and see her sisters; Misty, Madison, Queenie, Zoe and more than anyone.. Cordelia... Oh fuck.

Cordelia... She was still dead.. because of me.

Mallory blinked slowly a few times; taking her free hand and wiping as much blood away from her face and eyes as she could - just enough so she could fully take in her surroundings.

If she could feel her stomach; she was sure she would feel it drop because as much as she looked, she saw no one. Absolutely no one. Tears slipped down her cheeks but they werent bloody anymore. She knew she was completely fucked; he had her cornered.

Well not literally anyways. He still managed to lurk somewhere within the vast empty walls of Outpost Three; most likely looking for her.. but he had to know she was fatally wounded.. right? 

That's when out of the thick silenceness, she heard the first sign of life. Loud; but distant heavy footsteps.

Michael.

She knew she was fucked right away. She could almost feel his spirit itself within Hawthorne; the feeling slowly flowing to her until it forced her to be frozen. Petrified, still sopping wet and with some left over blood dripping off her chin - she knew what she had to do.. and she only had seconds to do it. Mallory knew he was approaching closer and closer the longer she stood docile in the bathtub.. like a idiot.

She took deep, heavy breaths. Fully; for the first time, cherishing the feeling of oxygen in her lungs - knowing that she very well might not make it out alive. Preforming time travel once alone was a enormous feat; but she had already done it twice.. but three times?

The thought simultaneously scared and excited her; she continued take deep breaths before relaxing. Closing her eyes and focusing; searching for a moment in Michael's history to go back too.

There had to be another time Michael was weak besides when he was with Constance at the murder house.. Another time that he felt abandoned.. lost.. confused..

She swallowed as she felt and focused on the soft strands of hair that she held onto; trying to search desperately for the answer that she needed as she took the next step and plunged herself under the water, first barely managing to weakly whisper, "tempus infinituum".

The water tore at her skin as she felt herself letting go from the past reality... slowly yet rapidly her senses seemed to all melt away at once before she was floating- until nothing.

Suddenly Mallory opened her eyes, blinking as she kept calm as she adjusted to her new surroundings.. an open, nearly empty forest was what welcomed her as she slowly spun around.

The smell of pine leaves and the heavy scent of the forest consumed her senses. She first felt calm and at peace; the forest was beautiful. She almost felt tempted to forget about what she came here to do and to lose herself within the sea of greenery but.. something was terribly wrong.

More so; someone was here.

Mallory first stood still; puzzled as to why she was now standing in a vacant forest with pine needles at her feet.

She didnt dare say a word out loud, just in case, but she knew she was waiting for something before she dared to take a step.. she was waiting for a sign. She didnt bat a eye when she felt a soft, warm breeze tousle her hair forward. She felt it continue to crash against her body - almost like soft waves crashing upon rocks. She felt it on her warm skin; her skin getting goosebumps as she knew what this meant. She was getting her sign.

This is it. Is he here?

Mallory giggled at the mere thought; the anticipation and glee of imagining how this nightmare perhaps could be over in the near future was making her experience true euphoria.

She began to walk through the forest; passing several trees as she searched for what she was yearning for. The breeze was far gone by now but she knew to keep going; to keep looking. She looked at the forest landscape that lie ahead of her; a sea of moss and blended greens and blues. The forest didnt have the same magic it typically held though; something was missing.

It was because she was getting closer to him.

Mallory had to suppress a scream as she suddenly felt herself step on something that wasnt the forest floor. She felt a painful shiver run directly down her spine, almost as if someone was running a blade down her back. She was becoming consumed with panic once more; and with the sudden realization what was happening.. What this meant.

It was pure reflex which caused her to take a step back; even before she had the opportunity to look down and confirm her suspicions, she knew exactly what she had stepped on. A body.

She quickly looked down at what she had stepped on - not able to take the anonymity of the individual any longer.. and of course..

I fucking knew it.

She recognized who it was immeadietly, curly blonde hair that was mangled with dirt and a typical black outfit.. it was too easy to guess the identity of the body. He was face down, his body sprawled out unnaturally and in a uncomfortable manner..

It was once again; Michael Langdon.

Taglist: @mina672 @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakewaterxx @dark-mei-rose @9layerdevilfoodcake @prophecy-is-inevitable @matildaofoz @beautyiswithinchaos @frenchlangdon @beyond-repentance @lizzy-claire-fandom

[queenaryastark]

Daenerys + Compassion and Grief for Viserys

When it comes to her brother, Dany has the patience and generosity of a saint. Through most of her life, this man took his anger out on her through physical and sexual abuse. He also sells her in exchange for an army and eventually threatens to murder her unborn baby by cutting him out of her. Yet, she continued to worry about, give compassion to, and honor him. 

In AGOT, Dany’s new position within the khalasar and her dragon dream give her the ability and strength to push back when Viserys tries to abuse her again. As punishment for his assault on her, she strips him of his ability to ride. Almost immediately, she starts worrying about him.

Viserys gaped at him, and sat down in the dirt. He kept his silence, but he would not move, and his eyes were full of poison as they rode away. Soon he was lost in the tall grass. When they could not see him anymore, Dany grew afraid. “Will he find his way back?” she asked Ser Jorah as they rode. – Dany III, AGOT

Not only does she feel sympathy for him, she also works to get his riding privileges back and does what she can to spare his feelings while he’s unknowingly being mocked by the Dothraki.

Dany followed on her silver, escorted by Ser Jorah Mormont and her brother Viserys, mounted once more. After the day in the grass when she had left him to walk back to the khalasar, the Dothraki had laughingly called him Khal Rhae Mhar, the Sorefoot King. Khal Drogo had offered him a place in a cart the next day, and Viserys had accepted. In his stubborn ignorance, he had not even known he was being mocked; the carts were for eunuchs, cripples, women giving birth, the very young and the very old. That won him yet another name: Khal Rhaggat, the Cart King. Her brother had thought it was the khal’s way of apologizing for the wrong Dany had done him. She had begged Ser Jorah not to tell him the truth, lest he be shamed. The knight had replied that the king could well do with a bit of shame … yet he had done as she bid. It had taken much pleading, and all the pillow tricks Doreah had taught her, before Dany had been able to make Drogo relent and allow Viserys to rejoin them at the head of the column. – Dany IV, AGOT

In the same moment that Dany found out that her dragon eggs were incredibly valuable, she also decides to give them to Viserys if he wants them. Just to drive this home, she was willing to give eggs that she loved, that she drew strength from, and that were worth a massive fortune to the man who abused her all her life.

For a moment Dany was so shocked she had no words. “My eggs … but they’re mine, Magister Illyrio gave them to me, a bride gift, why would Viserys want … they’re only stones …”

“The same could be said of rubies and diamonds and fire opals, Princess … and dragon’s eggs are rarer by far. Those traders he’s been drinking with would sell their own manhoods for even one of those stones, and with all three Viserys could buy as many sellswords as he might need."

Dany had not known, had not even suspected. "Then … he should have them. He does not need to steal them. He had only to ask. He is my brother … and my true king.” – Dany V, AGOT

When Viserys makes a drunken scene that could only result in his death, Dany also tries to offer him the eggs again and tries to sooth him until he threatens to murder her baby. This is the moment that’s pointed to as “proof” of her downward spiral into evil. Apparently, the fact that she stopped trying to save Viserys once he threatened her baby (and would have killed her too if he had been successful in cutting the baby out), is nothing short of villainy. 

If Dany had never spared any compassion or regret or grief for Viserys after that moment, she could have been completely forgiven. He abused her for years and was trying to kill her and her baby. Feeling nothing for or even celebrating his death would have been natural. 

That’s not what Dany does though. Even as he is about to die for threatening her, readers are told of the grief and sadness she will feel afterward at his loss.

Viserys smiled and lowered his sword. That was the saddest thing, the thing that tore at her afterward … the way he smiled. “That was all I wanted,” he said. “What was promised.” – Dany V, AGOT

Afterward, Dany grieves for Viserys to the point where Irri points out the change in her.

“You have not laughed since your brother the Khal Rhaggat was crowned by Drogo,” said Irri. “It is good to see, Khaleesi.” – Dany VI, AGOT

When Dany names her dragons, who she considers to be her children, she even honors Viserys by naming one after him. 

“The cream-and-gold I call Viserion. Viserys was cruel and weak and frightened, yet he was my brother still. His dragon will do what he could not.“ – Dany I, ACOK

Honoring the man who abused her by naming one of her children after him is not a sign of coldness or a lack of grief. Naming a child after someone is a sign of respect, despite the fact that her brother deserves no respect from her at all. She’s even able to look past the fact that he abused her to think of a better side of him and miss him.

Viserys had been stupid and vicious, she had come to realize, yet sometimes she missed him all the same. Not the cruel weak man he had become by the end, but the brother who had sometimes let her creep into his bed, the boy who told her tales of the Seven Kingdoms, and talked of how much better their lives would be once he claimed his crown. – Dany I, ASOS

Long story short, Dany honored, respected, grieved for, and gave more compassion to Viserys than he deserved, which shows what a good person she is and can’t possibly be used to vilify her.

[sin-tentional]

⸻aubrey plaza. thirty-four. cisgender woman. she/her. lesbian & pisces.

looks like Megan Morales blew in five years ago and never left. they’ve proven themselves to be calm & humorous, but being pessimistic & indecisive is their downfall. it’s only fitting that Robert Palmer’’s Simply Irresistible is playing when they leave the motel, where they live on the RV Lot. rumor has it that they had a breast reduction due to a gunshot wound, wonder if that’s why the ex-military veteran Vulcan Video Cashier + rookie camera woman for the Paranormal Investigator Crew moved out of their place in Tuscan, Arizoñia.

                                                                  { full bio here // the muse doc }

i: aesthetics

resting in empty concrete parking lots to take in the stars or the much needed cry session ; pilot helmets tucked away in military grade trunks to be sold for rent money or more dos equis ; phantom pains upon a once necessary limb replaced by metal and steel ; communication halted as the final laugh fades into uncomfortable silence ; a set of broken wings sacrificed for a glimmer of true intimacy that’s yet been replaced, forged and cemented

ii: a playlist

❝ Simply Irresistible ❞ Robert Palmer

❝ Love Stinks❞ The J Geils Band

❝Angel❞ Aerosmith

❝ Faith ❞ George Michael

❝ Never Gonna Give You UP❞ Rick Astley

❝ 867-5309 ❞ Tommy Tutone

❝ I Touch Myself ❞ Divinyls

❝ Call Me❞ Blondie

❝ Don’t You ( Forget About Me ) ❞ Simple Minds

❝ Jessie’s Girl  ❞ Rick Springfield

❝ Time After Time ❞ Cyndi Lauper

iii: a study

⸻ NAME: Megan Morales

⸻ AGE: thirty-four

⸻ GENDER: cisgender woman

⸻ PRONOUNS: she/ her

⸻ SEXUALITY: lesbian

⸻ RELATIONSHIP: technically married due to a drunken night involving ring pops

⸻ FACECLAIM: aubrey plaza

⸻ HEIGHT: 5’6”

⸻ HAIR COLOR: black

⸻ EYE COLOR: light brown

⸻ MARKINGS: scar above her lip from trying to open a bottle with her teeth, and a bullet wound above her left breast

⸻ TATTOOS: hexagon hive on her right arm

⸻ PIERCINGS: none

⸻ DECORUM: leather jackets to hide her arm, with cut off jeans and boots. 

⸻ SCENT: honey whiskey mixed with lemon, juicy fruit gum, & a perfume concoctions of eucalyptus and spearmint.

⸻ POSITIVE TRAITS:  calm, gallant, firm

⸻ NEUTRAL TRAITS: circumspect, frugal, noncommittal

⸻ NEGATIVE TRAITS: abrasive callous, argumentative 

⸻ ZODIAC: pisces

⸻ ALIGNMENT:  neutral evil

⸻ MTBI: isfp

⸻ ENNEGRAM: 1, 8, 5

⸻ TEMPERAMENT: melancholic

⸻ ELEMENT: water

⸻ PRIMARY VICE: greed

⸻ PRIMARY VIRTUE: diligence 

⸻ TROPE: the snark knight, creepy monotone,  death glare, insult of endearment, cluster f bomb, the broken ace

⸻ INSPIRATION: Weasel ( from Deadpool 2016 ), and a mild taste of April Ludgate, with major commitment issues like Shane from the L Word.

⸻ GOALS: Protect her f-word, and come to terms with the idea of having a family in general.

⸻ FEARS: Ghosts, losing Scout, airplanes.

⸻ OCCUPATION: Ex-Military Pilot, current cashier at Vulcan Video, as well as an amateur Paranormal Investigator Crew

⸻ RESIDENCE: RV Lot at the Motel

⸻ HOBBIES:  gaming ( ToonBlast on her phone ), ghost documentaries, serial killer podcasts, car Shows / vintage cars, software hacking, server hijacking for WOW, & movie trivia nights at bars in which she uses this as an excuse to be around alcohol.

⸻ HABITS: always checking her phone for celebrity gossip, not holding eye contact, grinding her teeth in her sleep, never smiling, codeswitching between English and Spanish, as well as using Spanglish words, using fuck as the most adequate way to express her opinions, as well as dude ( even in terms of endearment or affection ), she’s also guilty of never going to the doctor when she’s sick.

iv: a biography 

She wasn’t born in a military family or anything like that– she was just really fucking tired of hearing her dad complain to her about that volleyball championship she’d never win in high school, that and the hot ass desert that is Tuscan, Arizona. Coming from nothing made it really fucking easy to move out of that town. Once she turned 18 it was her life’s mission to serve a country that hardly cared about her. She was tall enough, didn’t weigh too much and her health was pretty good entering that bootcamp. What most impressed her commanding officers was her perfect vision, and sooner rather than later, she was recruited to become a pilot.

The military sucked ass, if you ask her, but she knows that had she not gone, she’d be far worse– stuck in Tuscan, or in jail with her father visiting her this time to make up for the early years he was locked away for tax fraud.

She does believe that despite the honorable discharge, she got the short end of the stick when she lost her arm. The goal wasn’t to pay the ultimate price nor sacrifice herself while in the line of duty, yet the prosthetic metal arm is now all she can really show for. That and a couple of night sweats that jolt her awake at night from the accident that brought her plane down.

She didn’t like becoming a statistic, even if the government pensions could pay for some things. She was told it would be easy getting a job with a top-tier airline as soon as her physical therapy was done, but there was no fucking way she’d ever hop in a plane once she landed back home. 

Moving around for a bit helped her dip her toes in a couple of odd jobs. With her outspoken attitude, she was told would make her an excellent candidate for management at Baskin Robins, but that was when she knew she needed to get the fuck out of dodge.  

She’s been in Salem for five years now, though. And despite the fucking ghosts hanging out and trying to haunt the fucking place, she thinks she’s staying for good.

v: connection ideas

General Ideas:

Military / Out of Town friends - ( Immediately after her graduation, she enlisted in the military, attended boot camp, and eventually traveled for most of her life while working as a pilot in the airforce– totally open for any location and leaving it open for maximum plotting ! I can put her anywhere ! )

Neighbors  - ( She’s got an RV in the RV lot, and she’s the type to have bubble wrap at the end of her driveway to keep unwanted visitors away, as well as christmas lights all around the RV for light– in case something goes bump in the night )

New friends - ( She’s been in town for the past five years, but she only teases information about herself, often lying to hide some of the more serious aspects of her life- it’s possible you’ve been her friend for years and still don’t know where she was born. )

Group Counseling Buddies - ( She attends Han’s Group Therapy sessions, and shows up occasionally– it’s hard for her to talk about her military days. )

Gaming friends ( she plays a lot of WOW in her free time )

Movie/ Cinema Buddies  ( she loves a GOOD Tarantino, not the shitty ones like Pulp Fiction, or Death Proof, though  )

Haunted people - ( She believes in ghosts, and will follow a lead anywhere )

Former Flings ( past five years ago and older would have to be outside of Salem, would have been while she was on a break from Scout ) 

Military Social Worker ( Will be applying this to main soon, but I thought I’d put it here first ! !! ) 

Drinking Buddies ( Bonus points if you wanna talk about traumas, and help her open her damn mouth about her feelings )

Laundry friend - (OR conversely, a laundry rival– maybe she moved your muses clothes one time and you guys got into an argument about it of which she’ll still say be fucking grateful your clothes aren’t moldy 😂😂 )

Petty Crime Buddies - passing out drugs, stealing from coin machines, siphoning gas from cars in parking lots, lots of shoplifting, stealing electricity / wifi/ cable from other RVs, breaking and entering for ghost research, petty bar fights that end both of them kicked out) 

Where you can find her:

The Pawn Shop- annoying Scout 

Book shops - she loves poetry, Anne Sexton mostly ( and Scout’s when she shares )

Pubs & Bars & Clubs

Bubble Pop Wash & Dry

Crowscare Emporium ( she loves a good scare )

Cryptid Cinema, she trades tickets in place of removing late fees

The Arcade - she’s a boss at House of the Dead, & Defender

Flying Saucer Pizza- it’s her absolute fav

Ghost Adventures Crew - she just follows Kyrie around, mostly

Giant Food Store or Kum N Go - most likely trying to shoplift a case of beer

The Pleasure Jar - looking for a strap 😎

Strike Pin, Sugar’s Lounge, REALLY I’m realizing anywhere, especially if there are ghosts in that area.

Current Connections:

Scout Zavala - Current girlfriend ( technically married )for the past six years

Kyrie Im - That boy is hella haunted and she’s ready to see some ghosts.

Simon Muhn - Laundry rivals. 

vi: tags 

;; MEGAN MORALES.

;; MEGAN MORALES: MUSINGS.

;; MEGAN MORALES: CONNECTIONS.

;; MEGAN MORALES: STARTERS.

;; MEGAN MORALES: THREADS.

;; MEGAN MORALES & ⸻