#but the grief is for its own dignity

[olrinarts]

Day 26: Eldritch

Monsterfuckers United - turning 'would' into 'did' one god at a time

[drdemonprince]

Most healthcare institutions will resort to physical force, restraint, drugs, guilt, theft of personal property, forced nudity, and denial of privacy in the pursuit of prolonging a life. This despite the heaps of scientific evidence showing involuntary hospitalization increases distress and the desire for suicide. Being held in a psychiatric institution has been shown to raise a person’s risk of suicide by 100 fold — including among patients who weren’t suicidal before they got locked up. That’s largely because of the trauma of losing one’s freedom.

Suicidal intention is at its root a longing for escape — and you don’t ease that longing by giving a person more to escape from. 

But there are alternatives. It actually is possible to respect the bodily freedom of a suicidal person while still providing them comfort and aid that could prolong their life. We can make peace with our inability to control another person’s destiny and mourn the potential loss of them while sitting with them in their suffering. 

We don’t have to run away from our own hopelessness and thoughts of suicide while we do this. either. And we may find that frank, accepting, and even mundane discussions of suicide will do both us and our suicidal friends a whole lot of good. 

For this piece, I spoke to dozens of suicidal people, read harm reductionist guides on supporting the suicidal, examined the psychological research literature on the subject, and mined my own life experiences for any wisdom I could find. Based on all these resources, here is my advice for supporting people who are suicidal — no matter what. 

I wrote a big long guide to supporting the suicidal, which you can read (or have narrated to you!) for free here.

[scarletcomalies]

storia di due anime perdute

Natasha Romanoff x Fem Reader

Word count: 5,400

Warnings: Dark fic, bullying from friends group, post-death grief (both from Natasha and Reader), emotional absence from a parent, depression, self isolation, manipulation. 18+ content, Nat has a penis, blowjob.

Taglist: @nattysbabygirl @huggingkoalas @grimleaper @olicity-boo @urfav-wh0re @ihartnat @afwmaieel-1 @marvels--slut @ddreader04 @obsessedwcoffeeandwomen @traveler-at-heart @osnapitschloe @foxythefox54 @justarandomreaderxoxo

A/N: Happy Halloween, guys! I wrote this during several stoned nights with In This Moment music videos playing in the background (which ended up in Lady Gaga music videos and with me recreating the choreographies lollll).

A/N II: I tried my best effort to write as much as possible in the middle of all the ongoing college projects and the everyday hecticness. Unfortunately, I didn't manage to finish it all by today. However, my semester is almost over, therefore the wait for part II will be way shorter! :)

In the serene village of Collodi, you encountered Natasha Romanoff, a woman in search of comfort and healing after the painful loss of her wife and daughter. She was moved by your lively personality, naiveté, and tender heart, leaving within her a yearning urge to take you, mold you like one of her puppets, and help you become her real girl.

In the enchanting region of Tuscany, Italy, hid a small village called Collodi, a dreamy corner protected by the intimidating mountains that surrounded it. This place, isolated from the hectic society, seemed to yearn fervently for the trees to consume it completely, wishing that only the memories and debris of what once was would remain in the end.

But that was not possible.

Collodi would still have been in the penumbra of oblivion if it wasn't for the pen of a blissful author to pay tribute to it through an immortal fictional story. It was as if it was destined to shine in the vast darkness of the commonplace.

Because it was not as visually captivating as Monterosso al Mare, for example, a town that was part of the five villages that, in perfect unity, formed Cinque Terre.

Monterosso al Mare did not long to be consumed and forgotten. It enjoyed its own prominence along with its neighboring towns.

From miles away, its structure could be seen standing tall with dignity on the seashore, and the palette of colors that it had was a delight for the eyesight, a canvas painted by the hand of an expert brought to life. Collodi, on the other hand, appeared as a spectrum between shades yellow and brown, and didn't stand firm, it rather seemed to be on the verge of crumbling at any given moment.

But Natasha Romanoff found beauty in Collodi.

You see, Monterosso al Mare was always displaying its vibrant colors, there being no room for exhaustion or rest, and its neighboring towns shared that quality. Totally exposed to the scrutiny of others, it was constantly adapting to the expectations of those who visited it. No matter who crossed its thresholds, no matter who might inflict harm, it must always stand firm, clinging to the reputation it had so painstakingly cultivated.

Collodi didn’t have such obligation, for it was simply Collodi. Yes, it may have had a history that was inevitably inherent, but this town was still completely detached from the demands of appearance and expectations.

Natasha Romanoff found beauty in Collodi, because having been Monterosso Al Mare, cost her the life of her wife and daughter.

And in Collodi, she found you.

“What a boring town,” exclaimed Kate, one of the two people who were once considered your friends.

“No way, the House of Butterflies was amazing,” you countered, as a smile instinctively plastered on your face as you recalled the memory of the previous day.

You had seen species of butterflies that rarely appeared in everyday life, and the best part, you had the opportunity to befriend some animals! When you offered them food, they would offer you their trust and appreciation, confirming once again that pattern so rooted in your being.

The concept of love you had was limited to the material, to what could be offered in that aspect. Both Kate and your other friend, Sarah, seemed to have sensed that nature in you, and decided to take full advantage of it, knowing that your concept of normality made you vulnerable to their intentions.

“Yes, and that was it,” Sarah intervened, and the boredom so palpable in her voice made your smile fade at once. True, you had only walked around town and gone shopping, but hadn't the previous day been enough? Was it necessary to do something extraordinary every day?

It did sting a little, given how thrilled you still were about the previous day’s activity, but from what you were hearing, your friends no longer shared that enthusiasm. Nor did they settle for at least one single calm day.

"Get us some of that good gelato, at least," Kate spoke up, after noticing your silence.

You nodded obediently, "Sure thing. Be right back."

You knew the bitter taste of disappointment as if it were your old arch enemy.

It was a feeling that has been with you since childhood, specifically the day your mother's life was snatched away by a terminal illness, robbing you of the joy that should have characterized any child's early years.

As life went on without that important figure by your side, you longed for the warmth and comfort of your father. However, instead, he taught you a raw truth: absence in life was more painful than the absence due to death itself, for the soul leaves without leaving the physical body.

You dreamed of his protective embrace, of his deep voice telling you bedtime stories, of feeling his loving hands tuck you into bed each night. But your father was not your mother, nor was he the father you used to know.

This new man, consumed with his work as a way of coping with grief, became obsessed with the expansion of his business. In his mind, securing a prosperous financial future for you was the best way to demonstrate his love and care, for if only his then small business had had the resources to cover the costs of treating the illness, your mother would still be with you.

So, instead of the human safety you needed so badly, you received an insane number of expensive gifts and unnecessary luxuries. Every one of them being his way of saying "I love you, I'm not going to fail you".

Oh, but he failed you. Every time he chose his job over you. Every time he missed your birthday, every promise he broke. With the expensive gifts and lavish vacations, he offered as compensation, you learned that affection was shown through material goods, and not necessarily through presence and emotional connection. It became your only way to express and receive affection, because it was all you had known your whole life.

Sarah and Kate were quick to notice the situation. At first, they just wanted to compliment you on your fancy bag and strike up a conversation with you to gain your trust, hoping that, when the time came, they would know you well enough to borrow it for a party or event where they could show it off as their own. However, after only a week, when you gave them each a bag just like yours as a thank you for sitting down with you for lunch and chatting, they realized that it was in their best interest to keep pretending to like you, as it would benefit them.

That's how they even ended up in Italy without spending a single penny in the first place.

It was a birthday trip that your father financed, once again rewarding the fact that he had forgotten about it. He also agreed to let you invite your two “best friends” in the hope that you would forgive him.

And so, as you returned with three ice creams in hand, you felt like you carried with you the key to an elixir to keep harmony among your friends. But the ground, capricious and uneven, laughed at you, with a prominent stone lurking to trip you up. In your haste to please, you did not see it coming.

Your body collapsed, crushing the ice cream cones, and the cold, sticky mess spread all over your dress. To top it all off, the rough cobblestone street also scraped your delicate arms and hands.

You winced in pain as you pushed yourself up, noticing the red marks and small cuts that now adorned your once-flawless skin.

Embarrassed and hurt, you looked up, expecting to see concern on your friends' faces. Instead, you were met with sneers and poorly concealed laughter.

"Oh my God, (Y/N)," Sarah scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain.

Kate joined in, her eyes showing a cruel amusement, "Seriously? We asked for gelato, not a circus act."

Your cheeks burned with shame as you struggled to your feet, your now wet and cold dress clinging uncomfortably to your body.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, fighting back tears. "I'll go get some new ones..."

"Don't bother," Kate snapped, rolling her eyes. "You'll probably just drop those too. Jesus! And now we must be seen with you looking like that!"

You felt small, insignificant, and utterly alone as your so-called friends tore into you with those hurtful remarks. The beautiful day in Collodi, which had held so much promise, now felt tainted and ugly.

Was this what true friendship was supposed to feel like? Was this the essence of the connection?

Tears, hot and stinging like acid rain, began to stream down your cheeks at the thought of it all.

"Oh, great. Now she's crying,” Kate's exasperated sigh made itself present.

"All right, come on," Sarah's voice dripped with annoyance. "You need to pull yourself together. This is beyond embarrassing."

"Look, if you can't stop whining like a baby, at least walk a couple of meters behind us," Kate ordered you. “We don’t want anyone thinking we’re with… you.”

You.

That one-syllable word spoken so contemptuously and coldly, as if you were enough to make any accompanying insult seem redundant.

And you, meekly nodding, prepared to follow their cruel order.

But as you took a step to follow behind them, a gentle but firm hand grabbed your arm, stopping your movement.

Startled, you looked up to find yourself confronted by a striking woman with flame-red hair and piercing green eyes.

There was something in her gaze that invited you to resist, to question, to not let yourself be carried away by the current of contempt that surrounded you.

And when she spoke, your ears were delighted by her smooth-as-honey voice.

“Do not follow them, solnyshko,” she said, dropping the unfamiliar word with a slight accent. “They are not worth your tears or your time.”

For the very first time, there was someone willing to protect you, to remind you of your worth in a world that seemed to want to erase it.

Your subconscious, conditioned by years of neglect, sounded alarms at this strange kindness. It screamed insidiously, urging you to retreat to the cold yet familiar comfort of abandonment and life-draining complacency.

That made you gently pull your arm from Natasha's grasp, your eyes downcast in embarrassment.

"No, you don't understand," your voice trembled like a leaf in autumn's chill. "It was my fault."

Natasha's eyes flickered with sudden comprehension. That sentence alone allowed her to decipher you completely.

The vulnerability you exuded, the eagerness to please despite mistreatment, it all spoke to something deep within her. It would be a crime to let you go, knowing you were perfect material for satisfying her needs.

She glanced briefly at the retreating silhouettes of the college girls you were with, a flicker of indignation crossing her features. They were merciless, cruel in their treatment of you. Natasha knew she was different. She wasn't going to make you suffer like them, because she was far from mean.

Instead, she would shower you with the warmth of genuine care, something you had clearly been deprived of for so long. In time, she would become as essential to you as the air you breathed. You would need her, finding it impossible to abandon her. And in return, she would have someone who needed her, someone she could protect and nurture, someone she could mold to her liking to fill that void that had been devouring her insides like a ravenous parasite.

"Your fault that this town's ground is made of stone? Your fault that it's dark already?” She asked gently. Instead of offering empty reassurances, she aimed to give you some autonomy, allowing you to discover the truth for yourself.

Her smile became unavoidable as she noticed your wide, innocent eyes intently analyzing her questioning.

"Could you have predicted every uneven surface? Every shadow?" She continued, her tone encouraging reflection rather than accusation. "And these friends of yours," Natasha pressed on, scoffing with contempt so palpable it made you flinch. She made your terrifying friends seem insignificant in the face of her formidable presence. “They have never stumbled? Are they always perfectly graceful?"

This question hit home. You had a fair share of memories of Kate tripping over her own feet at parties and Sarah passing out in some stranger’s backyard. You had never blamed them for their clumsiness. So why were you holding yourself to an impossible standard not even they could meet?

How silly of you, taking blame for something so clearly beyond your control.

A small, rueful smile became clear as you realized the absurdity of your self-accusation.

"You see, dear?" Natasha chuckled at your adorable smile. She felt her cock reacting as well through a painfully, intense throbbing. Every fiber of her being screamed for release, so overwhelming it threatened to consume her entirely, to break through her carefully constructed walls. But not yet, she reminded herself, her fists clenching with the effort of restraint. "Now, let's forget about them. Let's get you cleaned up, I don't live far from here."

Her invitation, or rather, command, caught you off guard, "But I don't know you," you gently declined. She didn’t budge, for she was more than sure that it would be a piece of cake to have you beneath her roof in the blink of an eye.

"Oh, right, my name is Natalia Romanova,” she introduced herself. “And your name is…?”

Unbeknownst to you, she had long ago stopped using the name Natasha Romanoff. It was an alias she'd adopted during her time as an Avenger back in the United States, but she had renounced that life, therefore, she no longer needed that identity. As for "Black Widow", the mere mention of it now filled her with loathing.

“Nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N),” you replied, trying to sound polite even after your small rejection.

Noticing your slight discomfort, Natasha decided to lighten up the tension that was beginning to build up, going ahead to reach into her pocket and show you a small, perfectly carved wooden figurine.

It was a cat! You adored cats.

"This is Figaro," Natasha introduced you to her little piece of wood, a fond smile adorning her lips. "He's my dear cat. Well, a miniature version of him."

Your eyes were drawn to the marvelous craftsmanship of the figurine. "Wow," you gasped, and your curious fingers itched to touch it, but you held back. "Did you do this?"

"I did,” she confirmed with pride. This woodworking hobby, alongside her tuxedo cat and golden fish, seemed to be the sole source of joy in her miserable existence. “I do this for a living. My house is filled with pieces like this.”

"That's amazing," you replied, genuinely impressed. "I bet they're all as stunning as this one," you remarked, gesturing to the figure in her hand.

Her smile expanded, almost impossibly so. It had been ages since she smiled like this, and perhaps it was twisted of her that the reason was the anticipation of taking you and exploiting you fully.

"Not as stunning as real-life Figaro," she countered, her eyes softening with affection. "Oh, just imagine the softest cloud you've ever seen, now picture it in black and white colors. That's Figaro."

The way Natasha described him with such genuine warmth and affection made your heart squeeze in tenderness, and your defenses were slowly crumbling, just like she predicted. After all, you reasoned, how could someone who talked so lovingly about their cat possibly be dangerous?

"Well,” she concluded, with a small sigh that feigned disappointment. "If you accepted my invitation, you could see him in person. But I understand. It's dangerous to go to a stranger's home. That’s wise of you."

The thought of letting down such a kind-hearted woman was intolerable. How could you possibly walk away after she had been so sweet and kind to you? You finally met someone who treated you with respect, and this was your response? How ungrateful!

"You know, actually," you finally spoke, so quickly they successfully interrupted your recurring thoughts. "I think I'd like to meet Figaro now, if that's okay."

Natasha's face lit up, her emerald eyes sparkling with an intense delight. Everything turned out exactly as she wanted, making her feel like an expert puppeteer effortlessly manipulating the strings of her most treasured marionette.

"Of course it's okay, solnyshko," she replied cheerfully. Anyone with an ounce of reasoning would wonder why she seemed so eager to bring a stranger girl home, but not you. Certainly not you. "You won't regret it, I assure you."

In the small village chambers, lanterns flickered softly, casting shadows that danced and twisted. Initially, these shadows appeared as large, intimidating figures, but upon closer inspection, they transformed into friendly faces with wide smiles. Yet, when their eyes met Natasha, they seldom did not recognize her.

"Natty! Buona notte, cara mia!" They always exclaimed, their voices brimming with enthusiasm and eyes aglow. A dull ache settled in your chest. It seemed wrong to feel that twinge of envy, yet you couldn't recall the last time anyone appeared that delighted to see you, and you couldn't help but long for it to be you to be greeted that way.

Unlike your so-called friends who always insisted on walking ahead, leaving you trailing behind like an afterthought, Natasha walked alongside you. Her emerald eyes occasionally glanced your way, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

The ice cream stain on your dress was still visible, your eyes, though no longer wet with tears, remained red and puffy. Yet, Natasha radiated an intrinsic pride in having you by her side, as if your presence was something to be cherished rather than hidden away.

“Well, here we are,” Natasha exhaled a deep sigh of relief as she turned the key and pushed open the door to her home, inviting you to step inside. The comforting embrace of warmth following the biting chill was a welcome relief.

Unlike most homes, there was no central overhead light. Instead, small lanterns perfectly scattered throughout the space illuminated it cozily.

The entire first level served as Natasha's workplace, living room, dining room, and kitchen, all in one. Though there were no walls dividing these areas, the transitions were clear.

To your left, Natasha's creations dominated the entire corner, making it a challenge to navigate without stepping on something. Positioned by the window was a long table with a variety of well-used tools, including hammers, a saw, screwdrivers, pliers, and wrenches.

On the opposite side, to your right, there was a kitchen, equipped with just a fridge, a sink, and vintage stove, alongside a small wooden table that could seat two people maximum, and you wondered if Natasha had crafted it herself. The middle area displayed a fireplace with a couch positioned in front of it, and on a side table, there was a round fishbowl containing a goldfish, which immediately caught your attention.

"Please, excuse the mess," Natasha remarked with a hint of guilt. She never cleaned her home more than necessary because she never expected visitors, as she preferred to personally deliver everything to those who requested her work, from the smallest souvenir to the most unbearably heavy piece of furniture. You might never have realized it, but you were the first person to set foot in her home by her own will and not because people intrusively knocked on her door to request commissions or to drop off gifts.

"No, no, it's great," you replied sincerely, having already scanned every corner of the place. Her old superhero friends might think this wasn't Natasha at all, but to you, who had only met this side of her, it definitely screamed Natalia everywhere, and all those residents of Collodi could say the same.

"Please, do take a seat!" She exclaimed so energetically that her voice could have echoed throughout the entire neighborhood. Without a moment's hesitation, you went to sit by the fireplace, the gentle flames providing you with so much warmth that you almost forgot the ice cream on your dress. "Stay here, I'll find you some clothes," she added, stepping away without taking her eyes off you, with fear that you might vanish at any moment.

While awaiting the return of the red-haired woman, you swiftly took out your phone to send a message to your friends, letting them know that you were fine and that you would get back soon. In your noble heart, you believed that they might worry about you, even if they were angry at you. However, the way they abandoned you with a stranger and walked away without looking behind unequivocally proved otherwise.

"See if this fits you," the same raspy, indistinct voice made you look up, and you gasped in surprise when you noticed that, in the arm not holding the change of clothes, she was carrying the famous cat Figaro she had told you about. His pupils were dilated due to the dim light, yet you could still notice a faint yellow ring encircling those dark orbs. He stayed calm, allowing his owner to carry him without squirming or resisting.

"Oh, he's gorgeous!" You exclaimed, just a few seconds were enough for this feline to capture your heart.

She chuckled softly, placing the little one on the couch beside you, "Clean clothes and a kitty, just as we agreed."

As if on cue, Figaro suddenly jumped from the couch, his black and white fur almost a comedic, straight-out-of-cartoon blur as he darted across the room and disappeared behind a stack of wooden carvings.

"I should have mentioned, Figaro doesn't like strangers."

You couldn't help but feel a little disappointed, for you had hoped to pet the furry cat, “Oh, that’s okay.”

Noticing your expression, Natasha chuckled, "But don't worry, once you offer him some food, he'll forget all about being shy and will come running back to you,” she reassured you, handing you the neatly folded garments.

"Thank you very much, where can I change?" You inquired, accepting the clothes that seemed extremely comfortable even without considering the chill and sticky stain of your dress.

"You can change here. I'll go upstairs to give you privacy. Just let me know when you're ready," she replied with such sincerity that it was impossible not to believe her.

When she left you alone, she ascended the stairs as she usually did, and when she reached the last step, with great care, she lay down on the floor, peering her head to see you. Never had she been so grateful for the darkness of her abode, for without it, you would have seen her head lurking at the top of the stairs.

Oh, blessed be the moment you chose to wear that dress, for it granted her the exquisite opportunity to admire your entire form, your most desirable parts covered by a black lace lingerie ensemble.

Her hand slowly traveled down to the burning ache that formed between her legs, which pulsed intensely through her already hard length. She tried to soothe the discomfort with a gentle squeeze, however, said action condemned her to complete what she had begun, lest she risk losing her sanity.

Therefore, with her eyes shut tight, she quietly made her way to the bathroom, promising herself to stay silent for just a moment to quell her longing.

She inhaled deeply and rested her hands against the sink. The mirror showed her flushed face, nostrils flaring from her labored breathing, and the familiar vein protruding on her forehead.

She exhaled through her mouth and lowered the zipper of her pants, revealing the fabric of her boxers. Unsurprisingly, there was a slightly darker wet patch of her pre-cum, showing just how much relief her poor member was desperately looking for. Subsequently, she slid her hand under the undergarment, and…

“I’m ready!” She heard your voice from downstairs.

“Yebany v rot,” she cursed between gritted teeth.

She hesitated, debating between coming down to join you, or staying there to prioritize her own needs. Yet, just picturing your eager little face and probably your hungry tummy prompted her to pull up her pants again. With another deep breath, she composed herself as best as she could to return to you.

Seeing you in that attire shattered the fragile composure she had managed to gather, causing her breath to hitch and a tight knot to form in her throat, which she clumsily attempted to swallow down.

You looked so perfect, wearing her clothes, slightly oversized over your frame in a way that was both endearing and domestic, even. Not to mention the fact that you would carry her scent for the rest of the night.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, noticing how her already tense expression worsened the moment her eyes landed on you. You assumed that perhaps the way those clothes fit you wasn't quite right. Maybe she expected them to be more form-fitting, which would mean looking for other clothes, and maybe she was already too tired to deal with that hassle.

"Nothing, it's just that… I'm feeling kind of tense, it's obviously not your fault," she tried to explain. It would be a shame to lie to you, especially when your naive mind already sensed the shift. "Hungry?" she asked, hoping to change the subject to ease your worries and distract herself.

"No, I already ate," you stated with a firmness that would have surprised anyone who had interacted with you, including her. "What's wrong?" you demanded.

Natasha, taken aback, but determined, admitted, "You look beautiful.”

She wasn't by any means shy. She could have taken you right there, knowing you were too weak to defend yourself and would have let her. Nevertheless, she didn't want that. She wasn't interested in being just another opportunist who crossed your path to take what she needed and leave. She wanted to make you so dependent on her that you would desire it in your heart to give it to her.

You furrowed your brow, confusion evident on your face. "Don’t try to distract me," you replied, shaking your head slightly.

With a deep breath, Natasha stepped closer. "Here," she murmured, gently taking your hand, guiding it to the front of her pants.

Your eyes widened in shock as you felt the unmistakable hardness there, provoking you to quickly pull your hand away, your cheeks matching the same deep shade of red as hers.

"I'm so sorry," Natasha apologized, taking a step back. "I shouldn't have... It's just... This is the problem. You're so beautiful, and my body reacted."

You stood there, frozen for a moment, your mind racing. You couldn’t deny, her nurturing and caring nature was irresistibly appealing to you. In some sense, she gave you the hope of reclaiming control and rewriting the story of abandonment that etched deeply into your soul.

"I... I think you're beautiful too," you spoke. "And after everything you've done for me tonight, the least I can do is... help you."

Natasha's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and concern crossing her features. "No, solnyshko. That's not necessary. I shouldn't have put you in this position."

But you took a tentative step forward, your heart pounding but your mind already made up. "I want to," you insisted softly. "Please, I want this."

"No, you don’t," she countered, the word tasting strange on her tongue. The offer you made was tempting, almost unbearably so, but she refused to be just another person you felt indebted to.

“I do,” you reiterated.

And you genuinely did.

Although you considered it strange that someone would reject your attempts to reciprocate those acts of kindness, it could be said that it was the first time it didn't feel like an obligation, but rather an opportunity to finally experience what it’s like to have such a physical connection with someone, let alone someone as attractive as her.

Material possessions were the only things you had relied on so far, so this could even be something unique between her and you.

"I have never done it before, so this is a win-win situation," you continued, trying to persuade her. "I help you, and you teach me."

She gazed into your eyes, discovering a profound yearning. She knew you meant every word, and it made her wonder, if a mere gesture of kindness could inspire such actions in you, to what extent would your commitment go if you became dependent on her?

"Alright," she agreed. "Let’s take it slow, and if you ever want to stop, just say the word."

Natasha reclined gracefully on the couch, parting her legs as an implicit invitation that seemed to compel you to approach her, all without the slightest motion or gesture from her part.

You chose to comply, kneeling between her legs. Despite her evident efforts to assert her dominance, you felt empowered by the mere knowledge that you could elicit such reactions from her, to the point where she was unable to conceal her distress, leaving her with no choice but to confess her attraction to you.

"You’re taking your time," she murmured, her voice evidencing a palpable sense of anticipation.

As you undid her button and unzipped her pants, you could feel the hardness of her member under the touch of your wrists, even when there were two layers of cloth covering it.

And all this for you.

Her cock sprang free and stood at attention after you pulled down the hem of her boxers and pants to below her balls. She remained motionless, not taking her green eyes from yours as you contemplated her arousal.

You knew it was big, and you knew it was agonizingly hard, but the reality overcame any assumptions when you were faced with easily ten inches in length, adorned by multiple prominent veins.

"Please, touch it," she pleaded, her voice abandoning any semblance of composure. Pride, that accursed pride, was meaningless when her body irrefutably ached for you.

Her tip was a deep pink, dripping with droplets of pre-cum. Taking it gently, wrapping your fingers around it, you picked up the droplets with your thumb and spread them around it, making it take on a peculiar sheen.

“Fuck,” she moaned, closing her eyes, and throwing her head back.

That alone gave you the confidence you needed to stroke her cock in up and down movements, successfully making her tremble under your touch.

Her full lips were slightly parted, and her breath came in short, sharp gasps or high-pitched whimpers. It was truly a welcome sight, witnessing someone entrust you with their body, openly displaying such vulnerability before you.

She extended her hand, firmly grasping your wrist, and guided your hand to the base of her erection. Simultaneously, her other hand gently rested on the back of your neck, offering encouragement rather than forcing you.

You wrapped your mouth around her already wet tip, moaning as you savored the warmth of the pre-cum that seemed to keep making itself present. You began to suckle her glans gently, letting your tongue take the place from time to time to tease her hole.

Her hand clutched at your hair, guiding your head as you began to bob up and down on her cock. Her breathing became shallower as you quickly found your rhythm, delighting in the view of half of her dick disappearing into your warm mouth and re-emerging glistening with your saliva and her fluids.

“Goddamn it," she muttered under her breath, her insatiable nature getting the better of her, compelling her to lift her hips upward. It was the way your throat contracted into a gag that made her involuntarily ejaculate her seed, the hot liquid filling your mouth.

“Fuuuck!” She cum in your mouth in one, two, three spurts. It was obvious by how her face contracted in pleasure that she had not anticipated that her cock had taken on a mind of its own, stripping her of any authority over it.

You endeavored to swallow as much as your astonishment and inexperience allowed, yet a gentle cough escaped you, causing a few drops to delicately trickle down your chin.

"Well done, malyshka," were the first words that escaped her lips once her breathing steadied.

You appeared utterly perfect, as you looked up at her with those doe eyes, with the sheen of her release enhancing the fullness and glossiness of your lips. She vowed never to entertain the thought of allowing you out of her sight.

You sealed your fate the moment your paths crossed, but you cemented your doom in that very instant.

[goodnightmemes]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON SEASON TWO SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ Duty is sacrifice. It eclipses all things, even blood. All men of honor must pay its price.

❛ War is coming, to the whole of the realm.❜

❛ I am indebted to you. ❜

❛ I'm afraid. ❜

❛ We should've just killed her when we had the chance. ❜

❛ When the king speaks, Your Grace, all hear it. ❜

❛ I find myself wondering...do we pursue the same end? ❜

❛ You must accept that the path to victory now is one of violence. ❜

❛ Did you think I would wither in your absence? ❜

❛ You only blame me because your true enemies are out of reach. ❜

❛ She holds love for our enemy. That makes her a fool. ❜

❛ I promise you, you will have all the vengeance that you seek, but you must keep a grip on your impulses. ❜

❛ Do anything but what I ask, and I'll bleed the whole lot of ya. ❜

❛ The gods punish us. They punish me. ❜

❛ This is not the time for blind accusations. We'll know who did this soon enough. ❜

❛ I will not be seen as weak. ❜

❛ Sometimes, we have to pretend. ❜

❛ I cannot trust you. I've never trusted you, wholly, much though I wished to, willed myself to. But now I have seen that your heart belongs only to you. ❜

❛ You think me some kind of monster. ❜

❛ You're pathetic. ❜

❛ We can afford no further mistakes. ❜

❛ You are mad. Mad! You cannot think that I did this! ❜

❛ You would send me to my death. ❜

❛ I would remind you only that when princes lose their temper, it is often others who suffer. ❜

❛ I see all your great adventures have done nothing for your looks. ❜

❛ For too long, I made it my aim to be of consequence. But now, I see that was the wish of a child. ❜

❛ I wish to spill blood, not ink! ❜

❛ Instead of judgment, you display impetuousness, and diminish us in the eyes of our enemy! ❜

❛ Fuck dignity! I want revenge. ❜

❛ They wish now not for the good of the realm, but for the petty satisfaction of vengeance. ❜

❛ Soon they will not even remember what it was that began the war in the first place. ❜

❛ There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin. ❜

❛ I'm as fearsome as any of them. ❜

❛ You showed me grace when you could have withheld it. I'm not often surprised. ❜

❛ I cannot promise to make you happy. But I ask you: make this sacrifice willingly, for all of us. ❜

❛ If you've not yet surmised, you are welcome here. ❜

❛ Sin begets sin begets sin. ❜

❛ If dragons begin fighting dragons, we invite our own destruction. ❜

❛ Do not coddle me. Grant me at least that dignity. ❜

❛ Sadness is a condition of motherhood. ❜

❛ You have as much claim to grief as anyone. ❜

❛ Tales take on a life of their own, like weeds. Unless they are tended. ❜

❛ Always coming and going, aren't you? And I have to clean up afterwards. ❜

❛ You will die in this place. ❜

❛ I have been, at times, unkind, but never untrue. ❜

❛ You must go before you are discovered. ❜

❛ Your mother must've been very beautiful. ❜

❛ You should've burned them when you had the chance. ❜

❛ Is there no honor left in this world? ❜

❛ This is a better death than a traitor deserves. You should thank me for it. ❜

❛ I will not be made to look a fool in front of my allies and enemies. ❜

❛ I believe it is a sin to deny your appetites. They are what make us fully alive as mortal men. ❜

❛ If I may be so bold, you have not seemed yourself of late. ❜

❛ I've barely had the hours to grieve one tragedy before suffering the next. ❜

❛ I've come to know the face of tortured rest well enough. ❜

❛ Do you think simply wearing the crown imbues you with wisdom? ❜

❛ You have no idea the sacrifices that were made to put you on that throne. ❜

❛ What would you have me do? ❜

❛ Do simply what is needed of you: nothing. ❜

❛ Where have you been, these last days? You vanished without so much as a word.❜

❛ There are those who have mistaken my caution for weakness. Let that be their undoing. ❜

❛ If you die, all is lost. ❜

❛ The horrors I have just loosed cannot be for a crown alone. ❜

❛ Do you take issue with me? ❜

❛ I can sit still no longer. I must act. ❜

❛ I did not think they would be so eager to die. ❜

❛ I need them alive. I came here to raise swords, not corpses. ❜

❛ Will you goad me? When your bread and shelter now depend on my pleasure? ❜

❛ I mislike feeling powerless. ❜

❛ I do not know my part. The path I walk has never been trod. ❜

❛ What you cannot do, let others do for you. ❜

❛ There is more than one way to fight a war. ❜

❛ I do not wish to stand alone. ❜

❛ Has your loyalty faded? Or does it flourish only at night and flee the sunrise like a moth? ❜

❛ What we must do now is... terrible. ❜

❛ This is not war. These are crimes against the innocent, that any upright man would repudiate. ❜

❛ And once again, in the name of power, it's the weak and the women who must endure. ❜

❛ Was it worth the price? ❜

❛ I caution you, boldness is one thing, but overconfidence… ❜

❛ You have the impetuousness of youth, and its arrogance, neither of which is to be desired in a king. ❜

❛ Have the indignities of your childhood not yet sufficiently been avenged? ❜

❛ To claim a dragon, you must also be prepared to die. ❜

❛ You can't possibly still be angry about this. ❜

❛ You weren't going to bid me farewell? ❜

❛ It is your way, is it not? When something does not please you, you run. ❜

❛ There are older things in this world than you or I, or living memory. ❜

❛ You are not the player, but a piece on the board. As am I, for that matter. ❜

❛ It is my fault, I think, that you have forgotten to fear me. ❜

❛ It was worth the risk, no matter the outcome. ❜

❛ The enemy without may be fought with swords. The enemy within is more insidious. ❜

❛ Do you take me for a fool? ❜

❛ Oh, you make an art of provoking me. ❜

❛ Stop wasting your life waiting for something that'll never come. ❜

❛ I'm sure you did your best. ❜

❛ They will underestimate you, and this will be your advantage. ❜

❛ If the gods call me to greater things, who am I to refuse them? ❜

❛ Nothing is clean here. ❜

❛ The order of things has changed. Why not embrace it? ❜

❛ It does seem to me that you've made rather a mess here. ❜

❛ I don't need their love. I need their swords. ❜

❛ Mind your tongue. ❜

❛ I mislike all of this. ❜

❛ It seems you need us more than we need you. ❜

❛ So, what was the fucking point in all this then? ❜

❛ It's best to live, I think. However you do it. ❜

❛ You are not alone. ❜

❛ Will you prepare to face such an enemy? Or will you stay here and make yourself easy? ❜

❛ If you hinder our efforts through sloth or unreadiness, I will see you hanged, and your body fed to the dogs in the street. ❜

❛ You've arrived just in time to see my new army. What do you think of it? ❜

❛ This place will have you barking at the moon. ❜

❛ We must all make our sacrifices. ❜

❛ 'Tis no longer our rule that is threatened, our very lives. ❜

❛ Perhaps all men are corrupt and true honor is a mist that melts in the morning. ❜

❛ The dragons dance, and men are like dust under their feet. ❜

❛ We march now toward our annihilation. ❜

❛ There will be time enough to see which one of us is a coward. ❜

❛ There are omens here for those who seek them. ❜

❛ It's all a story and you are but one part in it. You know your part. ❜

❛ I am meant to serve you, and all of these with me, until death or the end of our story. ❜

❛ Be strong. You know you are just. ❜

❛ History will paint you a villain. ❜

❛ I am at last myself, with no ambition greater than to walk where I please and to breathe the open air. To die unremarked and unnoticed and be free. ❜

❛ You speak as if from a distant dream. ❜

❛ Come with me. ❜

❛ My part is here, whether I will or no. It was decided for me long ago. ❜

[grindel-elf]

The purpose of this wasn't to minimize my own pain. I'm very aware of my pain and its validity. Losing both my parents, less than 4 years apart, before I'm even thirty years old, has undoubtedly shattered my world.

That being said, I wanted to share how the privilege I’ve had during my grieving has helped me heal. Privilege like loved ones holding me close, friends sharing stories, comforting meals, peaceful and meaningful ceremonies and eulogies. My grief and healing is a privilege that everyone should have. The fact that Palestinians are robbed of this and so much more, is unforgivable.

We cannot allow this disparity to continue as we tear down and rebuild our societies. Every human deserves the right to grieve and heal with dignity and compassion. Palestine will be free.

[grimmweepers]

— ☆ 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐇𝐋𝐈𝐀

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: whenever summer comes around, especially when dahlias bloom, everything begins to remind you of your late lover

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: alhaitham x gn!reader. sfw. angst. modern!au (could be read as canon tbh), character death mention (alhaitham), hurt/slight comfort, very bittersweet, previously established relationship, unresolved grief, reminiscing, heavy summer and flower themes 0.8k wc. masterlist | byf/dni

a/n: this is my submission for the @pixelcafe-network's Challenge Friday that we do every few weeks. this time the prompt was "goodbye, my summer love". as I deal with some personal grief rn, writing this was a nice way to cope, and doing a very angsty take was kind of fun. the title of this drabble was named after the perfume 'Midnight Dahlia' by Korres but the plot is my own

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Summer days were always long and languid.

Once, they felt like a letter from a lover, but now they remain a capsule of something lost. Alhaitham always said that when being bathed by the sun, time truly slowed down; if you listened carefully, you could hear the world hum under its breath. 

Alhaitham said a lot of things, which was ironic because back then, you and everyone who knew him, had always teased him for being the quieter type. 

But the truth was you never fully understood ‘quiet’ until he was gone.

It was during the height of summer when he’d bring you dahlias. With his endless knowledge of everything that lived and breathed, you quickly learned the meanings — purple for dignity, yellow for joy, white for purity. His mixed bundles were his way of telling you that, to him, you were all of the above.

Dignified. Joyful. Filled with the purest form of love. 

They weren’t always your favourite but over time, you had grown to love them because they reminded you of him. Since the day he left you, it took you longer than you wanted to admit to stop weeping every time you saw one.

Still, you made the effort to bring some home whenever they were in season. It was akin to pretending that he was not truly gone but just somewhere else for a while.

As the last day of summer transitioned, you sat on the porch, watching the sky deepen into the hours before dawn. The dahlias in the vase beside you were wilting, petals curling as if bracing for the inevitable chill of autumn. Your chest tightened, knowing what that meant.

People used hourglasses to measure time. You had flowers.

You brushed the fragile petals with your fingertips, and for a fleeting moment, you were taken to a time when your world was whole.

It was a late evening when you and Alhaitham sat in silence, surrounded by the last blooms of the season. He had been reading, and you simply watched him, content with the quietness. Amused, he rose from his spot to pluck a single dahlia from the garden and tucked it behind your ear. You were baffled, he noticed in your face, but you relaxed when you were met with his eyes. They were honest and made your skin grow hot. They were worth a room full of gold.

It had been years since Alhaitham passed. The grief dulled but it never left, lingering like a curse that could not be broken. You tried to move forward but summer always brought him back.

Something as simple as a stroll on the beach was enough to tug at your heart because the sand bore one less set of footprints, the warmth of the sun graced one less body, and sometimes when the sea breeze came, you felt the echo of his presence behind you as if you were still walking, hand in hand. 

But it was the dahlias that hurt the most. They mostly bloomed in the heat and every summer, they seemed to grow just for you, as if Alhaitham was sending them as a reminder. 

Closing your eyes, memories came flooding in like waves, threatening to pull you under into the past. You remembered how his hand brushed against you the day he made you his and your fingers involuntarily twitched at the thought. In his bedroom, the air was thick with the scent of earth and flowers, and sunlight spilled lazy shadows onto the wooden floors through his sheer curtains. Your lips quivered because you never forgot how it made you feel when he leaned in and kissed you. You could still taste the sea salt on your lips.

Time stretched endlessly that day but time caught up with everyone, eventually.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your jaw was trembling.

Summer always ruined you.

Grief, no matter how much time passed, always weaved its way back in. Saying goodbye to him never felt final. He lingered in the corners of your heart, in warm afternoons, in the bloom of the dahlias.

When a cool breeze brought you back to the present, you felt the world shake. You opened your eyes just in time to see one of the petals lift from its stem and float away. It danced through the air, weightless and alone, waiting to disappear into the night. You watched it until it was out of sight, lost to the starless sky.

“Goodbye, Alhaitham,” you whispered. You even thought you smiled a little, too. 

For the first week of autumn, you returned to the porch, waiting for a hint of rain and watching for any sign of encroaching storm clouds. You breathed in and out. It was time for the axe to fall.

Goodbye, Alhaitham.

The dahlias will come again next summer, and with them, so would your memories of him. 

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform.

networks: @houseofsolisoccasum @nereidsrealm

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[gunnrblze]

Hesh and Elias-a loving father-son duo-except what if Hesh was angry at his father for so so so many things instead.

Perhaps it’s a little selfish, he thinks, or perhaps it’s long overdue for Hesh to bring up his father’s parenting methods.

To say he cares about and loves Logan is an understatement, that’s not to be questioned, but why he was gifted the daunting task of looking after his little brother for the majority of his life, when he himself was trying to grow up makes him angry.

He has so much anger and he struggles to pinpoint its origin. Maybe he was born with his fists shaking and nostrils flared.

He snaps at Elias one day on base after the man gets stern with him. Maybe after Logan gets hurt on a mission or somethings fucked over their plans to find Rorke. Hesh seethes because he tried. He tried and he continues to try and help Logan whenever possible. They’re a pair, a duo, brothers.

But Hesh isn’t a god, as much as he sometimes wishes he could be. He can only do so much, he can only reach so far. Why does it never feel good enough? Why does he feel a gnawing sense of guilt when Logan gets hurt, as if the kid didn’t sign up for the job right alongside him? He might as well have hurt his brother himself with the way he feels to blame.

He accuses Elias, of favoritism. Of something just short of neglecting Hesh emotionally growing up. He remembers it all too well.

Logan cried, he was soothed. Logan got in trouble, he was given a talking to and nothing more. Logan was acting out after mom died and Elias had so much grace for him, but Hesh wasn’t allowed to be a brat when life got hard.

He had to be a good older brother, a good son who kept himself and his little duckling in line because Elias was gone far too much to do it himself.

Elias is a little startled. Not by his son’s irritation, the pain he could see in his eyes, no. He’d unfortunately had to see it before, had to try and sleep at night knowing he couldn’t take it all away from him. Did he make the right decision persuading his boys to join the army in the first place? The thought made him sick sometimes.

No, he’s startled by the accusations. That he favored Logan, that he ignored Hesh’s feelings after he got to a certain age. He couldn’t deny that he wasn’t present at home sometimes, but he wanted to find an excuse. Wanted to crawl out of the hole he’d dug his family into, whether he had much choice or not.

Like birds of a feather, Elias was getting irritated at his son now. Their mirroring emotions made Hesh do a double take, as if he saw his very future in front of him now. Clear as day.

Elias was defensive, like most in his position usually were. He couldn’t understand where it was coming from. Why Hesh seemed to be so upset all a sudden. As if overnight his eldest son decided to get mad. As if the last couple decades didn’t have any impact.

Hesh could feel the heat scorch his cheeks, teeth grinding and threatening to be crushed under the force of his clenched jaw. He’d always had to hold it together. He was tired of holding himself together. Tired of feeling like an observer in his own family rather than an active participant.

Exhausted, after having been molded into a soldier by the Lieutenant in front of him, long before he ever enlisted.

Elias wasn’t sure he’d ever seen David behave like this. Yelling until his voice went hoarse, spitting accusations and what he couldn’t believe were insults in his face. His son, unraveling before him.

He let it happen.

Elias Walker wasn’t a passive man but he stood there and let his son scream at him. Not like the petulant child he used to be, no. Like the man he is.

The room was silent after Hesh finished, save for his heavy breathing and whatever sound he was making whilst trying to hold back a sniffle. He wouldn’t dare let the tears in his eyes fall, afraid his dignity would dissolve with it.

Hesh’s head felt foggy. Clouded by rage, upset, and something that felt similar to grief. That feeling he could never identify, searing a hole through his heart and not bothering to patch itself back up.

He looked his father in the eyes. Really looked at the man in front of him. Confused by his silence. For once, the image was unrecognizable. It felt foreign, as if he were shielded behind a pane of glass.

Time felt frozen, until Logan swung the door open. He too, stilled. As if no one knew what to do, Logan could tell by the red of his brother’s cheek and the set of his father’s jaw, that there probably wasn’t anything to do.

Hesh stared down his little brother though, eyes practically begging him to say something in his defense. To open his fucking mouth for once and speak.

His father merely dismissing them both made his gut sink. Knowing all too well, that this hadn’t solved it. If anything, it’d only drive the little wedge further between them.

David swore he could feel it splintering his skin as he walked away, not bothering to even look at his younger brother at the moment.

Too afraid he’d start resenting him, too.

[aayakashii]

granite and soft sand

Warning: mentions of violence and gore; angst.

Alan's fists were merciless.

He punched once, twice, thrice; a meteor shower falling down onto a wasteland.

Splatters of blood gushed out of the anomaly's body as he beat it down into a pulp – until there was nothing left; until the flame of its wrong, unholy life had been snuffed out by his hands and the ground it once stood upon was painted red.

Alan's ears rang loudly, silencing the inhuman screeches of agony from the thing that laid battered under his arms. It was long gone. The only sounds left were the splatter of its blood and guts onto the ground.

Alan's ears rang loudly, silencing your voice as you tried to save him from drowning in an ocean of grief of his own creation. You tried to yell louder than his grunts as he blindly hit the ground, voice hoarse and tired and persistent. You'd bring him back.

“I'm alive, I'm alive” you repeated, loudly, as he painted himself in red.

A small, lonely lighthouse in the midst of a raging sea. His boat crashed against the unforgiving waves, lost. There was no helm to steer him to safety in your arms. Still, you shined a light on his path.

Through his blurred vision and foggy mind, Alan finally heard your voice cutting through the dense mist of his violent trance.

He felt the warmth of your hand gently touching his back, shaking him lightly to snap him out of his daze.

He found your tired eyes, searching for a sign of conscience underneath the veil of grief and hatred that had clouded his vision.

You were alive? You were alive.

Alan reached out his arms towards you.

He had to feel you were real – that his mind did not decide to torture him even more by plaguing him with visions of a lost love.

In his memory, your cry for help – your cry for him, as the anomaly dragged you away where he would not be able to reach – echoed endlessly. It sounded like the swan song for his happiness.

All that he recalled after that was red.

Alan reached out his arms towards you. And then he stopped.

Bits of guts stuck to his skin and blood drenched his arms and his clothes. The iron smell was abrasive inside his nose. Beside him, an unrecognizable pulp laid still – cause of death: the anger of a hateful man.

It was all so red, so red, so red.

You reached out for him with your hands and intertwined his fingers with yours. He tried pulling away immediately.

The spoils of his rage had no glory and no dignity; he couldn't allow you to be dirtied by his violence.

And you couldn't let yourself be pushed away by hands that seeked nothing else but to protect you.

His fists were of iron, yet his skin was a petal under your touch, and you carved your nails into him, steeling your hold.

You'd cake them in the blood he spilt, if only not to leave him alone in his despair.

You finally pulled him into your arms, through his protests and flails, pressing his head flush against your chest.

His breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes, a foreign pressure building up behind them – he didn't even remember what it felt like to cry.

“I'm alive, I'm alive”, each heartbeat drummed rhythmically in his ears, reminding him that you were there.

“I'm alive, I'm alive”, your lungs filled with the putrid air that surrounded the both of you, reminding him that you were there.

Your hands gently brushed his hair, matted with sweat, as you held him.

Alan was kneeling on the tainted ground, arms limp beside his body – he didn't deserve to hold you as well – and he stared at the bloodstains he left on the fabric of your clothes.

“I'm a monster.” he murmured, his thunderous voice just a fearful whisper against your heart. “I'm sorry.”

You kissed the top of his head and held him tighter.

“You saved me.” you replied, pulling his arms and placing them around your waist, where they belonged. “You're my hero.”

Fallible, angry, made of granite and soft sand at the same time.

Like every hero.

Like every human.

Alan choked out a small sob.

And you held him, amidst the blood and guts, as he allowed himself to cling tightly to you.

Okay I tried to do something ✨️poetic✨️ so I apologize if it sounds confusing rip

[still-fatemeh]

...Passion Is the Gale.

Still baring the pain...

16! stormbringer chuuya x reader

(I decided to keep takako as reader's name because I've already posted the first one with that name but it doesn't necessarily nod back to the real takako ueno)

(The fanarts credit goes to the creator)

Her gaze was fixed on her own reflection in the bathroom mirror, the toothbrush hanging idly on her bottom lip, eyes searching for something but there wasn't anything in that reflection, there was just a corpse staring back at her. Her hands clutched the hem of her shirt in a desperate attempt at calming down her nerves and stop the thudding of her heart in her ears.

All five of The Young Blood at once and without any hardship, probably he didn't even struggle...

THAT was something else entirely, in it's own league. He was no normal human, that was for sure but only a monster can take out all five of them at the same time. Her head hurt, she felt sick to her stomach.

Chuuya didn’t wanna talk to her. He didn't even look at her texts.

That wasn't the problem

She understood. The texts were more out of formality than anything else. He probably didn't even spare his phone a glance, his head a mess. Chuuya wasn't the best at dealing with his emotions, he didn't know how to grieve for them.

Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it's overwhelming. All you can do is learn to swim and he's an avid swimmer. Well, not by his own record but thanks to albatross who felt the need to drag the poor boy out in the middle of the night to god knows where in the port.

Takako spat out the toothpaste in her mouth, looking at the blood mixed with it as it went down the drain. She couldn't remember the last time her gums bled while brushing her teeth, maybe when she was eight and brushed her teeth with one of those singing toothbrushes. She felt like she was looking at the rotting corpse of that little girl and those memories were those of another person. A girl who knowingly threw herself in the pit of demons instead of dying with dignity. Dignity is as essential to human life as water, food, and oxygen. The stubborn retention of it, even in the face of extreme physical hardship, can hold a person's soul in their body long past the point at which the body should have surrendered it. She had to survive, she didn't even know why but she had to. She could almost hear the sound of his jaw breaking, as the man pressed his shoe into her brother's skull. She didn't scream, just trembled as she watched the man in black shoot him three times. BANG BANG BANG. That's how her brother became a corpse, a ghost of the past.

Fear is a part of life. It's a warning mechanism. That's all. It tells you when there's danger around. Its job is to help you survive. Not cripple you into being unable to do it. She wasn't afraid of death, she never was. She'd grown up accustomed to it. Felt its ominous shadow looming over her at all times.

Kouyou's girls called them port mafia's singles. Heh, oh God. Then it became port mafia's singles AND chuuya. She remembered albatross' lively cackling and chuuya's muttered curses as they walked together. Chuuya hated too much noise and albatross loved parties. A match made in hell. The blond was the most cheerful guy she knew in this shithole, a sweetheart and she could almost imagine chuuya's betrayed look if she ever said that to his face.

Before her mouth could curve up into an absent smile, the damn toothbrush hit the bathroom tiles with a loud thud.

She clicked her tongue, bending down to pick it up. She had to double check 'cause the thing was so goddamn bloody, there was no way in hell that all that blood came of her mouth.

She dropped it in the sink with an annoyed huff, she could just throw it out later.

Takako rinsed her mouth, watching as blood dripped into the sink. What the hell...

She stomped out of the bathroom, her room drenched in darkness. The only source of illumination was her bedside lamp that didn't even have enough light to attract flies.

She wanted to turn on the TV, pick her phone, pick up a Goddamn book to get her mind off of the fact that she had deliberately left chuuya alone. She knew he didn't want her beside him now, that would be so bitchy of her to not give him the needed privacy.

She wanted to rip off that poster of lippman in her room, the one from his most famous romance movie. The man was gorgeous. Lippmann was an extremely powerful skill user with an ability that reacted to and countered an attacker's thirst for blood. Therefore, it would be impossible to kill him without leaving behind any evidence. If his killer's name got out, every major news organization the world over would be chomping at the bit to expose the person's history, motive, and who was backing them. Whatever organization ordered the hit would lose any privacy it once had, and that would spell its end. Murdering Lippmann was a death trap- a bomb that would go off the moment he died hence why nobody had the guts to lay a hand on him.

But there he was. Another corpse ready to to be swallowed by the dark pit of this city's underground.

And piano man? The executive-to-be?

Even Ice man the assasin?

Even Doc?

The five of them together were a force to reckoned with but...

All of their skills apparently paled in comparison to Europe's king of assassins.

Why the hell would the killer of two of the English queen's personal guards be in yokohama in pursuit of chuuya?

Just what was this boy?

She had heard of the explosion, the reports say that it was hell on earth. The casualties were minimum, not that many deaths. But one side of a nearby eight story building had just vanished, completely and utterly gone. Melted streetlights, parked cars, asphalt...

Black flames, the same ones who burnt a hole so big in this city that it can never recover. Suribachi city, where she was raised. The same flames that were associated with the appearance of the previous boss last year, that led to the death of her superior, Randō. He was a sub-executive at that time and apparently a traitor, which was impossible. The man who was always cold, a traitor?

He was killed by that wraith, dazai and chuuya. Apparently, he was the one who brought back the previous boss, but the details on this case were a lot less clear.

And now...

Those black flames were back, and in the middle of it, was chuuya.

Oh God, just who was this boy?

He never told her anything, waiting so she could figure it out herself or maybe just keeping her in the dark. It wasn't how she liked it at all, it was a burden that both of them were supposed to bare, not just his alone. That was the whole point of a relationship, to share the burdens on their shoulders so the weight would lessen. She knew one day he'd tell her everything, just like she told him about her unsavoury past, but apparently not that soon.

She sighed, reaching for the drawer on the nightstand next to her bed to take out a pack of cigarettes.

But that was when she heard it. Someone was knocking on the door to her apartment, the sound was subtle. It couldn't have been chuuya since he probably wouldn't want to see her now. He'd never knock like that. He always knocked on her flat's door expectantly, as If he would take it off hinges if she didn't open it at the moment's notice. It couldn't have been gin-chan or amane or any other one of her friends, they would have definitely called before appearing on her front door in the middle of the night.

The knocking was calculated and very polite. She had no idea how knocking could sound polite, but it did.

"Who is it?"

She shouted harshly but was met with no answer.

Whoever that was knocking at her door was very persistent.

An enemy? No, why would they come for her of all people in this high-end apartment complex.

She got off her bed out of curiosity, putting a dress shirt over her shoulders and reaching for her sliver pistol to shove it in the wristband of her sleep shorts. She cursed anyone who made these doors and was dumb enough not to put peepholes.

She walked to the door silently, gently opening it and peeking to see who was it that was knocking.

And the moment her eyes fell upon him, she lost it.

A blanche, pallid expression came over her face, losing the little hint colour that it already had. Her palms felt clammy as she tried to slam the door shut but he put his shoe in front of it, preventing the door from closing, her heart pounded in her ears as the bile rose in her throat.

"Hello, you must be takako ueno, right?" He said sweetly.

The king of assassins was tall. A blonde european man with a pork pie hat similar to that of she'd seen with chuuya. He wore a suit the colour of midnight sea.

Her mouth was dry, her throat felt swollen. This was the guy who took out all five of the flags at once.

Damn it, say something! At least deny it! Yell at him that you don't know who the fuck takako is!!!

She could only look up at him in abject horror as the man smiled. A mischievous smirk that made her stomach churn with fear, judging from his playful way of analysing her face, he appeared to be enjoying what he saw.

"Oh, cat's got your tongue, sweetheart?"

He said mischievously, shoving a bouquet of flowers in her face.

What the hell?

She absent-mindedly caught the flowers, whispering: "You're Paul Verlaine, right?"

He nodded his head, amused.

"Certainly, would you happen to be accepting any guests?"

She couldn't process what was going on but played along. For this man, killing her was a piece of cake, probably. Her thoughts were going a million miles a minute, weighing each and every possible option and possibility. There were not many delightful ones though. He was here to kill her, there could be no other business.

But fucking WHY?

"Yeah... I'm takako. Why are you here?" She mumbled like a deer in headlights, her fingers loosely holding onto the flowers as she swallowed thickly.

"I'm just here for a little talk, takako."

He said elegantly, waiting for the light upstairs to finally turn on but the problem was the lights in her mind were already going out, flickering on and off hundreds of times a second.

She finally snapped out of that fear-induced trance as she asked him with narrowed eyes: "What exactly do you wanna talk to me about?"

Takako Ueno, the girl in question was short in stature and was eyeing him with a venomous gaze. The madmoiselle had slick black that each lock curled near the ends. Big bluish green eyes that were like turquoise stones, glassy and doey. He could easily see the appeal that made chuuya choose her, for a girl her age, she was really beautiful.

"Oh, I think we can talk inside. It won't be so polite of you to keep your guest waiting outside." Verlaine said smoothly and the girl's jaw tightened, gritting her teeth in frustration.

"Gatecrashers don't get to come inside. Just what the hell could you want from me? Why are you after chuuya?"

She observed the flowers in her hands, presumably checking for poison and then cast him another dirty look.

"Oh little lady, let's cut the chase. I'm just here to meet the girl that has stolen my little brother's heart."

"Little... brother?" She questioned with a grimace.

"Unfortunately for you, creep; chuuya doesn't have a brother or a family of his own, if he did, he would have told me."

"It seems like he's lied to you."

"Or you're simply bullshitting." She spat out with certainty and that made verlaine's lips curve up into a faint smirk.

"What makes you so sure of his honesty?"

"It's obvious, really. I would believe his words over yours any time of day."

verlaine's smirk broadened.

"Interesting..." He mused.

Takako chose her next words carefully.

"Why did you kill the Young Blood? Are you here to... kill me as well?"

Takako swallowed her fear along with her disdain so she could look him in the eyes for a moment.

Empty brown eyes, ones that despite the spark of mischief in them, were clouded over with unimaginable grief. The eyes that had absolutely no humanity in them, she was definitely looking a monster in the eye.

"Yes indeed. You're quite sharp, aren't you?"

That was it, her death sentence. As much as he tried to sugar-coat it with his tone, she could feel her body going numb and shivers running down her spine.

She moved aside to let him in, still holding the bouquet of red roses with an uneasy grip, her hands trembling.

She felt like a lamb in the slaughterhouse while standing in the hallway of her own apartment. A lamb with a knife pressed against its throat. She knew the more she struggled, the more painful her death was going to be.

And The King of Assassins happily invited himself inside, striding forward as he observed her place with curiosity.

Fumi hurriedly slammed himself into the cage's walls, alarmed. Verlaine observed the canary with his head tilted to the side. A bird? Interesting...

His eyes trailed to the polaroids and photos on a shelf, on display. There were photos of the girl among a group of girls, presumably her friends. There were even a few ones with the bird. And photos of her and chuuya. A lot of them.

A photo tucked in the back of her and an older man standing together, they shared similar features and he had her hands on her shoulders, she was smiling ear to ear.

She looked so happy in all of the pictures, a concept foreign to the likes of him.

But... Chuuya was also smiling in a lot of them. They were newer, like the photos with her friends.

In one of the them, he was smiling widely while a holding a champagne glass, clearly intoxicated to an extent. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was giving the camera a precious smile. His attire had gotten messy, clearly due to his inebriated state and he simply seemed... happy

In another one, he was, for unknown reasons, trying to tie Dazai to a chandelier by his ankles with a rope and dazai was hanging upside-down without protest.

In another one, he was pressing a chaste kiss to takako's cheek while holding her waist. Another one of him pushing her in a lake. Them eating together at a restaurant...

There were a lot of them. A lot of memories. They happened to chuuya, and he seemed happy that they did. He seemed like he belonged with them. But, his happiness wasn't going to last long.

Verlaine knew that chuuya must have felt othered and alienated by these people. Chuuya was different from them, that was how he was supposed to feel. He understood more than anyone realized how chuuya must have felt when someone told him "They loved him". And he understood how he trusted her who gave affection. Really, he did. But his trust in the girl will only cause him to suffer because she will eventually betray him.

But verlaine failed to justify the smiles.

"Can I have this one?"

He pointed to the photo of chuuya's smile and she immediately shook her head in a manner that indicated a negative answer.

Why the hell did he want chuuya's photo?

Takako inhaled sharply, she even considered running out the door or shooting him with the pistol that she had with herself. None of these options were going to work. He was the same person who had managed to kill a decoy of the Queen of England... They would do nothing other than shortening her life even more.

Her wide eyes traced his steps as he sat down on one of her chairs around the tiny dining table, crossing his legs elegantly as he gestured for her to also sit down.

A sarcastic snort escaped her throat.

"Do you want tea or somethin' too, I guess?" She said mockingly, trying to conceal the nausea that was the result of her stress, she gulped again to get rid of the need to puke out her guts right now.

"That'd be lovely, takako. Finally someone who knows how to treat a guest around here..."

He sighed softly. And after four more minutes of her just standing there in the middle of the hall, her expression caught between terrified and confused, his smile faded.

"Ahhhh, I take back what I said."

"Would you like some chinsoku, it tastes wonderful with tea!" Her mouth opened unconsciously. She sounded hysteric more than anything, the corner of her lips twitching uncomfortably.

Verlaine merely raised a brow.

"I'm not here to waste time."

He said sharply.

"I came here to see you, but it was so easy and you're incredibly defenceless, so I want to talk to you before I finish my business."

Takako let out another sigh at his not-so-subtle jab. She didn't want him to lose his civil demeanor, that'd just make things more difficult and make her death proceed faster and more painfully. It was true, she was practically at his mercy. Dragging it out was her best chance of survival. Against an ability user that powerful, an invasion based attack was her only chance of buying some time. And coming up with a good surprise attack was something that required patience.

She suddenly slammed the tray of chinsuko on the kitchen counter with an unnatural smile and transferred them to a plastic plate (Not planning on giving him more weaponry choices) and placed them in front of him. Walking back to the kitchen to get some herbal tea.

Verlaine's expression was unimpressed, partially indifferent as he put some of the sweets to his mouth.

Takako put the plastic cups in front of him with that same helpless smile as she sat down. It was uncanny and uncomfortable as it didn't quite reach her eyes.

Verlaine disliked herbal tea, black tea or coffee were better options.

Another sharp breath and the girl became more relaxed, as if she felt she had nothing to lose anymore.

"I did some research on you, takako..."

"As a matter of courtesy as an assassin?"

She asked with a pointed smile, absent-mindedly guessing his thoughts.

He merely smirked.

"Oh, you get it, huh?"

"Yeah, I do." She said inattentively.

"If you're killing someone, you might as well know who you're killing, right?" She said, her eyes downcast. Now she knew how the victims of a assassination must have felt before she finished her mission.

Verlaine looked bored out of his mind, she internally cursed herself for choosing the wrong subject. What do inhumane assassins even wanna talk about? Maybe it was just the fact that she didn't amuse him.

"So you and chuuya... get along, am I correct?" His words made her snap out of it, shattering her train of thoughts.

So that was what he wanted to talk about... of course...

She didn't know how to respond to that, so she just nodded her head as a way to confirm it for him.

"We do, most of the time." She whispered softly.

"So how long have you known him?"

He asked, eyes fixated on the table.

"For around a year." Another absent mutter from her.

"Interesting... Mind telling me more about him?" He said firmly, obviously expecting something of an answer but takako only raised a brow at his question.

"Why should I tell you anything about him?" She sounded offended and disgusted at the same time.

"I don't think you're in a position to refuse answering my questions, little lady. I'm just curious about my little brother. You probably know him best, what's he like as a person?" He cooed with a faint smile and a hint of interest as he picked another one of the japanese sweets.

"Chuuya's... someone who doesn't leave you be when you're struggling." She realised how hypocritical it was for her to expect him to be there for her when she left him on his own to process his grief.

"He..."

What this guy even wanted to know?

"He was there for me when I needed him. He doesn't know how to talk someone through something which is understandable..." She said that with a little smile.

"But he listens to the best of his ability."

There wasn't much of an expression on verlaine's face as it was utterly and unimaginably empty.

Takako's smile morphed into a faint smirk.

"What else do you wanna know? I can tell you EVERYTHING." She was grinning as if she's just discovered a new game she could play.

"Let's see... His favourite colour is red, though he sometimes says it's black. Chuuya's favourite food is saba sashimi, likes it fresh and with low sodium soy sauce, he likes steak too. He eats any meal well, isn't picky at all if it's paired with a good wine. He's trying to start collecting wine, learn wine tasting and how different environments results in different tastes... He said one day he'll get his hands on a 1964 Romanée-conti which is very expensive..."

[rita-repulsa-ke]

The Present

One more Agatha/Rio fanfic, post-finale, angst and tragic romance.

Rio goes to visit Agatha, and brings her a present.

Rio watches Agatha sleep, all of her dignity lost, mouth open, limbs askew. She takes a few steps forward and waits. The year is 1803 and by now, she knows the steps to this dance. Somewhere in this peaceful room, there is a trap.

Agatha Harkness cannot kill Death. But she can wound her, bind her temporarily, inconvenience and humiliate her. She can certainly hurt her feelings and she delights in doing so.

And Rio, when hurt, retaliates. She uses magic, knives, but most of all taunting, callous words. She derives a sense of twisted satisfaction from watching her beloved crumple and beg for something they both know she cannot give.

Sometimes, later, she regrets. Today, she carries a present, folded in her green and black cloak, either a peace offering or a dagger to the heart.

She takes another step, sits on the bed, then stretches to lie next to Agatha, inches away from a few locks of dark hair. She wants to caress them, put them in her mouth, as she once would have done.

Before she can do either, the trap springs. Runes on each wall glow purple, and fine wires of magic snap around her, haul her up by the neck, wrists and ankles, suspended in midair.

“You trapped the bed?” she asks, incredulous, as Agatha jerks awake, sits up rubbing her eyes, wearing only a nightshirt, her hair a tangled mess.

She still takes Rio’s breath away.

“You are so utterly predictable,” Agatha says, smug even though her voice is laced with sleep. She motions to the walls, to the carved runes. “The six bindings runes are done in the Solomonic tradition, but I added an extra layer with the—"

She stops abruptly. Explaining the cleverness of her magic to Rio is an old habit, from better times. “The point being, it should hold for a couple of years, if I’ve done it right, and the doors and windows to this room are bespelled so that once I leave, everyone will forget its here.”

“Clever,” Rio praises and Agatha’s jaw tightens, though the praise is nothing but truthful. She has always been impressed by the sheer skill of Agatha's craft. “But I’ve brought you a gift.”

“Keep it,” Agatha says, packing her things from where they are scattered about the room, fishing out clothes from where they've somehow ended up under the bed. “I think we’re past the courting stage.”

“You’re going to want it. Trust me.” She sees the other woman pause. She can still provoke Agatha’s curiosity, always her strongest emotion.

But Agatha won't ruin her own work. “It can wait a couple of yea—“

Rio tires of this game. She reaches for power, not magic, but the simple truth of what she is. Wisps of black and green smoke escape her, pour from her mouth to settle on Agatha’s runes.

“You can't do that!" Agatha protests, watching with clenched teeth as the magic dies and Rio glides elegantly to the floor.

“You can’t bind Death, Ags.”

Agatha’s face contorts with fury, the realization of how many times Rio has chosen to let her think she had won, to indulge her pride, when she could have freed herself so easily. “I hate you,” she snarls.

Rio pulls out the portrait and offers it to her.

It’s a good one, a little boy with crooked teeth and long hair, as perfect a rendering as she could manage.

Agatha takes it and sinks to sit on the bed, trembling, stares at it, traces the image with a finger and whispers his name.

Rio shrugs, doesn't quite look at the other woman, allowing her a private moment of grief. “So you don’t forget what he looked like.”

After some immeasurable length of time, the longest either of them have gone without violence toward each other in decades, Agatha puts the painting carefully, almost worshipfully, on the table and stands, opens her arms to Rio.

Death steps into the embrace at once, clings tight and is aware that she is shaking as Agatha’s fingers smooth her hair. For one blissful moment, her world is whole.

“Pathetic,” Agatha says and the word is spoken so flatly that it delays the blow, takes Rio a second to even comprehend what was said. “Pitiful, desperate, like a dog with its tail between its legs, rolling over to show your belly for me, as though I will ever, ever care about you ag—"

“Incendem,” Rio says, the word spoken quiet and empty.

Agatha reacts too slowly, lunges as the portrait goes up in flames. She burns her hands, fumbles and drops it, uses a nearby shirt to stamp out the flames.

What is left is a ruined mess of canvas, blackened beyond recognition.

Death laughs and laughs and laughs. “Please,” Agatha whispers, sinking to her knees, clutching the painting as though she could protect it, as though she could protect anything. “Please, please, please.”

Rio crouches next to her, too close, absorbing the heat from her body as a mortal might sit near a fire for comfort. “Pathetic,” she murmurs, almost affectionate. “Pitiful. You can't help yourself, can you? It’s all right, Ags. Cruelty suits you.”

“Give it back,” Agatha whispers, her voice cracking like a skull. “Rio, please, give it back, give it back, give him back to me…”

Rio gathers her beloved in her arms, unprotesting for once, lets her sob like a broken-hearted child and feels a gentle contentment with the situation, murmuring sweet nothings in a handful of dead languages in her ear.

"Rio," Agatha whispers against her neck, and the way her breath brushes over Rio's skin is a reminder of so many better times.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Let me drop my barriers for you. Read my thoughts."

Rio hesitates, it must be a trap, but this time it is her curiosity that gets the better of her. Even when there was genuine affection between them, Agatha always guarded her thoughts so closely. She reaches tentatively for the mind she always wished to understand above all others.

Hatred, raw and pure, impales her, a spear shoved through her guts and out the other side, a sucking, fatal wound. She recoils from the agony, a sob building in her throat.

"No," she gasps. "You love me. You love me, you do, you love me, you're hurt, you're angry, I understand, but you do love me, Agatha!”

Agatha's turn to laugh now, her cackling, witchy laugh that Rio has always loved, a hint of insanity wound through it. "See for yourself. Look as deeply as you want, my heart." She presses her lips to Rio's cheek, untwines herself and comes to her feet to look down at Death, sitting on the floor, staring up at her with blank, empty eyes.

Rio looks. She does not wish to, it is an act of self-harm to stare into the abyss of Agatha's relentless hatred, but she lets it cut her, wound and scar her over and over, relentless in her search for any morsel of affection.

There is nothing. Agatha's hatred is an endless fall, a vast, dark pit of torment.

Rio wrenches her mind free and doubles over, a terrible shriek ripped from her, the sound of her heart being torn from her ribcage, her chest flayed open, entrails flopping out.

"There is only one thing I want from you now," Agatha says. "And it is never, ever to see your face again."

Rio winks out of existence.

Agatha sits and stares at the blackened portrait, then carefully releases the spell on her mind that withholds her true feelings, a complicated rush of true hatred, the aching memory of a world-devouring love, a desperate desire not to be abandoned, and the sudden yearning to be back in Rio's arms.

Feel free to comment/reblog if you like this sort of thing. If you want to read something written pre-finale and therefore less angsty, try the talk. The part where Rio says she’ll never leave hits different now.

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my sweet angel loves, my little gremlins, the little monsters in my ears, here is another chapter because I cannot resist and I also am so excited and eager to keep writing ! So without further blah blah blah from me, here is the next chapter <3 P.S can you tell I have a blood kink?

Chapter 78: The Prospect of Change 

Grief, grief, and more grief. 

It was what you felt. It was what you delivered. It was who you were now to your very core. Its grip dug sharp claws into your flesh, ripping you apart so that it may make a home inside of you. Inside the cavity of your chest, where your heart had once sat, now replaced with the blackened pit of despair which continued to pulse, and open, and consume you with every waking moment.

And in this very moment, with Aemond atop you, his hard length lining itself up with your still bruised and torn core, you felt it. 

Grief.

Grief that you wanted it. Grief that in some ways you didn’t. Grief in knowing that he had taken everything from you. Grief in knowing that he would continue to do so. Aemond took, and took and took. Your dignity. Your sanity. Your girlhood. And he would continue to take, and take, and take. And all that you could do was let him. 

And take in return. 

And so in the darkened chambers, upon the bed with your gown stripped from your body, you let him take, and you took back.

What surprised you most about grief, is the way you sought out comfort. 

Comfort in the form of company from someone who caused you said grief. 

Comfort in the form of your justified rage.

Comfort in the form of wine, ale. Star fruit. 

Sex.

Aemond was careful. Cautious even. As though he feared he might be the last to pull the fraught and fraying strings that were continuing to be tugged apart inside of you. As though he feared that he would burn the strings away with his fire, with no possible chance of tying those threads back together. 

Knotted to hold the lines of your sanity, damaged in a way that it could not come back. 

Damaged. 

And he treated you as damaged.

And it made the grief all the more encompassing. 

Broken, he had called you. 

And as he looked down at you from above with an eye that screamed caution, an eye that waited for confirmation, a face of his own grief as he knew you had endured his own tortures from him brother, it made you feel as broken as he called you. 

Raising your hips upwards, you chased after his length, wishing for it to be over. Wishing for Aegon to not be the last person who had been inside of you. To metaphorically wash your hands of him. To cleanse yourself of him. To rid yourself of his smell, his touch, the feeling of him inside of you. 

For it is better to be with the evil you know, than the one that you didn’t.

Though, you supposed you knew Aegon now.

You wondered if Helaena found comfort in the evil of Aegon, and feared the one in Aemond she did not know. Or perhaps she did know. Or perhaps, she too sought solace in Aemond herself from the abuse of her brother and husband, seeking loving and soft hands, kind words and protection from her younger brother. 

But Helaena was gone, and even when she was here, you could not find it in yourself to ask.

Aemond had been clinical about the way he entered you, watching the way your face screwed up in pain, slowing down and pausing, letting you adjust to him, through the bruising and wounds that had not yet healed.

The pain was familiar. 

The stretch was familiar. 

Aemond’s ache was familiar, and so with your legs wrapped around his back, you impatiently pulled him inside of you. To be over with it. To become accustomed to his pain again.

A low groan melted through him as he moved his whole length inside of you, and you grit your teeth to get through the agony. To move through the motions. To not break again. To not cry. To deal with it. 

It’s Aemond.

It’s him. 

He has done this before. 

It is only him.

The Prince drew himself out of you slowly, to then push back in, looking down between your bodies to watch his shaft sink into your heat repeatedly. Methodically. Softly. Looking down to ensure that he was not breaking his prize further than already done. To ensure that his spoils of war were not too spoiled. To ensure that his niece, his wife, his blood, his love was enduring as she always did. 

His.

It was like a bruise being pushed. A cut being pulled. 

But you wanted it. 

You needed it. 

And despite Aemond beginning to thrust into you at an even pace, and his face flitting from between you and then back up to you won, to watch as you whimpered and grit your teeth, and the betrayal of tears began to pool in your eyes, he still continued, knowing that you would stop him if you wanted. Knowing that you needed it, just as much as him. 

And it showed.

For all his restraint, his reverence, and fleeting kindness, his shoulders were tensed and shook with anger. 

Anger that you had been hurt. 

Anger that you had been touched. 

Anger that he had done nothing to stop it. 

Two pieces on a board moved by those above you.

Two pieces on a board who despite the illusion, had no power. 

Two pieces on a board who had been moved at the whims of their parents, family, and sides of the war.

Two pieces that had been melted down, and reformed. Crooked, and bent, and scarred.

Anger. Rage. Grief.

It seemed that was all the two of you were anymore. 

Anger. Rage. Grief. 

Curled into the bodies of two.

Anger. Rage. Grief. 

Two of the same, with the refusal to see.

Aemond shifted, using one hand to pull your hips upwards, angling his thrusts to rub against the sensitive spongey spot inside of you and you mewled. 

You wanted to feel good. 

You needed to feel good. 

And Aemond could give that to you. 

Aemond held your hips up and continued to thrust, spurred on by your reaction. 

“Fuck.” He moaned, clenching his eye shut as he struggled to keep his thrusts slow, and his dwindling composure there.

“Harder.” You commanded, voice hoarse. 

His eye shot open as he looked down at you, stilling half thrust. 

“Harder.” You told him again, shifting your hips upwards as you used your hands to grab onto his arms, fingernails digging into the flesh of his skin. 

Aemond kept his gaze on you for a moment, thinking over your command. Wondering if he should. Wondering if he could let himself go. Wondering if it would make it worse. But as you tilted your hips up once again, a sigh falling from your lips as the tip of his cock slid through your folds, he gave in.

Thrusting into you with a new vigour, he held you close against him, one arm holding you against his pelvis, the other propped above your head to give him leverage. Every thrust caused pain to spark up within you, the soft tinges of terror hiding in your throat.

But the pain was soon mixed with pleasure as his hand moved to your pearl, and began to swirl gently over it. You moaned, arching your back as his pace got quicker, and his fingers more unrelenting. 

“You’re mine.” He groaned, fingers wet with your slick as he began to pull shaky pleasure through you. 

“Only mine. Always mine.” He puffed, hips beginning to clap against you as he poured his own anger and grief into you. 

“Mine.”

“Yours.” You replied, back arching as tears welled in your eyes. 

His.

Forever.

Always his. 

In one way or another, he had left his mark on you. 

Shifting backwards, Aemond sat on his heels, pulling your hips into his lap, the new angle causing his tip to bully your spot within and brush against your cervix. You whined, throwing your head back as he began to pump into you sharply. 

“I love you.” He grunted, still fucking into your warm and wet heat. 

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at him, his pupil blow wide as he looked down at your face. He looked sincere. He looked passionate. Silver hair messed atop his head, scar raw and red through his missing eye, lips half open as he lost himself to pleasure.

“Give in.” Aemond purred, seeing the way your eyes widened at his confession, “Admit it. You love me. Just as I love you.” His thrusts became sharper, and one fo his hands moved to press against your lower belly, feeling himself move through your walls.

You moaned, feeling him move deeply within you, the hand on your stomach pushing pressure down into your core, before his hand travelled back to your bud and swirled with new vigour.

Memories swirled in your mind.

Aemond sitting atop Aegon in the dungeons. His fists pummelling into the face of his older brother. The way he had growled. The way he had shook with anger. With rage. With grief.

“Your mine. No one will touch you again. No one. I promise.” The Prince rambled, thrusts becoming sloppier as his shaft throbbed within you. 

You arched into his touch, feeling pleasure begin to bloom in your core, the tell tale signs of your release getting close.

Aemond atop Aegon in the Dining Hall, pretty hands wrapped around the pale throat of the King, squeezing.

“My beautiful wife,” He moaned, fingers gently swiping through your folds and back to your pearl. “My beautiful zaldrīstos. Always been yours. Always.” 

“Fuck.” You puffed, feeling your release begin to rise inside.

Aemond in black. Black robes to match yours. Hand in hand. One.

“Can feel you gripping me. You’re close. Such a good wife.” You mewled, feeling your core clench around his cock, “Sȳz riña.” Good girl.

Mine.

Blinding white pleasure burst through you, spreading up through your body as you cried out, tears leaking down your cheeks as you squeezed your eyes shut, relishing in the pleasure that he brought you. 

“Konīr, ñuha gevie ābrazȳrys.” There, my beautiful wife, He cooed, swiping your bud gently as he fucked you through your release.

”Ñuha ābrazȳrys.” My wife, Aemond’s thrusts became sloppier, hips clapping into yours as you laid limply beneath him, legs going numb, “Ñuha jorrāelagon.  Avy jorrāelan.  Eman va moriot jorrāelatan ao.” 

My love. 

I love you. 

I have always loved you. 

Aemond shuddered, thrusting into you deeply as he came, his seed spurting deep inside of you, filling your womb. He held still above you as he moaned, pressing his forehead to yours as his cock throbbed inside of you. 

Eman va moriot jorrāelatan ao. I have always loved you. 

You laid beneath him as you caught your breath, limbs tingling with pleasure. But as the pleasure subsided, the pain returned, and you shifted beneath him as sharp throbs pulled up from your core. 

Another tear fell from your cheek. 

Avy jorrāelan. My love. 

You sniffed, shifting beneath him, pulling your hips backwards, his softening cock pulling out from within you. You hissed, shifting again to lay limply back on the bed. Aemond leant back to look at you, a hand moving to cradle your cheek as he looked at you. 

“Iksā ñuhon.” You are mine. 

Mine. 

Always.

Since the day you were born. Till the day you would die. 

Another tear slid down your face, and Aemond’s hand quickly swiped it away. 

“Iksā ȳgha. Issa sepār nyke.” You’re safe. It’s just me.

Another tear. 

“Y/n…” Aemond murmured, laying down on to the bed beside you, pulling you against him and the sheets over the top of you both. He tucked your head beneath his, and pulled you close to his bare chest. 

He was warm, and smelt of him. 

Familiar.

Safe.

“Nyke kivigon naejot ao, ossēninna mirre mēre qilōni renigon ao arlī.” I swear to you, I will kill anyone who touches you again.

And you believed him.

That night you slept beside each other, pressed against him, inhaling deeply as you shuddered through the pain that ebbed inside of you. Though soon enough from exhaustion, from grief, from rage, or the comfort of false safety, you fell to sleep in his arms and dreamt of nothing. 

No nightmares of serpents. No dreams of whispering vipers, or the calling voices of your aunt and brother. No dreams of falling. No dreams of Godswood’s which spoke to you. Or Aegon’s grin in the dark.

Nothing. 

When you woke, you were still in Aemond’s arms, his fingers on your hip tracing lazy runes across the skin. Aemond sensed that you had woken and gripped you tighter to him, placing a kiss atop the crown of your head. 

“Did you sleep?” He asked, sleep in his voice. 

“I did.” You murmured, “Did you?”

Aemond did not answer.

And soon the maids arrived, as they always did, to ready you for the day, and provided the two of you with breakfast. Aemond helped you to stand, and wrapped you tightly in the gown beside your bed, your bruised neck bare to the room.

When he led you to sit at the table, he pulled out your seat and helped to push you in, pausing beside you as you looked up at him. It looked as though he wished to say something. But he didn’t. 

As the two of you sat opposite of each other, eating your breakfast in a terse tension and environment. Unsure of how to move forward. Unsure of how to go back. Unsure of how to talk to him without mentioning the day prior, or the days before that.

But Aemond had changed. And you were changing too. And his usual greens had turned to black, and his entire demeanour had shifted. Aemond could be an ally. And you needed to work him to it.

Reaching across the table you helped yourself to a large star fruit, relishing in the way Aemond followed your hand.

Star fruit.

Always the star fruit. 

You feared that you were growing to hate your favourite fruit, and the secrets that it held. 

Another thing taken from you. 

But, you digressed, and ate at it with sticky and unsteady hands, tearing it to pieces upon your plate, barely containing the visible anger that shook you to your core. The visible anger that just simmered beneath the surface of you. 

Where is your fire?

It had never gone.

Not truly.

It was always there.

But fire needed to be tended to. Fire needed to be kept safe. Fire could burn out quicker than when needed if it burnt everything in its path. If there was nothing for it to burn or hold onto. But Aemond loved your fire. He encouraged it. He provoked it, and prodded it, and disturbed it, and added to the flames. 

And you did the same for him. 

How long until you burn each other?

How long until the both of your flames sizzle out?

Small talk was exchanged as you ate.

“What is to happen to us?” You asked quietly, unsure of how to broach the conversation. Unsure of how to bring attention to the three Kings guards who could still possibly be outside your chambers waiting. 

“I will go back to performing my duties as I always have.”

Always.

“Are you sure the King wants you to?”

“He could not rule without me.” Aemond’s tone was clipped.

Poorly hidden rage.

You hummed, licking the nectar of the fruit form your fingers, Aemond’s eye watching the way your tongue darted out to gather the juice. 

The way your tongue had gathered his blood.

You cleared your throat, pushing away the insecurities and fear that began to rise again.

“And what of me?”

Aemond looked at you intently as he put his cutlery down on the table.

“He will not touch you again.” His voice held conviction. 

You believed him.

“Yes, but what am I to do?”

“Do as you were. Keep up appearances. Go to the Gardens that you love so dearly, and read. Go to the Godswood and pray. Seek haven in the Library as we did as children. Do as you please as a Princess of the realm.”

“Anything but leave.” You pointed out.

Aemond did not respond.

“But what if-“ You began.

“Aegon will be in my sight at all times. And if he is not, I will come straight to you.”

You stared at him. 

Straight to you. 

Always you.

“Promise me.”

Aemond leant back in his chair, “I think I have broken far too many promises to you. But I will give you my word instead. My word as the Prince, and my word as the unnamed Prince Regent.” He spoke softly, “My word as your husband. Kesan tepagon ao tolvie run.” 

I will give you everything.

“And if you break your word?” You asked, tilting your head. 

“Then you may bring fire as you always have.”

Days go past, and you and Aemond keep a routine together, creating a new one from the broken pieces of the last. You eat, you sleep, and you fuck. You have breakfast together, and he goes to the King to fulfil his duties. You read together by the fire in your chambers. You speak to one another more about the books you read. About memories past. About anything, and everything, but what haunts you both. 

You return to the gardens like you had once before, book in hand, though not reading. 

Thinking.

Plotting.

How to win the war.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

[altocat]

ok but im more curious, how post-doc genesis reaction begin called old? poor guy

Post-Doc Genesis is honestly kind of mellow and checked out. Sure, he still has instances where he lashes out or acts like the same theatrical hothead he always was. But he's a lot more subdued, worn down through years of grief, survivor's guilt, and just...well, guilt in general.

Being called old no longer fazes him. Genesis still wants to live and is determined to do so. But after the events of Crisis Core, he mostly feels adrift, unsure where to take his life. He's also come to realize that, now that he's been cured of his Degradation, he's not really aging in the most conventional sense, if at all. His life will go on, stretch far beyond its limits. He will wander this world alone as a pariah, doing good where he can, physically preserved despite the weariness of his own mind. Was this what Sephiroth would have experienced? To outlive loved ones, Shinra, the planet itself?

Over the passing seasons, Genesis finds that he's changing, even if his appearance doesn't. If there's one thing he gained from this entire experience, it was wisdom. Maybe in ways that Angeal and Sephiroth never would have attained if they were alive. Genesis knows he's old. But he accepts it. He will go on. He will continue to protect the planet on his own. He will offer council and aid to those who seek it. And he will utilize his wisdom in ways that will benefit the planet, preserve the dignity of human life.

For once, he's glad that he's old. Glad that he's older and wiser.

It means he's doing something right.

[genevievefangirl]

Gen's Top 100 DBDA Fics - PART 6

For all caveats/rules/backstory, please read the Master Post

Lemonade & Sunrises By: paraph @paraphwrites Rating: M Tags: AU - A Quiet Place, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort Summary: Set in "The Quiet Place" universe. Edwin and Charles navigate their time through New York City through the first year of the invasion. * No prior lore for either fandom required to enjoy! My Notes: This one is truly a work of art with its prose and story composition. I have never seen The Quiet Place, but damn did this fic make me want to.

Letters addressed to the fire By: zmorak @zmorak Rating: T Tags: AU - WW1, Hurt No Comfort, Diary/Journal, Angst, Slow Burn Summary: Diary excerpts of Lance Corporal Edwin Nicholas Payne (1900-1989), British Foreign Correspondent, Journalist, and Poet, dated between August 15th and November 1st, 1916, Somme. *** You, Charles, may be the best man and the kindest soul I have ever had the luck to meet. I will not delude myself so much as to think that we will see each other in old age, but I do dearly hope that in the years to come, we will meet again; with both of us standing on our own two feet, we'll share a bottle of scotch, and reminisce with grief-ridden fondness about this inferno that brought us together. My Notes: This fic made me cry, and not many fics do that. The day I first recommended this in the server everyone reported back that they cried. It was a very memorable day lol. Really a beautiful piece of work. I love historical fiction and the quality of the prose is truly spectacular.

Loud Bark, Deep Bite By: hyperiion Rating: M Tags: Case Fic, Fluff and Angst, First Kiss, Protective Charles Rowland Summary: Charles didn’t mind being underestimated. When he told people he was the brawn of the detective duo, they usually gave a small, placating smile. Charles would take a hundred of those moments for just one of these: when the demon, ghoul, or witch of the week gave him an appraising glance and found him wanting, only to find that ghost-strength is so much more than appearances. A year after the events in Port Townsend, the Dead Boy (and One Psychic Girl) Detective Agency has fallen into a rhythm with cases. A mage kidnapping ghosts upends their rhythm, and with it, Charles' bottled-up feelings. My Notes: Ghost soup! In this case fic, the crew faces a mage kidnapping ghosts! I particularly like the final confrontation because Charles gets to be all heroic.

Nothing Left to Hide By: RoseGanymede95 @oxbellows Rating: NR Tags: Hell Aftermath, Arachnophobia, Protective Charles Rowland Summary: “You’re-” Charles has to stop before any more words can come through, because another round of sobbing overtakes him, forcefully enough Edwin thinks a living boy might break his ribs like this. “You’re. Scared.” Charles tries again, and the words sound like they’re being punched out of him, each one a broken, jagged thing, “Of. Spiders." Grief crashes down on Edwin like a physical weight. This is about Hell. My Notes: Charles having a breakdown over Edwin's fear of spiders is not something I knew I needed, but it is spectacular.

Of a youth who loves me By: Aliquis @riceinthechurch Rating: T Tags: Friends to Lovers, Codependency, Protective Charles Rowland, First Kiss, Religious Guilt Summary: The boy Charles rescued from Hell, so frail without his waistcoat and ridiculous britches, had been nearly unrecognizable as his best friend. Charles would do anything, compromise any dignity, to make sure Edwin never has to return to the pit. He just has to figure out how. My Notes: Charles loves Edwin so much that he tries to make a deal with a demon to sacrifice himself instead and it is just so in character (and dumb) of him. I love Edwin being super pissed about it too because that is also perfectly in character!

Overloaded By: babyseraphim @babyseraphim Rating: T Tags: Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Charles Rowland Summary: Before Edwin had been strapped to Esther’s torture table and very rudely used as a magical battery, he had been under the impression that the use of iron was the only way to inflict pain upon ghosts in the mortal realm. However, because he was Edwin Payne and the universe seemed intent on making him pay for his ridiculously on-the-nose surname for all of eternity, those rules apparently did not apply to him. My Notes: Edwin dealing with long term pain after Esther's torture table is not something I had even considered until I read this fic and let me tell you the concept has stuck with me. Especially since (spoilers) the pain doesn't go away. This is something that Edwin has to just deal with. The way that Charles assures Edwin that he isn't a bother and that they will stick together through this is heart warming

Promises & Voids By: NuriaSchnee @nuria-schnee Rating: M Tags: Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Temporary Character Death, Protective Charles Rowland Summary: Edwin gets hit with a "death" curse, which eats his soul away until he disappears completely. With no way to stop it or break it, Edwin spends his last hours with Charles, and makes him promise that he will continue their work in the agency without him. My Notes: You want to cry? Here's a fic for you. It does have a happy ending to make up for it, but DAMN that first chapter broke my heart. Charles holding onto a fading Edwin until he disappears is just HEARTBREAKING!

remind me that i am a fool By: blladnna Rating: G Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Protective Charles Rowland, Hurt Edwin Payne Summary: When Charles saw the boy curled up at the end of the hallway, his first thought was that it couldn’t possibly be his best mate. The figure had none of Edwin’s prim and proper urgency, lacked his drive, his grace. Whoever the boy at the end of the hallway was, his spirit had been truly and thoroughly broken. As he approached, Charles saw that he was wrong—that boy was Edwin, just not any version of him Charles had ever seen. “Please go away, Charles," Edwin said. "You’re being cruel.” or When Edwin goes back to Hell, instead of being torn apart on loop, he suffers through the only pain worse. Watching it happen to Charles. My Notes: I really love fics that make Hell worse and this one fits the bill. Charles trying to convince Edwin that he is *real* this time is just so good.

right. never finished it. By: taableclofh Rating: M Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Orpheus and Eurydice Summary: Charles never knew what the ending to Orpheus and Eurydice’s story was. Never bothered to finish it. Never felt the need to, did he? All he knows is that he cannot exist in a world where Edwin is not there beside him. My Notes: Getting out of hell is a lot harder in this fic. Edwin not remembering anything between his different reincarnations after his various deaths leads to some interesting development for Charles as we get to see him change while Edwin stays the same.

The Case of the Broken Orb By: JJ_Queenie Rating: NR Tags: Love Confessions, Inebriated Edwin, Protective Charles Rowland, Dreamsharing, Hurt/Comfort, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunken Confessions Summary: Edwin breaks an orb that shows a person's greatest dream/desire and absorbs its powers, so now whenever someone touches him he sees their greatest dreams. Unfortunately the dream energy is also making him incredibly loopy and he is doing things and spouting out things he never normally would. His friends try to scramble to find a cure while also making sure Edwin doesn't get into too much trouble, soon finding that an inebriated Edwin is a lot harder to contain than they initially expected. My Notes: Usually, I don't go for humorous fics, but this one is HILARIOUS! Edwin without any inhibitions is a sight to behold! But this fic is not only funny, it's really heartfelt <3

[canaidliafail]

what she brings out of me

sadie adler x f!reader

4.5 k words MDI

old piece that isn’t proof read but I wanted to post it. Sort of canon compliant for 1/7 of the story so read at your own risk + bad english ahead. enjoy

hunting with Hosea was a chore more often than not but the man raised you to be the hunter that you are now and you were willing to tolerate the withered old man. He had his fun but he couldn’t do the miles he did before and his aim left much to be desired. But he kept you company and gave you maps for all the legendary animals he wanted to see and you, to catch.

That winter while you sought out shelter and a temporary camp while leaving blackwater,he was more prickly than usual.He insisted you stay in and help Pearston skin and cook the animals and man were you a shitty cook.

Pearston decided he would let you sneak out to hunt being the greedy drunk fool that he was so long as you brought something other than vegetables for the crew to eat.

You had barely managed to mount your horse when Arthur came back with Dutch and the rest with a new guest. a woman, frightened like a rabbit, shaking from the cold and the grief judging from her tear stained cheeks

the crowd came in with questions and she shrunk in herself stepping behind Dutch. You hitched your horse back and half ran your way to them

“This is Ms. Adler. Abigail help her out, she's had a rough night” he said and Abigail approached the woman who seemed reluctant to move from her spot as everyone discussed what took place. fed up with the situation you pushed the others away clearing a path for her and stopped beside Abigail

“Christ people give her some air can't you see she’s frightened?” You commanded and they lowered their heads, hats covering their eyes.

The three of you made your way back into the cabin and left it up to Abigail to talk to the woman.

Men widowed her that night and took everything else with them, money,silver, dignity….

the night was grim and you could hear her weep quietly, mourning her lost husband till daylight hit and she passed out from exhaustion. You woke up first and made coffee and left one by her bunk bed with a note

You probably won’t have much appetite but try to consume some liquids at least

Throughout your whole stay there you never conversed any further than a tip of the hat when you entered the cabin at night and a soft sigh when you replaced her untouched plate and cup in the morning.

You felt for her despite not knowing what it meant to lose a husband. You didn’t know what it meant to even have a husband in the first place

But your heart still ached to see such a lovely woman stripped of all joy and light

•••

“a 1000 pound bear and you thought we could take her out with our piss poor rifles?!” You asked bewildered and glanced at Arthur who had much more patience than you that day, which said a lot. Hosea passed him the map with a hand over his heart still scared and in shock how quickly he came face to face with death

“Ill head back…You two gonna chase after that thing are are you coming with?”

“coming with. Arthur its all yours” You said and mounted your house and he did the same

“Had enough entertainment for now. Let’s head back” He agreed and you all three started the two day journey back talking about everything and how everyone was settling in

“By the way, Karen has been asking for you again”

“hm?” you looked up at Arthur. Of course she was. you leave for a few days and she is looking for you again to let out some steam. You stay at camp and she won’t bat an eye your way. You took little offense however simply enjoying that you had someone to have your fun with when no one was looking

“Ill go by her tent later…” you mumbled

“Speaking of can you keep some company to Ms. Adler as well? You two have a spunky spirit and might lift her up a bit”

Sadie Adler had continued her daily routine of wandering off to the far end of the camp sitting on the rocks and crying. You caught her talking to Abigail more than anyone else and despite wanting to get close to the woman you had no idea how to approach her

“Ill…see what I can do”

you agreed and continued silently too tired to indulge in small talk

you arrived at the hideout the next evening. Arthur took off shortly to go back to blackwater for a lead on some members that stayed behind

You bathed in the dreadfully cold river and made it back to your tent combing your hair into two braids, putting on a clean pair of jeans with a shirt to go out and see if there was any coffee or herbs to make tea.

Your caught Sadie with the corner of your eye sitting by the rocks looking off into the distance and decided to give it your best shot. At this point you were the only woman who had not talked to her and it felt rude

you grabbed two chapped mugs and poured whatever hot liquid was available and made your way to her

“Evening Ms. Adler” she looked up at you

“Good evening”

“Mind if I keep you some company?” you said pushing the warm cup in her direction which she took without protest and schooched to the side giving you space. You sat next to her and looked at the dim light from the sparse fire pits enjoying the cracking of wood and soft unison of voices talking in the background

“Listen Im sure everyone had asked how you are doing so I won’t try to remind you of that but, I hope you are finding your stay with us of some comfort”

you said and dared a fearful look at her admiring her untamed blonde hair and freckled nose. A second longer and you may have found yourself in love with a widow so you turned your sights back on the coals and fire in the distance

“As much as I'd rather be left alone, its nice to have some company” she confessed and you nod, waiting to see if she had anything else to say. With a shaky voice she continued

“I just wish my Jacky was here with me. He was a good man you know, better than anyone out there”

your lips thinned almost feeling her anger. Karen passed in front of you in the distance quirking a brow indicating she would be waiting for you tonight

“I just wish it was me in his place. I feel so lost”

you brought your attention back to her and slowly pressed a hand against her back gently moving it in circles. she leaned into your touch and you felt her breath stutter

“I wish I could take my own life…but i’m not brave enough to do even that” you matched your breathing with her own pulling her closer silently trying to calm her down the minute you felt her shoulders shake

“To be brave is to keep on going. To keep on living” you quietly offered your thoughts and she shook her head tears falling again

“I don’t know…”

you kept caressing her back

“Keep on living Adler. Show those fuckers what you’re made of”

You said boldly and she turned to look at you surprised. she seemed to consider your words and then your face. maybe both. You knew you weren’t good at this but you were satisfied to see the tears stop and her features soften

You smiled and hesitantly tucked a lose strand of hair behind her ear and then stood up

“We are here for you. Take your time to grieve the man. He is worth it” she nod and took in a deep breath looking into the distance, taking a sip from her tea “Thank you for listening” your shrugged “least I can do for a pretty lady. Should you ever seek company my tent is open” you said and saw a soft smile graced her lips for the first time before she turned away. Remorse hit you quick and hard realizing you accidentally just made a pass at her and felt shame drown you.

with a tip of your hat you excused yourself.

You feared you had messed up, spoke too soon and maybe with too much ignorance. You prayed she’d brush your words off. Its not like anyone even considered that a woman could flirt with a woman.

You sought out Karen and her willing touch that night. You forgot yourself in the pleasure of her spread legs and let her soft gasps fill your mind.

However the next day you were surprised to see Sadie with her hair braided and her shirt tucked in neatly with a lovely brown straw hat shielding her face from the sun. she went to pour coffee and caught you staring and for the first time greeted you first with a smile

•••

Days turned into weeks and Sadies curt greetings turned to small talk that turned into long conversation and eventually she took interest in your role with the gang asking of your trips

“a huntress?”

you felt pride in your chest. sure women weren’t expected to do much but you loved that you challenged that standard from a young age

“I feel I am of more use with a bow in the wild than with pins and needles”

“What's up with you managing to have every woman all over you?” Arthur asked one day and you laughed pushing him away with a soft punch on his arm

“Its my talent”

“and here I thought that laid in hunting animals. ‘s that why we’ve been starving lately?”

he asked meaning no harm and you saw his crooked grin and the softness in his eyes, crinkling with wrinkles

“shut up arthur. Don't you have a train to rob or something?”

“my bad, I won’t take any more of your precious time with Ms. Adler”

You also quickly found out Sadie had a sharp tongue and a short temper. Her strength and quip was overshadowed by her grief before but slowly it raised to the surface and more people took interest in her. She grew more familiar with Arthur and her long skirts were slowly replaced by the occasional tight black jeans that accentuated her assets even better

Some nights she was still haunted by nightmares and you took it upon yourself to invite her to your tent. You talked for a while and when she tried to excuse herself you stopped her and patted the side of your bunk bed

“You can sleep here for tonight”

“and you?” you laughed “Ill also sleep here. Never had a sleepover with a friend before?”

“Not like that you prick” she said and laid next to you. Her eyes widened, noticing she was a little too close than she calculated. you held her by the waist guiding her “turn around for me” you whispered and she obliged. You pressed your chest against her back and held her like that and felt her tense shoulders slowly relax only to stiffen again when you spoke again close to her

“Goodnight Sadie”

“goodnight”

It only happened once but after that night You often caught yourself admiring her, those warm brown eyes, the raspy voice that gave you goosebumps and when no one paid you attention you shamelessly eyed her figure.

“You are no better than a man,huntress” Karen teased and leaned next to you against the tree. You chuckled and glanced at her “jealous?”

“you wish” she said. It didn’t go past you that she wore a dress that exposed her chest nicely yet it did little to arouse you and in horror you realized your mind drifted over to Sadie and how nicely she tucked in her shirt leaving no more than two buttons open barely exposing her collar bones

“The boys are going out for some job” she said leaving the invitation and you smirked looking down at her

“Hm…Maybe Ill join them”

“or..” she said and carefully flattened her palms against your chest pretending to fix your bandana for you “you can join me instead” she looked up at you with doe eyes and your lip twitched in a smile. She left swaying her hips and you let your gaze linger for a second before looking up. Sadie stood there with an unspoken question in her eyes and then cocked a brow in challenge.

you took two cigarettes out of your pocket and she approached you accepting your offer. she placed the stick in her lips and you motioned her to come closer.

her head tilted in confusion and you carefully pulled her in by the back of your head till the ends of your cigarettes touched and lit them both in one go

you tucked the lighter back in your pants and she took in a long puff in thought “You seem closer to Karen than the rest. Does your friendship go back in time?”

you laughed at the innocent and awfully unsuspecting question and decided to test the waters

“Friends ? Hardly, we are close though. In different ways” she seemed even more puzzled “Everytime you answer my questions I end up more lost and confused than I was before”

“Maybe I'm just that bad at conversing with others” she chuckled, a low raspy giggle almost “You give yourself too little credit. Had it not been for those coffees you left and your company Id probably still be on that rock crying” you smiled

“Glad I could help” you continued to smoke in silence and you inspected her clothes your eyes falling on the yellow brooch tied around her neck

“That's a nice brooch” she looked down and smiled “thanks. One of the few good things I own”

“Oh don't say that. You have a lovely sense of fashion darling” you held the ornament in your fingers leaning closer feeling her breath fan your cheeks. Something shifted and it wasn't even anymore. you looked up and saw her completely focused on your every movement catching her eyes that were stuck on your lips. Flattered, a cocky smile escaped you.

There was a tense moment that snapped from Peaston calling out to everyone informing them that dinner and drinks were ready.

You both pulled away from each other abruptly and pushed yourself off the tree patting your pants and dusting them off

“Will you join us?” you asked and she shrugged “Was about time I did”

•••

You were drunk. Way too fucking drunk.

“shit how many…” you tried to look around and count how many glasses of whiskey you had. everything was spinning and buzzing. Karen and Mary-beth were singing and you clumsily joined. Sadie sat next to you cracking a joke here and there but still was mostly quiet listening to all of you and sometimes laughing. Karen laid her head on your shoulder and her hand fell on your thigh beneath the table going upwards and staying there fondling your thigh. Too drunk to care if Sadie was looking, you indulged her sensual move and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

unbeknownst to you Sadie withdrew from you slightly and confused looked at the pair of you her frown growing deeper as Karens hand traveled higher eventually tugging at the metal belt clasp

amidst the chaos- which you were uncertain if there was any due to your drunken state- you remembered getting up and escaping to the quieter place of the camp, then your hands were on Karens hips and her lips on your neck biting and sucking and everything else was a blur

had you been slightly more sober you would have noticed that you weren’t completely hidden. Because Sadie was interested in you in ways she couldn’t explain and she was out looking for you that night. And she unfortunately caught a glimpse of your nasty sexual endeavors with the other woman who you had so willingly pinned against the tree and who elicited the most pornographic sounds

•••

Sadie caught herself interested in you. She liked the fact that you were a huntress and she liked more that you took little pity on her state and gave her solid motivation to get back on track with her life. She realized she chased your polite compliments when she wore a new accessory or when she braided her hair.

but to feel like this towards a woman? how?

she questioned and doubted it immediately believing it was the grief that made her lose her mind. That was until she saw you devouring karen in the deep of the forest. Something woke within her. fiery jealousy and heat bloomed in her chest and her core ached.

She-at first- was convinced she was repulsed by the act, finding it vulgar. than she thought that she was simply taken aback by it but not in an unpleasant way. eventually she decided to sleep frustrated and confused, unable to understand what she felt.

two days later she sought out Karen who seemed very eager to tease and taunt her

“What a voyeuristic eye that you have Adler”

“Are the two of you in a relationship?”

she laughed, loud enough to almost make her feel humiliated and stupid as if the answer was obvious

“Gods no! I mean I know she only likes women but I don’t care for things like that”

“only women?”

“If you ever find yourself with too much frustration pay her a visit. In my opinion every woman should feel her tongue” Sadies eyes widened and then she shook her head in disappointment

“Ill find other ways to keep myself busy” she barked growing angry with Karens games

“Suit yourself. I'm just saying that I trained her well” and with that she left. Sadie was angry. Jealous.She saw Karen marking her territory and she didn’t like that

why does she try to claim something that isnt hers

She avoided you on purpose for the upcoming days and she hated seeing your confusion and visible pain to her dismissive attitude

You once tried to approach her more boldly and in her spitefulness she spat

“what's up with you? Nothing to do?”

You huffed out a frustrated breath and crossed your arms standing in front of her.

“Ive thought about it a lot and it all boils down to you probably finding out I swing the other way”

“I did find out”

you nodded in repeat looking away and she saw your jaw tense and your brows lower “well Fuck me then” you hissed exasperated

“Id like to be alone” she said with a low growl and you scoffed “Really Sadie? Am I that disgusting to you now that you won’t even say goodmorning to me?” you raised your tone and she stood up “Don't you use that tone on me”

“or what?!” she stared at you long and hard. You were the first to break contact and took a step back, arms swinging softly

“You know what Sadie? You wanna be alone ? then be fucking alone” she watched as you turned your back on her and left immediately regretting how sbe handled that conversation.

She didn’t see you for a week after that. That week she herself was busy with her first bounty hunt and she could hardly be happy about it. Her stomach felt like she’d swallowed stones and her throat was dry.

and when you came back it was with Arhur, Hosea and another woman. Someone you rescued on your recent bounty hunt who was as lost as she once was. You attention was on the hurt woman keeping her company making sure she felt secure with your group of people

“Listen we ain’t good but we ain’t them either” you consoled an arm around her shoulders soothing her and Sadie had enough of it. She approached you with heavy steps the heel of her boots digging into the dirt

“I wanna talk to you”

you looked up and the girl in your arms seemed intimidated by her. Sadie disliked that she seemed threatening to an innocent person but her focus was on you and you alone

you silently questioned her, eyes wide, jaw tense as if saying really?! now?!

she stood her ground until you gave in and followed her back to your tent where you could have some privacy

“You wanted to talk? speak”

“Why do you have to be like that?” she asked annoyed and you shook your head defeated “Like what hon? I am around you and you are repulsed, I give you space and you are equally unsatisfied. The hell do you want from me, woman?!”

“I just needed time! Time!” she emphasized the words and you sat down knowing your knees were too weak to handle this unprovoked attitude

“time? for what?” You tried peacefully and truly exhausted knowing someone had to be tame or this conversation wouldn’t go far without resulting in you pulling a gun to each others head

“Christ I- I just was confused. I didn’t know a woman could look at a woman like that”

“And why does it concern you?” you asked and she seemed taken aback. Why indeed

Because I considered you that way too

she came to the conclusion her tongue numb and heavy, unable to speak these words out loud.

She hated how quickly you caught on and in a delightfully predatory way she watched you stand up and approach her, circling her like a vulture

“Sadie did you hate that I look at women like that or did you hate that you weren’t one of those women?”

the hair on the back of her neck rose and heat pooled in her stomach again. A feeling she thought had surely died with her late husband yet here it was.

“I wasn't?” she asked, her confidence faltering. She was sure she caught you staring at her chest, her lips, her hips at first not questioning the wandering gaze until she put the puzzle pieces together to figure out the reason behind it

your hands were on her shoulders running up and down the length of her arms slowly

“Would you like to be?” she turned around and as if in a dance sequence your hands fell on her neck to pull her in for a hungry kiss

She could feel how starved you were in the way your lips pressed against hers tasting her, imprinting the feel of her skin against hers. She returned the notion with equal fervor if not with more and was reluctant to be the one to submit. her hands landed on your hips pulling you in and she was shocked to find how right this position felt. how velvety your tongue felt against her own and how your skin molded into her palms becoming one.

she pulled away to take in a few deep and heavy breaths looking at you and was pleased to find you putty in her arms, to see the mighty huntress small, fragile and ready to do anything she would ask you to

“Do I awaken something in you Sadie?” You asked and held her closer, your arms wrapped around her neck and she responded by kissing you again loving the power and control she had. The passion melted into something more gentle, affectionate and tender and when you pulled away the second time she held your cheek in her hand caressing the flushed skin

“ that answer good enough for you?” she asked with a lazy smirk and you huffed out a laugh still gasping for air “Never thought you packed such heat” you confessed and her ego grew dangerously “You haven’t experienced the half of it”

•••

Unlike you, who was secretive and shameful of your nature the minute Sadie felt sure in herself she didn’t hesitate to greet you with a good morning kiss letting everyone think about what they just witnessed. As outlaws you certainly had bigger problems than two girls deciding to kiss each other and you came to the stupidly obvious realisation. Hosea and Arthur were the first ones to tell you

well we knew men didn’t do it for you, but I didn’t exactly know what did so…I just do now thats all it is

and you felt good about his awkward and reassuring words. Sadie didn’t care on the other hand. if she spent the night in your tent she didn’t hide it and if she felt like making a move on you while at the saloon she would and dealt with the consequences violently and eagerly still needing to vent out her pain and frustrations.

“are you not…scared?” you asked her once at night when you both laid together, naked beneath a thin sheet and she smiled giving you small kisses on your cheeks, jaw, neck

“I am scared of other things darling. Death is one of them. Random drunk men ain’t on the other hand are not”

“You aren’t indestructible Sadie. I worry for you” you confessed and she smiled “Nobody’s taking nothing from me ever again” she said and kissed you “And nobody’s taking me away from you either”

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 12 thoughts

didn’t watch an episode last night because i was sad. and by consulting the people, i knew that this episode would ALSO be sad. but now in my infinite wisdom, i realize: how better to distract yourself from your own sorrow than to watch some fictional characters writhe in their own grief? which brings us here.

“a headless corpse walks out of a hospital morgue” well that actually just sounds silly. i know it’s not gonna end up being silly, and i’m sure my heart will be on the floor, but you have to admit, it sounds silly.

author’s note: the episode about the dude with no head is now the second episode EVER to make me cry. and editing these notes is gonna SUCK SO BAD😭😭😭I WAS WRONG ABOUT DROWNING MY SORROWS IN FICTIONAL WOES. I HAVE NO INFINITE WISDOM. ONLY TEARS.

let us begin below. join me. hold me. comfort me.

ambulance time :3 we see a guy named leonard, who i presume will be the star of the episode given its title. he tells michele driving the vehicle that this guy having a heart attack is “up to his ass in alligators”, and idk what that means, but it doesn’t sound good

oh a needle. mmmm no no. NO. no. <- girl who cannot look at the screen

NO! no. crash. oh god, that’s my worst fear. EMS lady michele who made the mistake of looking behind her while driving is now covered in blood. i assume that we will see leonard's head soon.

(little did i know!!! little did i know. i have a fear even deeper than causing a car accident that decapitates someone)

ah, yes. the head is not attached to anything. michele, covered in blood, is leaving after leonard is dropped off in the morgue.

the guy in the morgue is trying to stream casual by chappell roan (obviously) but he hears some thumping in the distance. leonard has escaped! without his head!

oh god, he killed morgue guy. you see, i thought we were going to get an episode where the mystery was how the headless man got around and lived his daily life, not that the headless guy was also going to be a murderer. i thought we were gonna get scenes of his headless body using sign language to communicate and question how he’s gonna eat in a semi-comical fashion. but now. now he’s evil. sigh.

and leonard is naked. do they put you in the morgue naked??? i always assumed there’d be a little bit of dignity…

SCULLY TIME!!! i can feel all pain in my body evaporating. she is looking in the little morgue case he escaped from. there are a lot of bloody footprints. and mulder is here, too!

it’s funny how i sit down to watch the scully and mulder show and then when i see them on screen i think “oh boy, it’s scully and mulder time :D”

good news! the morgue guy who was certainly streaming chappell is NOT actually dead. he was just knocked out. and had all his clothes taken, which is unfortunate.

scully is gagged at the idea mulder thinks a headless body escaped from the morgue, and me too girl, but i feel you should be used to it by now. we probably both should be, actually. 

she thinks it’s some sort of coverup for body snatching! oh, compelling. even mulder seems to nod along. god, wouldn’t it be funny if they just had a normal case once? please. i beg.

they’re looking at security camera footage from the night it all went down, and see the clothes that were stolen from morgue guy being worn by someone. scully thinks maybe the thief got scared and dipped, which led to this wonderful exchange: “where could he hide an adult body where it wouldn’t be found?” “i’ll show you” <- YEAHHHH I LOVE WHEN SHE SAYS WEIRD AND UNSETTLING STUFF

time to check the medical waste. are you telling me surgical byproduct gets turned into roads??? i don’t think i can handle that information, so i’m going to simply not fact check it. but she would never lie to me.

mulder looks freaked tf out as he hands the flashlight to her to inspect the waste LMAOOO

“mulder i think i’m gonna need your help, your arms are longer” (cut to visible distress on his face) LMAOOOOO

he’s groaning as they rummage through bags of human stuff, but they find leonard’s head!! noticeably, NOT the rest of him

they are going to split up, and mulder will go to leonard’s house while scully looks at his head. and she makes a pointed correction that he is no longer living. damn. 

his head weighs 10.9 pounds! the head looks a little… wow, i was gonna say it looked fuzzy, but now we get a closeup and it’s actually very convincing. no rigor mortis or clouded eyes, which is inconsistent with the time of death. and she’s gonna go to brain town when he opens his eyes!!

well, bodies do that sometimes. and he’s opening his mouth. and closing it. so uh. what’s that all about?

something or someone is running as mulder enters leonard’s house. he finds a bathtub full of blood, which is not promising. and blood out the window. 

bro stuck his fingers in the blood and sniffed it….. OH! it’s not blood. it’s iodine. okay. that’s less freaky. 

scully says it seems the head has been effected by radiation that is preventing any sort of scanning, and also that she hasn’t cut into the head yet, even though she knows it’s just extra energy stored in the cells that made him blink, but still! aww mulder be NICE TO HER!

“maybe he was home” "leonard betts." “yeah” “without his head.” “yeah :)” LMAO

OMG his headless ass was IN the iodine!!!

WAIT.... HE HAS A NEW HEAD??????

wait… he was a really good EMT… and his head somehow grew back… is he one of those aliens that can heal people???

(author's note: it was a really good guess on my part, but i think he was some sort of new freak not previously established in canon)

he could diagnose illness very well… but he kept his distance from his coworkers. hmmmm. and he never got sick. hmmmm. or injured. HMMMM. michele is suspicious.

they’re gonna mummify his head. sort of. and mulder is smiling at scully over his own stupid joke, and i want to punch his stupid face (affectionate).

man. i do not care for this slicing of heads process. 

oh no!! leonard was like, entirely made of cancer. was he absorbing the cancer of his patients… is that a thing you can do….?

he should have died a looooong time ago. or maybe the process of slicing distorted the findings?

michele is pulling into the hospital as she deals with another case, but she hears someone say “up to your ass in alligators” over the radio… and she recognizes leonard’s voice! he’s making another correct ID on what is wrong with a patient!!!!!!!

the agents are off to one of the professors at a maryland university that mulder keeps on call at all times, who is going to look at the head slice. oh…. this guy does aura photography. okay, so not super promising.

she’s like yeah yeah yeah i know about eastern medicine but WHAT does it have to do with this. i respect her knowledge and her focus.

it looks like the aura photography captured some shoulders? that i guess mulder thinks proves leonard is still alive somehow?

“are we happy with the results?” <- something about the way he said this made them sound so married. i'd be happy to live in that brief moment forever.

scully looks pissed off into another dimension at this whole process LMAO

mulder wants to know if there is a good kind of cancer that is actually regeneration…. and the iodine helps regeneration! which has been used in labs for creatures whose limbs regrow, i guess 

“there isn’t a creature on earth that can regrow its head” “worms. you cut a worm in half, you get two” <- and that’s why you’re the FBI’s most unwanted, because you advocate for worm murder 😭😭

“mulder, they’re worms” <- LMAOOOOOOOOO STOP i saw that line out of context once 

scully gets a phone call! and it turns out leonard had an alter ego named albert- whose fingerprints match his? but albert has a living relative. visit time?

yes, it is visit time. oh! the picture his mom has on the table is the same as the picture we saw earlier of leonard when he was featured in the newspaper!

they try to tell his mom that “her son” died recently, but she says he died 6 years ago!! well, that is confusing.

michele is also on the case, looking for whoever it was who she heard on the radio earlier using that distinct phrase and accurately diagnosing people. the others pointing him out to her refer to him as “the new guy”.

and it is leonard! michele is chasing him…. he hugs her and reassures her that it’s okay. at first it's touching, and i realize too late that he is going to kill her, which he does while apologizing. then he lays her down???? but he gets caught!!

he is running and running…. but he gets tackled by the cops and handcuffed. with a very conspicuous head bruise.

OH MY GOD he PULLED HIS THUMB OUT OF THE HANDCUFF BLEUGHHHHHHHHH all the cops return to is some blood and a finger 😭😭😭

no no bad…. body horror… bad…. not for junis, who are weak and frail… 

michele was given a lethal dose of something that occurs naturally, so it usually misses detection. and leonard was ID’d as the attacker!!! oh i just know everyone at that hospital is SO confused

mulder and scully are fighting over evolutionary theories…. while holding umbrellas in the snow… sigh. so beautiful.

GAG! the trunk of leonard's car is filled with cancerous tumors. that scully can name as she sees them. a massive flex of her knowledge.

OH. maybe he eats cancer. well. this is a bold theory, mulder, and what a lovely time for you to propose it, as i am just thinking of how lovely they look in the snow, and how they should go ice skating and other such winter activities. sure. the guy eats tumors.

and the car leonard was driving traces back to the mom!!! so they go to her place with a warrant. scully confronts her, saying they know she’s lying about her son being dead, and he killed someone, so lying to protect him isn’t gonna get her anywhere except JAIL.

mulder finds iodine while she recounts a tale of her son being beaten up as a kid. and she says god means for leonard to stay even if people don’t understand. crazy thing to say about a guy who just killed someone. 

leonard is at a bar watching someone smoke and looking at him hungrily. while his baby thumb pulsates and regrows. NASTY! nasty. 

he’s getting up after the cigarette dude and following him outside like he’s hunting some prey. he says that “you’ve got something i need” and whips out a tiny knife. uh oh.

back at mom’s house, they find a storage locker receipt. off to track it down.

oh. leonard was straight up eating that dude inside the storage locker. see, i don’t care for that. and also he is screaming while this happens and also his body is pulsating and oh my god. OH MY GOD HE JUST GREW A NEW HEAD???? out of his mouth. whyyyyyy

at the storage unit, the agents find blood flowing from beneath the door, and then the dead cigarette guy. but leonard comes out in a car at them!

i like how mulder grabbed scully to keep her safe... it was very nice. 

leonard is speeding off. and they shoot at him, which causes the car to go up in flames. damn. good shots, those two.

so the cigarette guy had his lung removed, but now leonard seems to be burnt to a crisp. BUT! when they dig up the guy under the pseudonym who had allegedly died 6 years ago, he looks also very dead!!

so he just keeps dying and coming back? i ask myself.

no! mulder thinks that the car crashes- both times- were decoys, and that “leonard” is still at large. scully does not seem pleased by this. 

and back at his mom’s house, she’s washing him in iodine, saying they “found your friend”. she says the FBI aren’t going to leave him alone…. you know what you have to do…. WHAT TF DOES THAT MEAN???

the agents are watching her house. but then an ambulance rolls up, saying that an old woman has had massive blood loss. did he eat his mom?? how would anyone know?? is this a trap???

scully finds his mom, who has a surgical cut…. and they’re taking her to the hospital… scully is helping her out…. she is so kind

but as they take leonard's mom out, scully notices IODINE ON HER HEAD! is he waiting on top of the ambulance? she tells mulder to get over here RIGHT NOW. 

and leonard grabs her!!!! and says she has something he needs. NO!!!!! no that means…… no. 

she’s beating the hell out of him though which is a major slay. she defibrillates him. queen.

it seems he really died. for now.

mulder’s telling her she should be proud, but she just wants to go home. that's what she says: "i want to go home". oh my goooooooood. oh my gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood.

wait it’s still going. she’s coughing. NO, SHE’S COUGHING BLOOD?????!

no it’s her nose. oh my god. the end.

FUCK YOU ALL I HATE EVERYTHING (punches wall) (punches table) (punches everything in an arm’s reach) (keeps punching until i collapse into a ball of sobs)

well. for most of this, distracting myself with fictional character’s problems worked. but now i’m just sad about my own life AND scully’s.

okay. i won’t lie. you want me to tell the truth? fine. i’ll tell you. i’d never lie to you...

i knew about the scully cancer arc. 

there. i said it. i know, i know, i too wanted everything to come as a surprise. but in all honesty, i’m glad i knew about it, because if i didn’t i’d probs be straight up ugly crying right now. 

yes, i saw it in a gif set a while ago- not this part, but from a later episode- and i find myself still deeply saddened despite knowing it was going to happen. i think it’s just so awful that cancer is a thing that happens, and even knowing that scully isn’t real doesn’t it make it less of a reality for other people, and that breaks my heart. of course i want my fave fictional girl to be okay- and this was foreshadowed after the abduction arc anyway- but cancer…. god, it’s just horrific. i think we all know someone who has it and have had to see what they endure. and it’s so genuinely and horrifically fucked up. luckily i can look at this leonard guy and be like damn, wouldn’t it be fucked up if a guy grew a new head? and i can rest knowing that it shall never happen to anybody alive, but this? like. you just don’t know. it could happen to anyone. 

and that really scares me, i think. more than anything else. so at least we learned about my deep set fear together? glad we had that bonding experience.

gooood. i’m gonna cry. okay yes, check it write it down- the tears are in my eyeballs. you can’t see it, but it is happening. yes, and now they are leaving my eyeballs and going down my cheeks. okay so. that’s fine i guess.

fuck me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

this episode was fine, other than that, i guess? i mean i laughed a bit but then i laughn’t. the laughter was cancelled. his face when he was digging around in the body part jumble was really funny, i love when he is squeamish. and i liked him laughing at his own joke and how beautiful they looked in the snow. the idea of this as a monster was kinda interesting and very disturbing in practicality- body horror is always gonna get me- but leonard himself wasn't super compelling. you can't really be that good of a healthcare worker if you're in it just to eat people. his mom was more interesting to me, but also she was annoying because how tf are you gonna sit there and say your baby boy eats people because he is so special?

scully, why do they do this to you……….. i need to save you from chris carter myself……. 

s4 loyalists: you scare me, because how can you endure this willingly? bro, i love angst too... but this is just straight up masochism 😭

[monstersandmaw]

A Star in the Dark - A retelling of the Minotaur of Crete story (m. minotaur x f. character, 3rd person, Chpt. 1, sfw)

Since there was some interest on Discord in seeing this WIP, here is chapter one in its entirety for Patreon supports of all tiers. 

Content: A young woman is given by her parents to be sacrificed to the monster in the labyrinth, and finds that maybe there's more to the Minotaur than she'd been led to believe. Passing mention of the death of a close friend in the past, and the practice of human sacrifice to the gods. 

Wordcount: 4161

Looking forward to your thoughts on this one! I'll probably put the whole story up on Tumblr at some point in the future, and so far I've got two and a half chapters, plus a few snippets, written. 

A salt-fresh wind swept in off the sea and set the flames of a hundred bronze braziers dancing across the flagstones in the fading light.

Those small fires guttered and roared in the gusting wind, and the young woman’s grim pretence at courage wavered. Ahead of her on a wide, half-moon platform that stretched like a stage devoid of all its players, seven shallow steps led down into the earth.

The walls of the narrowing staircase were faced in smooth, pale masonry, and the downward path seemingly ended at a sheer, vertical wall facing the steps, with no door or entryway onwards. Instead, the end of her journey would begin at the square of utter darkness that waited in the floor where an eighth step would have been, gaping and blank like the maw of a newly dug grave.

Barefoot, the grit beneath the soft soles of her feet dug into her skin, and the same wind that made the flames dance pulled at the folds of her undyed, linen peplos to send undulating ripples through the thin fabric. Goosebumps prickled along her arms and legs. The gold bracelets that adorned wrist and ankle did nothing to warm her and the wind snuck its fingers into the elaborate coils of her long, dark hair, unwinding them and freeing them from the golden net that had held them all in place.

She’d been made up to look like a bride, but instead of a wedding, she walked through the pageantry of her own funeral. She wished bitterly that those coils of hair atop her head would turn to snakes and strike at the two men walking three, silent paces behind her with their bronze spear tips levelled at the small of her spine.

Overhead, a line of ochre-red smeared across the sunset sky like a bloody finger painting, and the copper disc of the sun stained the sea a dark, murex purple as dusk gathered around the cliff-top palace, and her last moments in the light of Helios drew to a close.

The monumental limestone masonry of the royal palace shone out of the dusk like pale bone, and a woman with a kithara wailed shrilly to the insistent beat of seven great drums, their rhythm a second heartbeat in her ears.

Incense, thick and cloying, twisted through the air from the braziers and it burned her throat and lungs and made her eyes water as she passed them. She blinked away the tears that formed; they were not for these people, and she would not let them see her afraid. Behind the incense, the faint scent of jasmine and honeysuckle floated past her from a distant palace garden that she would never see.

Upon the top step of seven, she faltered to a halt, shaking despite her desire to be brave; to bear the humiliation with stoic dignity. Hurt and grief curdled inside her with the last of her sputtering courage, and on impulse, she turned sharply to look back over the gathered folds of material at her shoulder, dark eyes wide and glassy with terror. The searing lance of betrayal that had been broken off somewhere in her ribs was now lodged there forever.

There, among the onlookers, she could see her stoop-shouldered father, with his wildly curly hair blowing around his head, and his tanned skin like leather after so many years under the fierce Cretan sun, his hands rough and strong and always gentle. He’d shown her how to hold a chisel and a mallet, how to split seasoned timber with wedge, mallet, and axe, how to pull the draw-knife across its surface, how to use a lathe to turn wood, and how to cut the joints in a chair so they would fit together perfectly. He’d even shown her how to carve winged sirens into the prows of the new ships and how to tease the shape of a spoon out of a section of wood without slicing her own thumb off.

She’d played in the shipwrights’ yard since she’d been old enough to toddle away from her mother and bring her father his midday meal. She’d laughed and learned along with the apprentices, outshining some and learning from others, until the day she’d nearly lost her index finger to the careless stroke of a chisel, and her mother had called her back to the house to spin and weave instead. In the wavering light of the braziers that lined the short path to her own personal Tartarus, she glanced down at the pale scar in her sun-bronzed skin and ran the pad of her left thumb over the silver line at the knuckle of her index finger where sensation existed only in her memory.

She willed that numbness to bloom out across her body, but her pain burned too brightly and too hot to be doused, and she ground her teeth. Her father couldn’t meet his daughter’s dark eyes across the empty stretch of gritty ground between them, but her mother held her gaze, unflinching.

The music seemed to fade as mother and daughter stood locked in distant, grim, resentful silence.

King Minos and Queen Pasiphaë stood on a raised dais somewhere off to her right, wreathed in embroidered, purple silks and dripping with gold, but she had no eyes nor time for them. It was because of the conceit and hubris of King Minos that she was being sacrificed to the monster below the palace, and because her mother had refused to take a ship and sail away with her that she was standing there now.

Cold, hard eyes spoke only of the desire for her daughter not to shame her. To go with dignity to a death that was, after all, to honour Poseidon. Of course, her parents would be well compensated by the king for their ‘gift’, but as all the misty possibilities along the path of her life were snuffed out like so many tiny candles, she couldn’t muster anything but contempt for her parents.

“I’m your daughter!” she yelled at her mother, her voice cracking as she fought the urge to double over against the pain. The agony of their betrayal clutched and clawed at her insides, the imaginary blade twisting deeper. “How could you? I’m your daughter!”

She hardly recognised her mild-mannered father as he just lowered his gaze to stare at the stones beneath his sandals. Beside him, her mother just kept on staring, her face like a statue at a shrine to discipline.

“I’m your daughter,” she whispered, the words inaudible to all but the two guards who began to steer and poke her down the steps like a cow to slaughter. “That’s all I am to you people,” she said, the words lost. “I’m not even human.”

The men exchanged a look as they neared the end of the stairs, but she couldn’t read it; couldn’t think.

She was about to die, to be torn to bloody shreds by teeth and monstrous hands, perhaps impaled on the horns of the bull-headed monster that rampaged below the palace, foaming and furious in his own imprisonment, and all while they held their stately banquet above and congratulated themselves on their own cleverness for appeasing Poseidon with a little virgin’s blood. And all for an insult dealt to the god almost three decades ago.

Well, at least she wasn’t a virgin.

Would the monster know? Would Poseidon care? Would the god even notice when the thread of her life was cut?

At an impatient flick of the king’s fingers, the two guards stepped forward as one. Their glinting, bronze spear points finally made contact and jabbed through the fabric at her hips, pricking two bloody points in the skin that bloomed like red eyes in the pale linen. She felt nothing. Her heel missed the lip of the opening into the earth, and she toppled backwards with a wordless shriek. Her arms and limbs flailed, and the shadows of the labyrinth reached up and consumed her.

She had promised herself she wouldn’t scream.

When she’d sat in the painted chamber in the royal palace, its walls adorned with lurid frescoes of figures leaping bulls and topless women emptying black amphorae into channels in the earth that had made her think of the runnels of blood in a butcher’s shop; when her hair had been combed and oiled and placed in its glinting net; when she’d had perfumed oil dabbed at the hollow of her throat, the inside of her wrists, onto her nipples, and, especially repulsive to her racing imagination, down between her legs; when she’d been told it was an honour to be deemed a worthy sacrifice to the monster stalking in his unending paths of dark nightmare: she had made an oath to herself that she would not scream. She would shame them with her silence. One last act of defiance.

Yet as she plunged backwards through the rush of foetid black emptiness, she screamed long and loud.

The sound tore itself free from her throat, raw and ringing in her ears as she plummeted down and down and down through the darkness that filled the shaft. The sky became a square of distant starlight that diminished as she fell.

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