#canonical main character death

[crabussy]

the psychological horror created by Hasbro’s desire to sell more toys rather than honour the desires of the original creator resulting in an immortal alicorn princess of friendship doomed to watch her friends grow old and die without her is so interesting to me. by trying to cater to children more you have accidentally created a reality in which death of the main characters friends as she lives on for centuries is not just implied but confirmed. idk it’s fascinating to think about

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Different Ending

written for @steddiemicrofic October

prompt: dress || wc: 350 || rating: E || tags: main character death (steve), hurt/no comfort, blood, gore, body horror, grief, s4 canon-divergence, pre-steddie

story under the cut

~~~

“Someone help me dress these!” Eddie screams over his shoulder. His hands are pressed so far into the wounds on Steve’s chest that his fingers squish against something warm and wet. Steve winces at the pressure, and more blood pours from his mouth.

Eddie turns around to find Nancy still standing behind him. She should be running to grab the gauze and bandages from Steve’s pack, tearing her clothes into strips like the last time the bats ripped him open. She shouldn’t just stand here, motionless, dread and acceptance scrawled across her face.

Robin would kill her if she wasn’t dragging Dustin away into the trailer after Nancy agreed to help Steve. Now Eddie understands– she just didn't want them to watch this.

It wasn’t supposed to go like last time. They were defenseless. Steve didn’t even have a shirt or shoes when they traversed this hellscape. But this time they wore their War Zone gear, Eddie and Robin prepped molotov cocktails, and Steve had hammered nails into a shield ’to match my bat, Robs, how cool is that?’. 

They agreed it’d be more dangerous at the trailer, so of course Steve volunteered. He’s the fighter, sword and shield. He’s the goddamn babysitter and if Dustin’s here, then so is he.

But Steve promised Eddie a date, he promised not to do anything cute. Now–

“Eds,” Steve coughs, dark red blood seeps out from between his teeth, trickling down the corners of his mouth. It soaks his hair. Out of everything, that’s what rips the first sob from Eddie’s chest. “Please, Eds, you have to go. Get them out of here.”

“No, no please, Stevie– you promised me, remember? Enzo’s, a movie at the Hawk, and a goodnight kiss.” Snot drips from Eddie’s nose into Steve’s chest wound, and he swallows the vomit that floods his mouth.

Steve chuckles, the sound so wet it gurgles. His lips are blue, his eyes unfocused. “Don’t remember promising a goodnight kiss, Munson.”

“Let a guy dream, big boy,” Eddie sobs through a fake, comforting smile.

“You’ll be in my dreams, Eddie. For always.”

[utilitycaster]

This is coming up with Orym, and it came up with Yasha and to an extent Keyleth too (as well as many other characters; see tags). Anyway: there is never going to be a moment when those characters are not grieving. If you wait for them to stop grieving, you will wait until they themselves die - and to be clear I do not mean this in the sense of “the grieving spouse clearly seeks death so that they may be reunited”; I mean “that loss will always exist in their lives, and they will grow around it and find other joy and love, but there is no moment when the hole that person left closes and is gone.” You can interpret where those characters are in their grieving process, which is a complex and nonlinear one, and you may perhaps feel they’re not ready, but if you do, it’s worth asking yourself what “ready” would look like because it will not look like an absence of grief. More specifically to Orym, if you are rethinking this because there was a scene at Will’s grave, that’s a big part of the nonlinear aspect - how someone will speak about the death graveside, or how they may speak about it in specific places, or on anniversaries, is very different to their day-to-day experience with grief.

Which isn’t to say you can’t interpret Orym as still in, for lack of a better term, the full mourning period; I’m noting it both because it is a pattern in the fandom for characters who have lost spouses, and because within that pattern, the discussion seems to treat life after the death of a partner as a dichotomy of “grieving” and “not grieving”, in which romantic love is only possible when one is in the "not grieving" state, which is fundamentally untrue to life.

[oopsbirdficced]

Traitor's Waltz (Overture the the Fall of Gondolin

Art by @jaz-the-bard / JazTheBard (AO3)

Story by @oopsbirdficced / ingenious_spark (AO3)

Fic rating: Mature

Warnings: Torture, canon-typical violence, canonical character death

Relationships: Idril/Tuor, Idril/Maeglin, Idril/Tuor/Maeglin

Characters: Idril, Tuor, Maeglin, the Lords of Gondolin, Námo, Irmo, minor cameos by Aredhel, Turgon, and Celegorm

Tags: Music, opera, dreams and nightmares, haunting, ghosts, trans characters, drama, romance, angst with a happy ending, temporary character death, embedded audio

Word Count: 12,817

Summary: Tuor and Idril find themselves haunted by the music of an old love gone by. The only reprieve is to follow the music to its crescendo.

-

A collaboration created for the 2023 Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang, @tolkienrsb! It’s been wonderful working on this with Jaz!

Collection/link will go live on September 6th!

[wompcod]

I've never posted here before so TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: I found this post by the lovely @call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes and got the urge to expand on it a little. THANK YOU LIZZY YOUR POSTS ARE SO GOOD!!! 🙏🏻 ❤️ I also hardly ever write angst and I have never posted before so if you see any typos, naur. Ficlet starts here ⬇️⬇️ Mind the tags!!

Price, for the first time in a long time, didn't know what to make of this situation.

It started three weeks ago, Ghost was acting differently. At first Ghost was less talkative and it was clear he was becoming more and more exhausted—to Price at least, Gaz too. They chalked it up to the constant work of trying to put Makarov down once and for all. They all were, none of them had been this tired in a long time, Ghost especially.

But then it got worse. Ghost would refuse to speak unless spoken too, his eye bags were visible through the black eye paint if he even bothered to put it on, and he became violent. Ripping people to shreds when on missions. It was understandable but it wasn't necessary, and he knew it. He was being sloppy. Uncalculated. They had only been on a few missions since the incident in the train tunnels but it was clear a pattern was forming.

Two nights ago, Price decided to go to Ghost's room to talk. It was late at night and it was one of those few recent days where they had the opportunity to get a full night's rest, but when he made it to the stairs with Ghosts quarters it was barricaded with the couch and the table from the 141 rec room. When he pushed past, his door was blocked by the nightstand and desk.

It was Simon who let him in and broke down. Price had never seen him like this in a long time, it was almost uncanny. The lieutenant was doing his best to hold back tears but was failing. He struggled to get his words out but eventually told he he was seeing things.

Seeing Soap. "He won't stop trying to crawl into my bed at night. I've tried everything," he cried. "Locking the door, barricading the stairs—" he waved his arms in the air, not knowing what to do with his hands—"I don't know how he does it."

Price wasn't upset about the fraternization, he knew the moment Simon and Soap met they would be something. Kyle caught on soon after he was introduced to them. What he was upset about was the fact that Soap was dead. He died three weeks ago in the train tunnels. The day Makarov blew the bullet into his head and got away.

Simon spread his ashes himself.

Price had no choice but to take him to get a psych eval. He never wanted to think that Simon would one day go crazy but he didn't know what else to do.

The on-base doctor said that, aside from saying he was crazy, he wasn't exhibiting any other behaviors that would support these claims. He had been seeing a therapist for a while before this whole mess, he didn't have any history of mental illnesses or any disabilities that developed or ran in the family that would give him these problems. At the most, depression all those years ago after his father and Roba. The doctor said it was because he was grieving and sent him back saying he was clear to keep working after a few days of on-site leave. Price didn't see it. Simon would never act this way simply out of grief. He didn't when his family died. Why now?

Price was sitting in his office yesterday when he got a visit from Kyle. It was clear he was crying but made the effort to stop himself before entering the office.

Before he could speak Price guided him to the spare chair and asked him, "Kyle, what happened?"

"I saw Soap."

Both Simon and Kyle are saying they saw Soap. In the flesh.

They talked. Kyle said he was leaving the firing range when he saw him. Soap was apparently just standing there, looking at him. Kyle said he was wearing the gear and clothes when he died. There was blood on his left temple and his nose was bleeding.

A soldier asked him what was wrong, when Kyle blinked Soap was gone. Kyle didn't respond, he made a bee-line to Price's office.

It was too coincidental, both Kyle and Simon are saying they're seeing Soap within two days. It can't be psychological.

Price told Kyle he would do his best to keep him and Simon from going off the deep end. That he was there when they needed to talk. Don't go to the doctor, they can't do anything.

Now, the next day, the sun had set and he was filing the last of his paperwork and the reports regarding the most recent mission in his quarters. A weapon shipment in London was being escorted by Makarov's men—since the incident, he hasn't shown his face, the coward. Things were fine in the first half, the cargo was small and minimum security, but given their luck recently something just had to go wrong. Kyle had gotten shot in the leg, Simon went ballistic, it's why they aren't on the field now. By the time it was over they were dirty, covered in blood, surrounded by dead bodies, and beaten tired, but they were able to keep Makarov from building his arsenal bigger than it already was. It was just disappointing it was such a small dent, if it even made a dent.

A knock interrupted Price's thoughts—ramblings, really.

The sun was setting, everyone knew to not bother him so late into the day unless it was an emergency. Only his boys had that privilege of visiting him when they wanted. "Come in," he rasped. He turned away from his paperwork, finally finished, and moved to grab his cup of water from the nightstand. He'd hardly spoken to anyone all day aside from Laswell. She said she would comb through the boys family medical history to see if there was any possible undiagnosed problem, but that was all she could do.

The door handle jiggled and the door creaked open. A moment of silence entered the space. Price turned around. The door was ajar, but no one came inside. "You can talk to me," he said, maybe Simon or Kyle got cold feet and didn't want to be a bother. No one answered. Price abandoned his water on the nightstand.

He opened the door, but no one was there, odd. He stood there for a brief moment, waiting to see if either of him men would turn up but it didn't happen.

He shut the door. The draft made the room cold. He opened the closet and pulled out a pair of pj's and tossed them on the bed.

Something flicked his hat, tilting it forward and down his forehead. He whipped his head around, no one was there. The room was dead silent. A thought weaseled its way into the forefront of his mind. Soap was the only one who would do that. 'The only one on base brave enough to flick the captain's hat,' other soldiers would say. Simon and Kyle wouldn't get in any trouble, but they knew it was Soap's thing. He'd do it whenever he needed to get John's attention, or when he felt like it. It was endearing.

John's heart ached. Soap was always like a son to him, just as much as Kyle and Simon. He wanted to stop himself from thinking about it, but he couldn't. John is not crazy. Neither is Simon. Neither is Kyle.

A creaking sound from the floorboards cut through the silence, but John hadn't moved. The creaking turned into squeaky footsteps. He stood as still as a statue and listened to them.

They circled around the room, the supposed draft from just a moment ago seemed to come back, it circled him along with the steps. It wasn't a draft. It was just cold. What is happening?

"Captain?"

John whipped his head around, he's sure he gave himself whiplash this time but gave the sudden, sharp pain in his neck no mind.

Soap. Soap is standing there. He looks pale. Confused. Hurt. Hugging himself tightly. His mohawk was a mess. He looked the same way Kyle described him. Except, a closer look tells him it wasn't just blood on his temple. It was the bullet hole. John adjusted his hat back in place, as of it covering his eyes slightly was the reason this was happening.

"Why is everyone acting so weird," Soap asked. His voice was hoarse and his eyes were red and puffy. He stepped forward

"Soap..." John stepped back.

"Ky's been ignoring me for weeks, and Si...Simon," Soap started crying and hugged himself tighter. John wanted to cry too. Soap, his sergeant, his boy, has been suffering even after he died.

"Simon keeps shutting me out," he sobbed, "I don't know what I did! He won't tell me! Kyle won't even look at me!"

John's body moved on its own. He wrapped Soap in a tight hug, Christ he was freezing.

Soap latched on and sobbed into his shoulder, but the tears didn't stay for long.

After a few minutes Soap pulled away and wiped his face, the blood that spattered on his eye smeared. John looked closely at him, he was partially transparent. He could see the light from the lamp behind him shine through his skin just barely.

"Captain," Soap asked, "my head hurts...what happened?" He rubbed the palm of his hand on his right temple.

John didn't answer, he couldn't. What was he supposed to say, 'you died three weeks ago'? Is this even real? It's a nightmare, it has to be, but it feels too real.

When John didn't answer, Soap held back a whimper in his throat and walked around. When John turned around, Soap was gone. The door didn't move.

John didn't sleep that night. He's sure Simon and Kyle didn't either. Laswell gave him an update, neither Simon nor Kyle have any plausible mental disabilities or illnesses that could cause any severe stress or hallucinations but John didn't care about that anymore.

Simon watched the sunset. Johnny loved watching it with him. Watching the vibrant hues of the sky, orange and gold, turn to deep purple and blues kissing the green grass until only the stars shined in the sky. Simon loved it. The stars shined in Johnny's eyes so brightly.

It's why he's here, on the outskirts of the property maskless. He could still hear the firing range but the base was far away enough that no one would think to sneak out this way and get away with it, no one as skilled as them. Simon twiddled a dandelion between his fingers. He never blew wishes, didn't think it was real. Johnny did though.

He closed his eyes, blew on the small weed, and watched the tufts of white drift off in the cool breeze. He hopes his wish will come true.

The air in front of him got colder. Before he could open his eyes he felt a pair of familiar lips on his, no longer warm. The kiss was slow and tender, and despite it being so cold Simon had missed this desperately. He lifted his hand and touched Johnny's cheek, tilting their heads and deepening the kiss.

Johnny pulled away first, "Thought I'd find you here," he whispered. He adjusted himself and sat at Simon's side, looping his arm around his and locking their hands together. Johnny rested his head on Simon's shoulder. Simon felt the tell-tale lump building in his throat and did his best to swallow it down. He couldn't speak.

When he didn't respond, Johnny continued. "We confessed to each other here, shared our first kiss and our first time together here, too. Do you remember?"

"How could I forget," Simon breathed. He didn't dare look to open his eyes. He doesn't know if he could handle seeing Johnny in the state he's in. But when Johnny asked him to he couldn't help it.

Simon could feel the tears roll down his cheeks while his nose became stuffy and warm. Johnny lifted his free hand and wiped the tears off. He was so pale. Simon missed his sun kissed skin. The stars weren't shining in his eyes anymore. He still had the hollow wound in his left temple. It wasn't bleeding but the blood on his face and under his nose was still fresh and bright red. The gear, unmoving.

"Whatever happened between us, we can fix it," Johnny quaked. "We always do."

Simon feared this. Kyle learned from his parents all things paranormal. They always loved the investigations and scary stories, saying that sometimes certain ghosts get stuck in a loop. They don't know they died. It's why Simon was here. A 'trigger' for the ghost in question. Kyle said it would trigger Johnny's memory and help him possibly move on.

Johnny, poor Johnny, sitting here with tears matching Simon's as he tries his best to understand what's happening, doesn't have a clue of what's really going on. Hell, he doesn't seem to even remember Makarov.

Simon had to say it. Tell him he was dead, help him move on, it has to be him. He would've done the same. "We can't, Johnny—"

"Why? Why won't anyone tell me what I did—"

"Johnny," Simon interrupted, "don't freak out when I say this but," he could feel the words mingle with the lump in his throat, he forced them out with a sniffle, "you're dead."

Johnny's eyes widened. "I.." he stumbled over his words thinking of what to say next. When he couldn't, he asked, "Si, what are you saying?"

Simon twisted in his spot and cupped Johnny's chilled face in his hands. "I need you to remember. Vladimir Makarov? The train tunnels three weeks ago? What Makarov did to you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about—" Johnny held his hands over Simon's.

"We all split up, you and Price were alone, Makarov got the jump on you and—"

"Stop it." Johnny demanded firmly pulled away from Simon and turned around. "Stop saying that." He sniffled.

Simon stopped. Saying what in particular he couldn't tell, but he had to push. He recalled his words just before. There was one word that persiste, he tested it slowly, "...Makarov?"

"Stop it!" Johnny stood and backed away, "It...hurts. Makes my head hurt. Stop it, Simon please." His presence flickered faintly as he held his head in his hands.

Simon wanted too, he hated to see it damage his Johnny so badly but he couldn't live with himself if it meant Johnny would stay trapped. A never ending loop of visiting the firing range, the training grounds, the demolitions area, their spot, then Simon's bed that inevitably one day wouldn't be his anymore. The thought of Johnny wandering aimlessly years down the line, confused on where they all went, what happened, and why things were changing. Alone. The thought felt like a knife twisting in his heart.

"I know, love, I know" he reassured the Scot. He reached out and gently held Johnny's hand in his, giving him space but still showing him he was there for this. "But I need you to breathe, I need you to remember.

Johnny sniffled and wiped his nose with his free one. He froze when he saw the blood smeared on his hand. His gloved hand. "Why am I..." He looked down and looked at himself. He hadn't noticed he was dressed like he was being shipped out. Johnny assessed himself quietly. Going over the empty pockets on his tacvest. Johnny's eyes widened more than they already were, "The tunnels..." he trembled, "Makarov..."

"Love," Simon asked. He stroked Johnny's hand with his thumb but it didn't calm him down. The flickering was worse now, non-stop and he was becoming more and more transparent.

"No..no, no, no no," Johnny fell to his knees with his head in his hands. Simon tried to catch him but he just phased through with a sharp chill running up his spine.

Simon knelt down to his level and did his best to comfort him, but how could he? Is this it, he thinks, maybe Johnny is finally passing. Hopefully. It hurt that this was the last they would see each other. This was how they left each other. At least until it was Simon's time, he thinks. He isn't entirely sure how it works. He never took the thought of an afterlife into consideration until three weeks ago.

Johnny lifted himself off of his knees and shoved his way past Simon, and when Simon turned around he was gone. The night became silent aside from the crickets and the faint sounds of the base nearby. Simon crouched down and sobbed. He felt some relief but the deviation settled in his heart and attached itself to his lungs. He upset Johnny—no, well yes, but he didn't have a choice. He had to help Johnny move on. This was how it had to be.

He doesn't know how much time had passed when he started his trek back to the base. He cried until he couldn't cry anymore. He hadn't even cried that hard when his family died. He already felt less human back then but Johnny was the one who revived the Ghost. Now Johnny is gone.

The last of their leave flew by and none of the group had seen Soap since.

Ok that's all, bye 👋🏻 *runs away*

[eliks-edge]

I love the idea of a death wizard who parallels Malistaire pre-Sylvia’s death working together with Cyrus so much. Cyrus sees his brother in this child and it hurts because he misses his brother so much but it also worries him deeply. The wizard and Malistaire are so similar he can only hope that the trauma the wizard will have to live with after dragonspyre (and even more so after future worlds) will not make them into the man Malistaire is now. And really and truly, Malistaire is just a man overrun with grief over a loved one, which could so easily happen to the wizard. I think it would so interesting to see a villain arc very similar to Malistaires with the wizard

[tangirlisfangirl]

the movie was good but like. cmon guys.

[dreamerdrop]

Star Trek DS9 remake but as a seinen manga specifically, anime adaptation pending.

[life-despair-and-monsters-blog]

Kinktober Day 23 & 26: "Bondage/Restraints" & "Voyeurism/Exhibitionism" - For OTP: "Femme Fatale and the Apex" (Sonya x Jennifer)

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @imogenkol and @josephseedismyfather

Tagging @adelaidedrubman @spookyrares @derelictheretic @inafieldofdaisies @noodlecupcakes @direwombat @voidika @cassietrn @aceghosts @icecutioner @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @cloudofbutterflies92 @carlosoliveiraa @wrathfulrook @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @alypink @shellibisshe @josephslittledeputy @skoll-sun-eater @g0dspeeed @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins and @florbelles + anyone else who want to join.

Prompt based on this kinktober post made by fellow mutual @starsandskies. While the main Kink of this post is "Bondage/Restraints" & some "Voyeurism/Exhibitionism", there's also some minor inclusions of "Dirty Talk", "Orgasm Control", "Praise Kink", "Knife Play" and "Dom/Sub dynamic". I would have put down "Naked-Clothed" but the "clothed" person in question is an almost 10-foot tall cyborg beastie (with a human's brain) whose only covering is metal welded into the flesh so... SHRUG!

Anyway, SimpleGenius here from my Life, Despair & Monsters Blog. Just making my first contribution to Kinktober. I'm not really an excessive smut writer, though with that being said, I have written it on occasion, just never posting it (...until now). This is a oneshot devoted to Sonya and Jennifer just being their kinky selves.

From the mature tag and the title you can probably already guess that this oneshot (which will also be uploaded onto my AO3 as well) contains explicitly sexual content meant for 18+ users only. Minors Do Not Interact!

Here's some more warnings to scare off any stowaways.

CW: Explicit BDSM, Teasing/edging, stripping, (tail???) knife play, the equivalent of thigh riding for these two (but on Sonya's tail), naked female with not kind of non-naked female (there's like barbie physiques/anatomy involved with Sonya), and minor mention of a blood kink (unsurprisingly Jennifer's kind of a freak too). Basically monster-fucking (maybe robot-fucking? Or would it be cyborg-monster fucking???). A mix between praise and degradation kinks. Sexual fantasies. Really freaky behavior coming from these two. But very enthusiastic consent! Also vulgar language. And whatever else there is.

I’ve tried my best to research the sex aspect of it all, and even if I don’t believe it’s all accurate I think I did good with what I could find.

TW: Slight mentions of referenced murder and maybe cannibalism (Sonya's got a human brain inside a very non-human body so I don't know what lines that crosses). And minor implications of a toxic dynamic. They're both possessive people who suck so bad.

With that out of the way, I hope you do enjoy what I've written below the cut. This will officially be my first smut that I've publicly published. I'll be sure to reblog this post with the link to the one that'll be posted on my AO3. Also I'll be publishing another Kinktober Oneshot shortly after this one from my @the-silver-chronicles blog, about the main couple of that series, Silva and Faith. So don't be alarmed by a random ping from an icon you may or may not recognize.

Title: The Tails That Bind

Series: Life, Despair & Monsters (Love Death + Robots)

Character/s: Sonya/Sonnie | The Apex/Khanivore (re-interpreted canon character with OC qualities), Jennifer, Dicko (referenced in passing) and Sir Enigma Malvolio (referenced OC).

Words: 5,635

She heard her before she saw her; the click-clack of heels on marble closing in to their quarters.

Sonya remained where she was though; hanging from the ceiling in the expansive space that was refurbished to specifically accommodate her massive form, the high walls adorned with deep claw marks and scrapes she entrenched her talons and tail spikes into. Certainly, better than the restrictive pod or the dirty paddocks.

In contrast to her usual straightforwardness, when it came to dealing with her "mistress" of all people, Sonya made an effort in entertaining her more dramatic flairs.

If only to piss off the shrewd woman.

The door opened with such force that when Sonya peeked through her only optic, shutters uncoiling from her lens, to witness the blonde slam the door shut with a ferocity that immediately turned her on.

Someone's already pissy today, Sonya noted as she continued to observe with growing interest.

Jennifer turned around, short blonde hair barely touching her shoulders, noticeably a little frazzled with a few more wild strands curling out than usual. Her yellow rose still managed to survive staying pinned in her hair in spite of the fact Jennifer looked on the verge of ripping her hair out.

Her brows were furrowed, her face was scrunched in anger and a lovely snarl adorned her lips. Blue eyes darted to her white laced gloves, ripping them off as she mumbled curses under her breath. Sonya's optic lingered on the curves of her body, covered only by the golden dress Jennifer preferred to wear.

Sonya preferred when she didn't wear anything. Ogling Jennifer had been the closest her human brain could get to experiencing arousal within a body that wasn't designed to feel it. She had to get creative and tamper with many of the strange machinations and codes Malvolio left in her cursed Beastie body to at least have her body acknowledge the feelings.

In spite of this, she was still so far from reaching her goal of actually feeling the satisfactory conclusion of pleasure.

"-that old fuck!" Sonya was brought back to reality by the enraged outburst from Jennifer.

"Which old fuck are you referring to this time?" Sonya spoke in a voice more mature and sophisticated than her original gruff and accented voice, the crackling of the speaker embedded in her throat alerting Jennifer to the other presence in the room.

Jennifer's alarmed blue eyes pointedly gazed up to meet her gleaming red optic. However, she relaxed once she saw it was just Sonya, who uncoiled herself to lower her body, but refrained from leaving the ceiling just yet.

"It's one of Dicko's closer business partners," Jennifer told the Apex, kneeling down to take off her heels, "And I thought you were down in your workshop."

That doesn't narrow it down to who it is at all, Sonya wanted to retort, but chose to respond with, "I was, but it's so hot down there that I decided to seek out the coolest room I knew of."

"The wonders of an air con," Jennifer remarked, moving over to her vanity desk to set down her yellow rose from her hair.

Sonya rolled her optic at the snide comment, and returned her attention back to the source of Jennifer's sour mood, "Which one of Dicko's partners had it been? Ross or Carmen?"

"Ross. Carmen took a vacation, lucky bastard," Jennifer grumbled about the latter, though the former's name was spoken with disgust, "He was countering every proposition I made. Questioning my ability as a successor to Dicko's business. And attempting to belittle me in front of every one of those weak and cowardly geezers. The absolute gall!"

Sonya lowered herself above the bed, talons underneath her jaw as she watched her mistress rage. If she could, she'd be squeezing her thighs together to add a little friction. Unfortunately, her body wasn't included with genitals, and rubbing her thighs together in this body would just be pointless, so she could only visualize the image to force herself from screaming internally.

"The fucker was also leering at me. Almost all of them were," Jennifer continued, sitting down onto the foot of her massive mattress with a huff.

"I don't blame them," Sonya replied, extending her neck so her head was close above Jennifer, "Your body is desirable. You're probably the only woman in their life they can jack off to. I know that's what I'd be doing."

Jennifer abruptly turned with a face full of red; not blushing red, but pissed off red.

"Oh, fuck you," she replied, standing up to move away from Sonya and the bed.

"You'd have to beg me for that," Sonya said in a sing-song rhythm, chortling.

Jennfier crossed her arms as she stewed in her anger more, "This is serious. I know they're conspiring against me. Honestly, I wish I could have them all dead by tomorrow morning."

Sonya piqued at that, red optic widening with optimism.

"You know, if Ross is being so bothersome," she spoke up, her next words a suggestion, "I could eat him for you."

Jennifer turned to look at the beastie, opened her mouth to chide her, but closed it as she considered the idea, a smile crossing her lips, until a frown swiftly replaced it, and she shook her head.

"While I certainly wouldn't be against the idea," she told the Apex with sincere consideration, she rebuked the idea, "I can't just make an example out of him. At least not right now. I require his cooperation to gain access to his assets, and if I killed him now, it'd harm my reputation and standing with the other partners. And without them, we won't have a chance of finding Malvolio."

The very name of that... thing made Sonya's entire nervous system shudder, the dark thoughts resurfacing. She let them fester at the edge of her mind, before dispelling them back to the pits. She'll let them re-emerge once they found the creature; let him face the result of his violation towards her body.

Jennifer huffed out a sigh, which returned Sonya's attention back to her even as she went to make her leave, "I need to let off some steam."

Sonya tilted her head as she watched Jennifer pause just a step away from the door. The woman's blue eyes glanced back to the beastie, gaze following the Apex's elongated muscled arms, thick metal-plated tails, their twitching rattles near the piercing pincers and closed sharp jaw.

She bit her bottom lip, her hands slid down to her hips as she slowly strutted back over to Sonya.

"You know," Jennifer said as she reached the bed, "I just remembered how I never thanked you for stopping that assassin. And a good beast like you deserves a fitting reward for protecting her mistress so well."

Sonya cocked her head, red optic narrowing down at Jennifer. Sonya remembered the incident clearly; there had been a scorned bidder who lost because of Dicko's fateful mistake of convincing them to bet a lot of money against Malvolio. He managed to slip past Jennifer's guards and got too close for Sonya's liking.

Luckily, the Apex was on Jennifer's patrol guard, and she had spotted the glint of the knife before it had even left its sheath. Fittingly, she gave the man the same end she gave Dicko when saving her mistress; a biting introduction to her maw.

But that had been several weeks ago.

"Is that so?" Sonya inquired, wishing she had a brow to raise.

Jennifer only nodded, wetting her petite lips. She slid two fingers on both hands underneath her dress' loose straps, letting them fall limply down her arms to expose more skin. She reached behind her back, tugging the zip down behind her dress so she could loosen her front, exposing a small amount of cleavage to the Apex.

Sonya was surprised of her own self-control when her lens zoomed in on the skin, how calm and collected she managed to breathe. She restrained herself though; she had too much pride in herself to lay down and roll over like a dog.

No, she had a better idea.

"Oh, don't bullshit me with your "reasoning" darling, you just want me to fuck your brains out until you forget your own name and can't remember your troubles in the morning," Sonya retorts, her talons touching the ground as she leans over the bed, bringing her head closer to Jennifer's face.

There was no fear in her mistress' eyes, only a waiting expectation and a carnality that involuntarily made the Apex shake in excitement. Sonya continued, "If you think you can flatter me into getting between your legs, then I encourage you to resume because it is working."

Jennifer grinned in triumph as she proceeded to pull her zipper down further, but halted when Sonya added, "However, as I said before, it'll require you to beg."

Jennifer scoffed and shook her head, "I'm not doing that. You fuck me, or you don't. Your choice."

Despite her confidence, Sonya saw through her act and huffed out a disappointed steam of air as she started retracting backwards, "Oh well, I guess I won't-"

With her bluff blown, Jennifer's eyes widened as she reached forward for the Apex's face, pleading, "Wait! Fuck, fine, please fuck me. Please plow my pussy with your long, flexible and magnificent tongue until my mind goes blank. Make me scream your name each time you make me cum. I'll do anything you want, Sonya."

Sonya wished she could grin just as badly as she wished she could get wet right now.

She decided to put an end to her mistress' misery.

"Since you begged so desperately for it, I guess I have no choice but to fuck your brains out," Sonya concurred, and hummed, "But I'm curious... you'll do anything I want?"

Jennifer paused, narrowed her eyes in challenge, and responded, "Yes. I'll... try whatever you want, as long as I get fucked in the end. Sound like a fair exchange?"

Sonya nodded and tapped a talon on her chin in thought. There weren't much things her body could be used for during sex that wouldn't be detrimental to Jennifer's health, with exception to her tongue and the rattles under her curved blades that tipped her tails.

Although, she recalled the night she and Jennifer had met and began their cooperation, specifically to the moment where the Apex had Jennifer restrained with her tails, That has been something I've wanted to do again.

Gaining an idea, she replied, "You know, I've been wanting to try some bondage on you."

Jennifer's face scrunched in confusion until Sonya's tails disconnected from the walls and awaited by the Apex's sides. There were three in total, all tipped with dagger like pincers, and two rattles that resided near the curve of the blade, which she's been allowed to use like a vibrator before.

Jennifer once again bit her bottom lip while she thought of those around her body.

"I have no complaints," she tells the beastie, though frowns at the state of the bed, "Though I'm not getting naked until the bed's cleared of your mess."

Sonya knelt up so she could get a better look at the bed. Her optic immediately spotted the dust and chips of the ceiling that managed to fall down.

Without much patience, Sonya took the solution of using her tails to tip the bed to the side and shake off all the unwanted variables, before setting it back down normally.

"That better?" she asked.

Jennifer looked at the newest state of her large bed, which now lacked the pillows and blankets that were unceremoniously tossed off. Though seeing that the silk sheets remained on, all Jennifer responded with was a calm yet exasperated, "Sure."

Sonya positioned herself closer to the wall of the bed's frame, knelt down so she wouldn't cover most of the bed's space when her head laid down, while also keeping her tails free and ready.

Jennifer crawled onto the bed, swaying her body seductively while she made her way over to the Apex's head, which allowed the straps of her golden dress to loosen further down, just above her elbows. The front of her dress barely hung close to her chest, and Sonya swore she felt her brain overheat when her optic focused on the view of more of Jennifer's cleavage barely hidden by the loose clothes.

Jennifer got close enough to the Apex's face just to lean upwards until she sat at her bare heels, one hand going behind to zip her dress down the rest of the way, while the other kept the front of her dress from falling down. Sonya slightly tilted her head up so her optic could capture everything.

"I know how excited you've been for this," Jennifer purred as she gazed into the red hue of Sonya's optic, "I know you've been craving to see these again."

She pulled one strap down all the way, and then freed her arm of the other, before grabbing her the front of her dress and pulling the golden gown down, slightly jiggling free her petite perky tits. Sonya shook with a passionate eagerness at the visual image, just about all her mind could express through the body without pouncing onto Jennifer to forgo the bondage altogether.

She wanted to restrain herself, to prolong this just long enough to enjoy the experience and ensure she actually succeeds in listening to Jennifer's only demand.

"I know you've missed them," Jennifer swayed her chest, catching the Apex full attention. She grabbed hold of her breasts, massaging and giving her tits a pleasing yet playful squeeze as Sonya observed, winding herself up while putting on a show for her beastie. She gasped as she flicked her nipples, gently twisting them between her fingers as the tingling sensations caused her thighs to rub together.

She was enjoying herself now, and from how she looked at Sonya's quivering form, she knew the Apex enjoyed this show as well.

Jennifer stood up, dragging her hands over her breasts as she brought them across the skin of her body, the ticklish senses stirring a heat to coil within her. She performed a sensual dance in view of Sonya's optic, bringing her hands down to her hips where her dress hung closely, thumbs digging under the gown's hem, teasingly dragging it below her pelvis.

She spun around in her erotic sway, much to Sonya's surprise, but leaned down as she dragged the rest of her dress over her sexy ass, nothing worn underneath. She let the golden gown fall the rest of the way and glanced back at Sonya's now widened optic. With a pleased smirk, Jennifer gave herself a resounding smack against one of the cheeks.

Sonya's talons scraped against the marble floor. She clenched her jaw as she clutched hold over her fraying self-control, deciding that Jennifer's teasing needed to end here.

Thankfully, it was just about time Jennifer finished her little striptease for Sonya, and her blonde mistress knelt on her heels, dainty hands grabbing hold one of the alien protrusions coming out the Apex's head and underneath the narrow chin of her sharp jaw respectively, intentionally pressing her petite breasts against the optic as she leaned her head down to a small slit beside Sonya's frame to sultrily whisper in her audio receptors.

"What now, Sonnie?"

The lustful softness of her nickname snapped Sonya out of her patient observations, and she lifted her head up out of Jennifer's hold so her red optic could meet her mistress' blue eyes below.

"Now, I'll require you to turn around," Sonya instructed, her tails moving closer to the bed, "Make sure your arms are crossed behind you, and legs spread apart."

Jennifer turned around as instructed; not without doing a little show of shaking her ass temptingly as she settled into the position. Sonya was fueled with even more excitement of the opportunity of returning some teasing of her own.

Jennifer crossed her arms behind her, and Sonya immediately coiled her middle tail around the smaller woman's waist which then extended to her dainty hands, earning a surprise yelp from her mistress as her arms were secured tightly.

"Do you trust me?" Sonya let the question out softly at the shell of Jennifer's ear, her middle tail's blade carefully and gently stroking its cool steel-like tip down the human's back. The bladed pincer soon curved to brush one of mistress' lower cheeks, sensing her body clench at the sensual contact on instinct while the other tails began to coil under and around her thighs, "To release your doubts? To let go of all your inhibitions?"

With me, Sonya left unsaid. She shunned the thought... the very emotion infecting it, aside to the corners of her mind. No need to mix feelings with pleasure. Especially when she was nothing more than a thing to Jennifer...

As both tails snaked up from Jennifer's thighs to her upper body, the left pincer delicately scraped along her stomach while the right began to curl around her right breast with the blade leaving a ghost of a kiss to her jaw in passing.

Jennifer gasped out a light moan when her middle tail began to rub against her wet cunt, in a back and forth motion, ensuring the blade's sharpness did not touch the soft flesh. Soon the sleek metal was glistened with her slickness.

"Fuck, yes," Jennifer answered approvingly, rocking her wet cunt in unison of the tail. She bit her bottom lip to suppress another moan as the left and right tipped tails coiled around her tits, the appendages lightly playing with her breasts with deliberate twists and squeezes, the blades lightly kissing along the sensitive flesh.

Sonya focused on the priority of not piercing the skin with her tipped blades. She teased the flesh with an expertise akin to a surgeon, with her only intent of not cutting in and letting Jennifer bleed.

God forbid Jennifer cums early to the sight of her own blood because Sonya got sloppy. The Apex wanted to prolong this for her own sense of pleasure as well.

Soon her tails lifted up Jennifer, much to the smaller woman's surprise. Sonya raised her above the beastie's head, claws brought on to the bed in case the Apex had to catch her.

Slowly, she rotated Jennifer upside-down so her optic could get a better look at her reactions. To her delight, Jennifer squirmed in her grip, like last time. Unlike last time, the cause of her squirming came from the vibrating rattles that grazed closer to her swelling clit, the tipped blade positioned to poke above her trimmed blonde pubic hair.

Jennifer whined when the rattles on the left and right tails began to move, flicking her erect nipples between the vibrating pair on both coiled tails. She tried to arch her back into the vibrating sensations, as well as attempted to widen her legs so the rattles on the middle tail would have more space, but Sonya kept her restrained in position, brushing the rattles to her wet puffy pussy but never staying for long. She was completely at Sonya's mercy.

Much to the younger woman's growing frustration. A frustration that transitioned into a filthy, primal need.

Sonya was enticed by the desperate whines that escaped Jennifer's mouth, her red optic hungrily filling it's view of her elevated bare body; held up by her, restrained by her, receiving and being denied pleasure from her.

She focused on the blonde's gaping pouts, faint blush forming across her face, her blonde hair flowing downwards. Sonya's tongue flicked within her closed maw at the sight of sweat beginning to break from her mistress' body, who uselessly rutted her hips in the air to reach the teasing rattles, how pronounced her small breasts were from their bound state and the slick juices surrounding her pussy.

Sonya's entire system felt a fluctuation of pleasure within herself from the visual stimuli. It wouldn't be enough to ever reach a satisfying conclusion, though it was fun, nonetheless. When her audio receptors picked up pleading mewls coming from Jennifer, Sonya knew it was nearly time to settle her part of this exchange.

"What was that?" Sonya playfully inquired, listening to the words being interrupted by soft gasps whenever her rattles vibrated too close to her sensitive cunt and swollen clit, "I can't hear what you’re trying to say over such lewd sounds darling. Could you perhaps speak up?”

Through shaky breaths, Jennifer swallowed her murmured pleas and choked out a strained, "Sonya... I don't know how much longer I can do this. I want to cum. Please, it's unbearable, let me cum already. Stop teasing and fuck me!"

Sonya ate up her begging cries; she could see a glimpse of forming tears at her eyes. She briefly wondered if she should just wait long enough for her mistress to start crying, so she could bring out her tongue and lap up the falling tears. She hadn't kissed the woman's face with her tongue in a while, it could be a nice change of pace to show she cared-

As quickly as that idea came, Sonya dismissed the thought with a visceral fear? rejection. If she did that, then she wouldn't stop at the tasteful tears; she'd continue stroking her tongue along Jennifer's sweaty and salty unmarked flesh, until she got down to between her thighs and fed on the fluids there.

She could make Jennifer cry from pleasure then, sure; but she didn't want to use her tongue to have the woman undone, she wanted her mistress gushing from her very touch.

Sonya refocused on Jennifer once more, her helpless form cursing underneath her breath as her breasts were continuously played with while her pussy received nothing but teasing touches that edged her on but denied her true release.

Sonya hummed, feigning pondering in thought, as she took a sweet moment to bask in the wanton whimpers that were caused by her.

"How badly do you want this?" Sonya asked her, bringing her red optic to Jennifer's pleading blue eyes, "How desperate are you to want to be undone by a terrible beast like me? Say it..."

Those two husky, imploring, eager words made Jennifer shiver, feeling hotter. Through the haze, she rasped out with a sense of urgent need she's never spoken in before, "I can think of no one else who can satisfy me like you..."

Though caught off-guard, Sonya was not unsatisfied with the answer. She absorbed those words into the very core of her mind, sparking a renewed sense of determination.

"Well then," the beastie said, Jennifer's words lingering on the precipices of her audio receptors, feeling her "heart" pump faster, "I think you've endured enough teasing. You deserve this for being such a good, patient girl."

Jennifer shrieked in surprise when the vibrating rattles were buried against her slick folds and sensitive clit. However, when the initial shock wore off, it was replaced with an alluring moan, followed by a symphony of gasps, the short bursts of pleased shouts, and the sweet curses that she managed through her panting. She closed her eyes and started to arch her back again, and this time Sonya adjusted her tails grip to accommodate Jennifer's position.

It wouldn't be long until she was finished. Though Sonya decided to speed up the process by taking advantage of one of Jennifer's weaknesses; her voice.

"You should see yourself," Sonya husked out, her voice thick with lust, "How fucking enrapturing you are right now. Above here, bound by me, fucked by me, you look like a goddess. Oh, your little noises make it so tempting to ravish your flesh and pussy so I can make you scream louder."

Jennifer failed to suppress the whiny, pathetic whimper with a tender lip bite, and Sonya snickered at the reaction.

"Oh, but it's true," Sonya responded, the quills along her back standing up, elated by such noises as she continued, "Though I never realized how restraining you like this could bring out even more beautiful noises from you. I could just have you like this whenever you're being so bratty. Rip that dress off. Bind your limbs. Tease your wet cunt, edging it as you rut like a bitch in heat chasing after that final release. But it'll never come. More accurately, you'll never cum."

The image of Jennifer on her knees in this bedroom, writhing in the restraints of Sonya's tail, desperately begging her to end the torment, brought a familiar sense of sadism into her system. However, she did feel an odd sensation of heat rise in her body.

She returned back to the assignment at hand, the heat radiating at the back of her mind as she hummed and said, "Oh can you envision it, Jennifer? How much of a writhing, filthy mess you'd be? You'd be left unsatisfied, without release. Not unless you crawled onto your knees and begged so pitifully. Maybe alone. Maybe not. But tell me, if you were to do that, should I give in and fuck you like I do now?"

A resounding and gasping "YES" was Jennifer's response as her hips jutted at the rattles faster. So close now...

"Such an enthusiastic answer. You must be so close now," Sonya noted, not noticing her own jaw gaping open as her red optic recorded Jennifer's unravelling, "You've taken me so well this far. Letting me taste you, ruin you. So strong and resilient. With the most perfect body just for me. You do these filthy activities so impressively, as a naughty girl like you should. Oh, I love the way your flesh bruises and reddens and scars from me. I love the taste of your tears, of your sweat and of your juices. And I love how loud I make you scream and cry and moan. Especially when the only word coming out of your mouth is my name. Makes me fantasize doing it all in front of everyone. What say you? Perhaps on a live hologram broadcast during a Beastie tournament? In the storage unit for all the passing guards and personnel to listen to? Or maybe in a meeting with those morons who dare to ogle you-?"

Sonya was interrupted by an abrupt and approving moan, which slipped into a pleased humming smile from Jennifer.

"Oh? You like that idea? Is that what you want?" Sonya inquired with an endeared curiosity, surprised by the quick nod that followed, "Does it turn you on? At the thought of me fucking you in front of those leering senile men? My, my. What a dirty little slut you are, wanting to be humiliated by me so desperately that you would want those old fucks to see how good I make you feel. Or perhaps it because you want to show them that you're mine. For me, and me alone. No one else. Maybe in one of your next meetings, I'll accompany you. And whenever you go to speak, I'll be behind you, my long, flexible and magnificent tongue lapping at the nape of your neck, nibbling at the flesh with teasing little bites, my claws digging at your glimmering dress. One tail snaking under your skirt. Maybe I'll leave small cuts in passing, letting that lovely crimson run down those fine legs of yours. But once that tail reaches its destination, I'll let the vibrations tease your wet cunt until your legs begin to wobble."

"I'll tear open the front of your dress, let those ravishing tits of yours breathe within a room where they've been dreamed about for so long, except the only one having any fun with them there will be me," Sonya had a tail squeeze promisingly around one of Jennifer's tits as emphasis, "I'll have another tail play with one while my tongue lavishes the other. Don't worry, I'll have my last tail free to ensure none of them stop us, and no one leaves, bound by their pathetic fear. I'll rip your dress off, exposing your body to them all, let them see how dripping fucking wet you are for me, and I'll pick you up, bring you to the table, splayed out like a feast ready to be dined. But only for one though."

She pressed her closed jaw to whisper, "None of them will touch you. We'll show them how well you take me. How beautiful you sing my name. How much you enjoy being fucked dirty by me, and how good of a naughty girl you are to me. Show them you find more pleasure whoring yourself to a beastie than being touched by any of their limp dicks. Reveal your deadliness to them, unleash your claws and mark my metal with your scratches as I leave my own marks along your beautiful body. I bet their hearts would give out at the sight. I don't think their weak pride could take it. The fact you'd cum to a- disgu- terrible monst- beast like me, wouldn't you agree, my sexy- gorgeous- beautif- fucking - goddes- belov- m-!"

Everything was so unbearably hot. Her mind seemed to be on some kind of fritz, just like her voice box. Diagnostics on the system returned with nothing of issue, nor of any errors.

And yet Sonya felt so unbelievably strained from the task at hand. As if exhaustion of all things was overcoming her body as she continued to bring Jennifer closer to her release.

And her voice box. She didn't understand what was wrong with it. It bugged out, replacing words she wanted to say with those she'd never in her life say to Jennifer. But most importantly...

Was that my voice? Not her current voice, the one she was forced to adopt, but the one that Malvolio stole from her.

It didn't matter much, focusing on it was too much of a strain while she was fucking Jennifer at the same time. She refocused her efforts in bringing her mistress over the edge.

Luckily, she didn't have to wait long.

Her words, in combination to the unrelenting rattles fucking her pussy and fondling her breasts, had culminated in Jennifer arching her back more while screaming out Sonya's name, accompanied by the gushing squirts onto the Apex's tail.

Witnessing the result, Sonya swiftly stopped the rattles and brought Jennifer down to the bed safely. She managed to lay the woman down onto her front before her usually durable limbs failed her. She caught herself from laying on top of Jennifer, and carefully positioned herself to lay down by Jennifer's left.

Both beastie and mistress heaved for air, the activity exhausting for both parties involved, much to Sonya's bafflement.

They laid beside each other, just for the moment, to catch their breath.

Jennifer opened her blue eyes to just gaze at the Apex, eyes taking in Sonya's strangely exhausted form. She brushed a strand of her now messy and sweaty blonde hair aside, let out a little laugh, and said, "That was... amazing."

Sonya grunted in agreement, unable to currently verbalize. She did use enough strength to bring the tipped middle tail to her view, the rattles and the curved blade under it glimmering in Jennifer's juices, not dissimilar to the woman's dress.

She opened her jaw to bring her tongue out, cleaning up the slick fluids. She rumbled approvingly at the sweetly sour taste.

Her audio receptors picked up on the soft sound of a slick pussy being gently stroked. Sonya looked over to see Jennifer still staring at her but with a newfound hunger. Sonya noticed that her ass was slightly bent up, with one of her hands massaging her cunt.

"You look so hot when you do that," she husked out, and Sonya felt her exhaustion dissipate when Jennifer asked, "Do you want to put that tongue to better use?"

Sonya tilted her head, her lens focusing on Jennifer's face, "Round two? Now?"

"Don't you remember what we agreed on? "Until my mind goes blank", "until I forget my own name" and "can't remember my troubles in the morning"," Jennifer recalled, and in that sultry mocking tone of hers, "Or are you tapping out after round one?"

A new edge burned within Sonya, and she leaned up, looking down at Jennifer's nude body, asking, "Is that a challenge?"

Jennifer though playfully shrugged, spreading her legs wider as she continued stroking herself with hushed breathy moans.

Sonya took the opportunity to place her right hand over on the other side of Jennifer, until she was above the woman. She retracted until she was staring at both her mistress' sexy ass and her glistened pussy.

Blue eyes glanced to Sonya's observing form, and removed her slick-covered hand, caressing it on one of her ass cheeks before giving it a smack to entice the beastie, as she returned her hand to under her chin.

Sonya let out an amused chuckle as she took out her tongue. However, she pressed it from her mistress' tail bone all the way up her spine, the heat and wetness of the elongated and rough bio-mechanical muscle causing Jennifer to gasp and shiver from its texture.

Sonya lowered herself so she was right on top of her mistress, her gaping jaw releasing a soft exhale of hot steam brush at the woman's ear.

"You're not going to make it to any meetings tomorrow," Sonya informed her mistress.

Jennifer only smirked at her words, not returning a reply as she got comfortable. The beastie retracted back to where her mistress needed her the most.

Though unnecessary, Sonya couldn't help but lick around her mouth as she prepared to satiate her hunger, as well as Jennifer's.

[A/n] And from there on, Jennifer decided bondage was an excellent excuse to get out of a meeting she didn't want to attend the next day.

I wanna say that I may have gone a bit overboard, but overboard is just in-character for them (at least in my series).

[walkinginland]

when my time comes around

five times Jamie Fraser nearly dies, and one time he does canon-compliant 5+1 for Outlander part of my hozier song fics series; this one's based around "Work Song" aka the most JamieClaire song ever written.

one

Boys workin' on empty

Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?

Jamie Fraser is almost twenty years old the first time he truly comes near to death. Now, there had been no shortage of foolish boyhood accidents, and the illness that took his brother from him had not left him unscathed. But he is almost twenty years old, barely more than a child, the first time that he stares into that darkness, and feels it staring back.

The last few days have been a blur interspersed with sharp moments of startling, scarring clarity. Anger and shame and hurt and fear. He can’t comprehend how he had gone from pitching hay in Lallybroch’s fields to laying in a prison cell with his back flayed open and a burning infection creeping up his spine and into his limbs.

The fort physician has been kind, at least. Had let him cry, had set his hand gently on his shoulder, and done what little he could for Jamie’s shredded back. He had offered water and a bit of bread, said that it was important for him to keep his strength up. Jamie had taken some water, shook his head at the bread. He can’t imagine holding anything in his stomach when his whole body feels so hollow, carved out as cleanly as a hunted animal.

The physician’s best hadn’t been enough to prevent infection or erase the memory of the last time he saw his sister’s face, but it was something. He had handed him a worn out book, a worn-thin Bible with the smudged ink of fear-dampened hands.

“Here you are, lad. This belonged to another prisoner, but I reckon he knows the truth of it now better than any of us here do. Mayhap it’ll bring you some comfort.”

Jamie lays on his stomach on a creaking cot in a prison cell, trying to calm his spinning mind any way he can. He blinks at the tiny print of the Bible from an awkward angle, head tilted to the side and book resting on the edge of the cot, and tries to turn a page without pulling the muscles in his back. He had had no idea that the tips of his fingers were connected to the back of his shoulder in such an intimate way, but he is learning it now with every twitch in his hand.

He's not sure he is actually reading any of the words in front of him, couldn’t tell you which book or passage he has open before him. He could do without the chastisement of Saint Paul. Perhaps one of the Prophets, calling out doom and hope in the same breath. It feels fitting, somehow.

He steers far away from the whipping of Christ. Some things feel far different from a prison cell than they do in the pews in kirk of a Sunday.

His fingertips feel numb and the words in front of him blur, from tears or exhaustion or just the poor typeset and smeared lettering, he can’t tell.

The fingerprints and tear tracks that lived on these pages long before he opened them won’t judge him for the drops that find their way out of the corners of his eyes.

keep reading on ao3

[experimentaldragonfire]

so. floating the idea (...pun not initially intended but i'll take it) of a dead boy detectives au set on the titanic. not specifically based on the movie (because i haven't seen it, shockingly) but based on what i know about the actual event

so we've got this situation where edwin is in first class and charles in third. (again, not because of the movie, but presumably in 1912 you're going to have that very obvious class discrepancy and also did i mention yet that in order to make sense chronology-wise they're getting their dates of birth backdated to like 1894 or something?). they meet because of some sort of situation where edwin’s trying to find somewhere to escape his family and social pressures and ends up down in the third class sitting room or tucked away somewhere in a corridor he's not really supposed to be in, and charles just decides to befriend him because Hey New Person Who’s This? and then they have a good time avoiding edwin’s family and exploring the ship and maybe they hang out with charles’ mother a bit because she's on board as they're traveling to america together to attempt to start a new life away from his dad and then oops! iceberg! and first of all they’re not the priority for lifeboats (because "women and children first" and they're neither--but they make sure to drag charles' mum out on deck and get her into a boat and reassure her with false smiles that they'll be just a few boats behind) but even when edwin’s family try and cajole him onto one he asks if charles can come and the expressions on their faces give him all the answer he needs, so he flees back into the ship and there’s desperate confessions and they kiss with the water rising around them and then they’re holding hands on-deck as the ship sinks below the waves

and if i’m being really really mean about this, charles gets pulled from the freezing water into a lifeboat and he keeps pleading with his rescuers to take edwin too, but they can tell he’s already dead and can’t waste room on a body. and neither of them had intended to let themselves get rescued without the other one right by their side but that's how it ends up, and none of charles' rescuers are going to throw him back in the water when they have a chance to save his life, so he's forced to survive and go on and y'know, for someone who didn't intend for this to be the plot of the movie, I've sure accidentally stumbled upon some similar plot beats, haven't i

anyway in conclusion i don't need more story ideas but also i apparently can't stop myself from coming up with them

[justamesswasnotavailable]

The 911 fandom trying to make sense of the quotes Oliver keeps uploading on his insta story:

[aithusarosekiller]

Mainly aimed towards marauders fans bc I see a lot of people being really aggressive about it there but:

💫 Not liking fanon characterisation doesn't make you better than the people who do 💫

Someone changing a character to fit how they enjoy seeing them isn't a crime bc it's a fictional character

Making a character queer in canon content isn't ruining them and it doesn't make the writing cheap or stupid

You can address harmful stereotypes without being a bitch and shutting down entire perceptions of the character because it isn't usually the older writers and artists creating flawed presentations and it's certainly not all of them, you're just being dramatic and trying to demonise an exploration of a character that you don't agree with.

Reminder that a lot of fandom creators especially in the marauders and ofmd fandoms are minors. Young teenagers writing in their school break don't need to be screamed at and called homophobes or racists for making accidentally including a stereotype into the character, they may appreciate being warned about the misconceptions so they can correct them...but berating creators and saying they're all fucking everything up and destroying everything is not helpful; it's mean and they aren't going to take your advice, they're just never going to write again. If you don't like the characterisation just fucking ignore it like the rest of us.

You're a dick 🥰

[freytful]

Kojima rly threw in some canon doomed Mads Mikkelsen soldier yaoi riiight into the end of death stranding like he was throwing a bone to the wolves, only for the fandom to entirely ignore said canon doomed Mads Mikkelsen soldier yaoi in favor of [???] because the other guy was black

[bonefall]

longtime dc fan and i think a lot of people are angry because alex is obviously one of the most culturally relevant instances of misogyny in media. that being said being more culturally relevant doesn’t mean it’s the worst instance of misogyny and i think bumble definitely experiences more profound misogyny in the way the actual content is presented, if that makes sense

I get you, and that's a charitable way of looking at it.

I think what's rustling my jimmies is that like, there was a couple of WC fans being mildly dismissive of Alex in that note minefield, after dozens of comments of "fuck you how could you let the fridge woman lose" and "Bumble didn't deserve to win ANY rounds" and "how could A CAT experience misogyny." But then WE get blamed for the toxicity because THEY were butthurt that the Funny Cat People have the 'audacity' to win something they feel entitled to.

Like, we've gotta be endlessly charitable as we get openly insulted because they're upset about Alex losing, a very well-known and culturally relevant character with a legacy so massive we have a whole term named after her. But condemnations of "She's just a cat, letting WC into this poll was a mistake, Bumble can't even be a victim of misogyny" only started coming around once I started talking about it.

as if it's OUR fault people got passive-aggressive or even OPENLY aggressive towards us, and that we're "just as bad" for retaliating

But like you said, it's not a "Most Culturally Relevant Misogyny" tournament, it's a "Canon Misogyny Victims" tournament. And you're not even supposed to give a shit that Bumble died. The fat, woman abuse victim is beaten to death by a dictator, and your takeaway is meant to be, "It's so sad that Clear Sky is being blamed for murdering her, now they're all preparing for self-defense against a homicidal maniac, oh nooo :("

And I think that DOES make her deserve the win here! Alex is a MARTYR. Everyone with a brain agrees what happens to her is bad. It happened in her canon because it was bad. We talk about her and keep her memory alive. Bumble gets dismissed entirely out of hand because she's "just a cat in a kid's book" as if that doesn't make it worse, and as if the kid's book didn't treat a domestic abuse survivor like a moron for even asking for help.

Anyway, just to reiterate, I love DC fans. It's not all of you guys. Alex was done dirty and deserves justice-- and it's even kind of a shame that all she became is "The Fridge Woman." I haven't even heard people talk about how she was a wary, responsible person who was still ready to rock with Kyle's new weird glowstick powers, or that she was a journalist, or that she just got brought back in another edition as a Green Lantern only to be revealed as an illusion and re-absorbed back into Kyle's mind. Nope. Even her fans just remember her as The Fridge Woman.

[8cfc00]

augh who up feeling like they should be humanely euthanised for liking media the wrong way... sorry for fandomising certain characters but not fandomising others enough in the right way.