#cw: graphic depictions of illness

[fletcherwilbury]

@febuwhump Day 10: Killing in Self-Defense

Warning for Illness, respiratory issues, injury, faking injury, robbery, attempted murder, murder, minor character death

[sapphiremusings]

THE GIFT OF VENGEANCE | aemond targaryen

summary: Aemond replayed this image on a loop, squirming in his seat every time he got to the part where her eyes popped out of her skull.

Two eyes for his one, and the eight years he went without his revenge.

8.5k

cw: female!lucerys velaryon, au-modern setting, explicit sexual content, dubcon, graphic depictions of violence, sadist!aemond, obsessive!aemond, dark!aemond, choking, p in v, oral sex (fem!receiving), blood kink, biting, mentions of childhood trauma, breeding kink, uncle/niece, kinda DD:DE? not that dead though… u might be able to eat…

He hears her first, that soft tittering which haunted his childhood, piercing straight into the marred socket of his left eye, down the monstrous scar she had left him with.

She sits behind him, planked between her brothers, the only daughter of his half-sister, and therefore the most beloved. Maybe Jacaerys had whispered a joke, his lips sticky against the shell of her ear, laughter bubbling up her throat at whatever inane quip he made. A part of him, the one that dominated his childhood, leaving him cowering along the sand and crying fat tears into his mothers skirts, thinks that maybe they’re whispering about him– their stoic, one-eyed uncle, whom they once taunted and teased as children. Her amusement echoes around the corners of his mind, running along every ridge of his spine and settling deep within him, into an endless pool of festering hatred.

It had been years since Aemond had seen his half-sister and her litter of bastards, but now that he has, he’s ready to never see them again. The rift between their families is slowly starting to mend, threads of green and black pulling together to stitch up the hole that was left after Laena’s funeral, and the taking of his eye. His mother, once reverent in her hatred for Rhaenyra, now holds onto her arm with a newfound longing, fingers rubbing circles along the long scar she had given her that same night, when she had demanded an eye for an eye. It was one of his fondest memories– Lucerys crying out in terror as Alicent rushed towards her holding a dagger, her darling face twisted in fear, hiding behind her mothers skirts. Even when his empty socket was throbbing with an intense pain that not even milk of the poppy could cure, he still relished in the sight.

His father had been slowly dying for years before he finally succumbed to his illness, something Aemond had anticipated every time he walked past his room, the sour stench of rot and sickness permeating through the shut doors, along with the constant beeping of medical machinery. The funeral had been just as droll as his last days, with Aegon slumped beside him, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, stinking of the bottle he had downed beforehand. Helaena was busy slouched over, peering down at the iridescent beetle that crawled around her fingers, muttering to herself, ignorant to the snorts Aegon would give and the shushing their mother hissed. And Daeron, the youngest of his siblings, was perched between mother and their grandfather, in which he had spent most of his childhood with, a good boy who listened steadfastly to the sermon. Behind him, the Velaryon siblings sat, from eldest to youngest, hands clasped together as they mourned in a way Aemond hadn’t.

Her presence seared into him, burning down to his bones, etching itself into the very marrow of him. The gods were feeling particularly cruel this day, and he listened to the sound of his niece’s sniffling, soft sobs leaving her lips in the place of the laughter he was once used to. He had wanted nothing more than to turn around, to peer upon her darling face, flushed a splotchy pink as tears streamed down her cheeks, the tip of her nose red and her brown eyes wide and watery, eyelashes clumped with tears. He imagined himself grabbing ahold of the chub of her cheeks, squashed beneath his fingers as he plunges his thumbs into her eye sockets, the white mush mixing with her crimson blood, a beautiful concoction made just for him. The thought dizzied him, and while speeches were given and prayers were sung, Aemond replayed this image on a loop, squirming in his seat every time he got to the part where her eyes popped out of her skull. Two eyes for his one, and the eight years he went without his revenge.

He remembers how those eyes, big and glimmering with a certain mischief, would peer at him with the curiosity of a doe, as if trying to figure out what made him tick. A brush of her fingers against the back of his hand, the warmth of her breath against his jaw, her gangly limbs stumbling over his own. These small tortures she’d inflict on him, only to turn and laugh in the wake of his trauma, when their older brothers would taunt and tease him incessantly. She’d trail after them, giggling at their antics with a small hand held over her mouth, the apples of her cheeks flushed red in mirth. He had hated her for it. Her ignorance hurt more than any push or shove Aegon or Jacaerys could bestow upon him.

“D’you think mum will notice if I leave?” Aegon slurs in his ear, spittle fanning across his jaw as he leans heavily against his shoulder, already in a drunken stupor. “She seems rather occupied, right?”

Aemond has to force himself not to sneer, eye twitching in annoyance as Aegon sways on his unsteady feet. His older brother has long been the family’s drunken embarrassment, but to see him act this way in front of their half-sister and her clan irritates him more than it usually would. Aegon’s beady eyes are glazed over, partly focused on their mother, who stands at Rhaenyra’s side like a leech, mouth twisted into a pitiful smile as she hangs onto every word that leaves the silver-haired bitch’s lips.

Aemond hums. “She’d notice eventually.”

He expects Aegon to stumble off, his clipped tone hinting to an end of the conversation, but instead, he chuckles. “Our little niece has grown into quite the woman, wouldn’t you say?”

The brothers watch as she chats with Daemon, their uncle and her stepfather, his towering figure dwarfing her smaller one. As Targaryen’s, hailed from Old Valyria and of an ancient bloodline, rumored to be connected to fantastical dragons, incestuous relations were once common within their family. After the turn of the century, their house which was once full of riches and immense power, halted in this practice. That is, until Rhaenyra whored herself out to her father’s brother at a young age. Despite this scandal, his half-sister steadily remained their father’s favorite, even after her marriage to Daemon and the birth of two sons.

“Come, brother. There’s no need to play shy,” Aegon snickers in Aemond’s silence, the alcoholic stench of his breath lingering under his nose. “We are Targaryen’s after all… surely you’ve thought about giving it to her. I know I have. Especially after the… incident.”

“I have no taste for such depravity.”

His brother groans, hand slipping off his shoulder as he wobbles off, unsatisfied with Aemond’s answer. Before he can leave, Aemond reaches out to stop him, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “You’re embarrassing us, lēkia.”

Aegon merely shrugs him off, stumbling over his feet as he walks out of the room, barely making it through the archway without tripping. The sight makes him grumble, jawbone tense as he grinds his teeth, returning his attention to the window, where a mess of dark curls now sits, face hidden from view. He has only glimpsed her once, when leaving the funeral, her eyes watery and nose tinted a shade of pink, tear tracks staining her cheeks. She had smiled at him. The image has been playing on a loop inside his head, a never ending reel of her pretty face and that ringing laugh, ever since he saw it.

Lucerys Velaryon has always been beautiful, he thinks. The features he has always hated in her brother– that stubby nose, the freckles along their cheeks, their dark hair and dark eyes– sneering down at him as he pushed him to the ground, were always devastating in her. As children, he had imagined she was the Maiden reincarnated, the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on, even when she’d laugh in his misery, carrying out her small tortures with every lingering look and every brush of her skin against his. After she took his eye, her face began to haunt him for different reasons, and his dreams of her becoming his bride turned into nightmares where her laugh would echo around his head while her blade cut into his flesh once again, this time taking his other eye as well. His hatred grew into a cruel thing, festering deep inside him until it started to rot through his bones, and every thought turned violent.

Rhaenyra would send their father pictures of her and her bastards, and he’d hang them around the house, in every hallway and on every fireplace mantle. Every year, they’d have a new picture, and as if to taunt him, Lucerys’ was always hung on the wall across from his bedroom door. He has always suspected Aegon of this pettiness, for his brother would often catch him glaring at the portrait from his doorway, eye tracing the curls of her hair and the curve of her jaw. Her eyes seemed to follow him as he walked, up until he would slam his door shut, locking her away from view. His hatred, still burning bright, had mixed with a different feeling that left a tight coil in his stomach, one which twisted more and more each time he saw that damned portrait.

Her face is etched along the inside of his eyelid, forced to see her every time he closes his eye. He has memorized every freckle, every curve and dip, even the milky scar that sits near her hairline from an accident when they were children, when Aegon had bumped into her, causing her to fall and hit her forehead against a jagged rock. The sight of her blood along the stones had nauseated him at the time, and so did her tears, fat as they dripped down her cheeks and into her wailing mouth. Now, he thinks he would quite like to see her blood again, to hear her cries as he inflicts the same pain she had once inflicted on him. His pants grow tighter at the thought, but he can’t find it in himself to be ashamed.

The air in the room grows thick, and he watches as Jacaerys stands above her, hand resting on the crown of her head, fingers slowly caressing the strands. She looks up with a small smile, eyes glowing in the midday sun that shines through the window next to her. His hands curl into fists, knuckles turning white as she laughs again, the sound ringing in his ears like a persistent bell. He quickly makes his way out of the stuffy room, shoulders tense as he passes by his mother and half-sister, neither of whom have looked away from one another since their reunion. The hallway is empty, and so is the looming staircase, which he climbs in stride, farther away from the center room and her lingering laugh. Beneath his eyepatch, his empty socket begins to throb, a searing pain shooting through the wound until his vision nearly goes white, and he’s left stumbling into his room, collapsing on the bed.

His curtains are still closed, shielding him away from the blazing sun, leaving his room dark with only slivers of light shining along the floor. He lays among rumpled sheets, tugging off the leather patch fastened around his head, bringing a shaky palm up to cover the aching hole. He is used to this pain, which plagues him more often than not, but within the presence of the one who created it, it seems to swell over him like a tidal wave. He barely hears the knock on his door, and when he doesn’t answer, a few seconds go by, until someone barges in.

Even in the dark he can still make out her wide eyes and the sheath of curls around her shoulders, her steps timid as she comes to a stop at the edge of his bed, fingers curled together in a nervous habit. “Are you alright, uncle?”

Her soft voice rouses him, his palm pressing deeper into his empty socket, while he looks up at her hovering figure. Her eyes dart over his face, lingering on his hand which covers his wound, and he wonders if she is remembering how he had covered his eye that night she had taken it, how he screamed and cried atop the sand, blood seeping through the cracks of his fingers, a perfect match to the blood dripping from the dagger in her small hands. When she quickly averts her gaze to a corner of his room, he feels a smug satisfaction rumbling in his chest.

“I… I’m sorry to bother you,” she murmurs, voice faltering slightly in his silence. “I was asked to come check on you.”

He hums. “By who?”

She’s quiet, eyes flicking back at him as if she is surprised by the sound of his voice. He merely stares back, palm growing sweaty in its position. Like a deer caught in headlights, her mouth opens and closes, before she finally speaks.

“Our mothers wish for our families to make amends. Given the death of Viserys.”

Aemond sits up at this, dropping his hand to his lap, stare hardening as her eyes dart to the now exposed scar, to the gaping hole where his eye once laid. She swallows, but makes no attempt to back away or close her eyes. Instead, Lucerys draws closer, head leaning over to get a better look at her work in the dim room. His stomach churns, fingers inching towards the eyepatch that sits beside him, yet he stops himself from grabbing it. No, he wants her to see what she did to him.

“You want to make amends?” he pushes, voice raspy from his dry throat. He sits up farther, leaning closer to her hovering frame. She nods. “And how do you plan on doing that, riñītsos?”

She looks at him in trepidation, lips tugging downwards and her brows furrowing above her dark eyes. The black dress she wears is short, hem stopping in the middle of her thighs, the material tight around her waist, and his eye snags on the motion of one of the straps falling off her shoulder, resting above a small freckle. She doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe she just doesn’t care, her stare not wavering as she makes no move to fix it. There’s a look in her eyes he’s never seen before, something gleaming and intoxicating, drawing him into a pool of soft velvet. He wants to hold them, those delicate globes, in his hands, feel the warm slime of them like two marbles.

In a quick motion, spurred on by his vivid imagination, he grabs ahold of her jaw, tugging her face close to his. “Will you take out your eye, hm? Give me what’s been owed all these years?”

Lucerys surprises him. Instead of falling back in fear, she merely smiles. It’s sardonic in nature, and he watches in trepidation as her eyes flicker down to rest upon his lips. So quick, he barely registers it, yet the action shocks a bolt of lightning down his spine, and his grip on her jaw tightens in a mix of dubiety and fury. Her smile only seems to grow wider at this, as if she is aware of every thought crossing his mind, nestling their way into the mush of his brain.

“Is that what you want, uncle? My eye?”

It is, he thinks. And so much more. He wasn’t lying when he told Aegon he has no taste for depravity, always the dutiful son despite what has befell him. Aemond tries hard to wash away his vengeful urges, the stirring of his cock when he imagines his little niece writhing in pain, covered in bruises and bleeding cuts, her eyes wide and tearful as she squeals like a piglet, under the might of his fists and his knife. His thoughts have only grown darker, crueler than he cared to admit, with flashes of his suckling on her open wounds like his mothers tit when he was a babe, warm blood resting along his tongue instead of milk. Nothing would taste as sweet, he was sure of it.

With a tug, Lucerys topples over him, her body plush against his own, and he quickly flips them over, his knees up against her ribcage. Her face is flushed from exertion, her hands scrambling against his chest and shoulders, legs kicking out from under him, though her efforts are in vain as Aemond merely tightens his grip around her. Stubbornly, her lips pursed into a sour smile, she stops her struggling and stares up at him in defiance.

“Go ahead then,” she goads, raising her chin and bringing her hands up to rest against his back, fingernails digging through his shirt and into his skin. He hopes they leave marks. “I won’t scream. I won’t fight. I refuse to give you the satisfaction of my pain, uncle.”

A deep, twisted rage sits within him, rising in plumes of smoke like the molten lava from an exploding volcano, and as he glares down at his sweet niece, the image of their homeland flashes across his vision. Their ancestors once lived on the island of Valyria, a prosperous place that had been home to the largest mount, which erupted and destroyed the land, as well as all those who resided there. A few Targaryen’s were lucky to escape just a few years before, and he thinks about this luck now, bringing a hand up to wrap around the width of Lucerys’ neck. She keeps her word; she doesn’t fight back, doesn’t try to scream, even as his fingers tighten enough to bruise, cutting off her air circulation. Tears gather at the corners of her eyes, and Aemond finds himself groaning, arousal splashing over him like ice water.

He removes his hand. Lucerys gasps for air, nails no longer digging into his skin, hands now limp around his waist. Her gaze looks down, chest heaving as she slightly tilts her head, focusing on Aemond’s lap. With a flush, he realizes she’s staring at his erection, which is pushing against his trousers, its heaviness resting against her abdomen. Her eyes glimmer at the sight, pink lips tugging upwards into another smug smile, hands inching towards his thighs that are still wrapped around her. When her fingers press against his thighs, he jolts back.

She sits up with a small laugh. “I thought you wanted to put out my eye, Aem.”

The nickname, one he hasn’t heard since they were children, running along the beach together, toes nestling along the sand, salty waves lapping against their ankles. It makes his chest twinge, an ache forming under his ribs, and he quickly turns away, resting his hands on the wooden surface of his desk. “Get out.”

It’s quiet, with only the sound of their families downstairs, chatting and laughing, which does nothing to help the tension of the room. He hears her sigh, short legs twisting beneath her as she climbs off his bed, shoes hitting the floor softly. She lingers at the door, hand resting on the doorknob while her eyes burn holes into his back, willing him to say something, but he doesn’t. He merely waits in silence, solemn in the dark corner of his room, among his books and journals. It’s only when he hears the door open and shut, and the sound of her footsteps retreating down the hallway and onto the stairs, does he sit back on his bed, lowering himself down to press his nose against the spot where she once laid, the scent of her still fresh on his sheets.

*

She’s taunting him, eyes avoiding his own one-eyed stare, dark hair fanning over her face every time she turns to speak to her brother, as if she’s hiding from him. As if she hadn’t smiled as he sat atop her, hands around her neck, a threat on the tip of his tongue. Now, she sits across from him, at the far end of the long dining table, nothing but wood and various dishes separating them.

Perhaps he should’ve taken her eye when he had the chance, he thinks. In the moment, he had doubted she wouldn’t have screamed. He knows the pain of losing an eye all too well, searing and bone-deep. Despite her promises, Lucerys Velaryon would’ve cried out the minute his blade touched her skin, and their families would have rushed into the room and stopped him in his act of revenge. No, if he was to take her eye, he needed to do so in a secluded place, where no one could interrupt him.

Helaena, sitting beside him, mumbles something, her hand feather-light against his own. He looks over at her, and she merely lifts out her other palm, showing him the fuzzy caterpillar that slowly moves along her skin. He can’t help but smile, though his sister doesn’t notice as she keeps her lilac gaze on the small critter she holds, moving her hand from him to run a finger gently down its spine. Next to her, Aegon snorts in his cup, taking another swig before leaning back in his chair, a slimy grin on his face.

“Have you given any more thought to what I said earlier, little brother?”

His words are slurred, and Aemond decides to ignore him, lifting his own cup to his lips and taking a sip. In the middle, his mother sits beside Rhaenyra, their heads bent towards one another, lips pulled into wistful smiles, as if they are old friends, or perhaps lovers. Daemon had gone home, taking their three youngest with him, as well as his twin daughters, leaving his niece-wife and her two eldest in the hands of the woman they both once despised.

Aegon, never one for taking hints, continues. “If you don’t want her, I’ll be happy to show our dear niece a good time. I have hopes she’ll be… pure.”

Clenching his jaw, Aemond finally looks over at his drunken brother, giving him the attention he seemingly craves. Aegon smirks, head tipped forward as he leans over Helaena, who is still too busy with her caterpillar. From the corner of his eye, he can see their mother looking over at her eldest son cautiously, though when Rhaenyra whispers something in her ear, she looks away.

Aemond opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by the sound of Lucerys’ laughter, and the breaking of glass. Him and Aegon advert their gazes to the opposite end of the table, where Jacaerys stands with reddened cheeks, holding the broken stem of a wine glass. Lucerys is hunched over, laughter bubbling out of her lips, tears dotting the corners of her eyes, reminding Aemond of when he had his hands around her throat only a few hours earlier. The thought makes him shift in his seat, a sliver of heat darting through his abdomen.

“Jace… oh my God,” she stutters out, still laughing, hand lifting up as she shows the table her palm, where a shard of glass sticks out, blood trickling down her wrist. Jace immediately darts forward, grabbing her arm, tilting her hand towards him so he can inspect the wound, eyebrows furrowed in worry. “It’s fine, brother. I’m okay!”

Rhaenyra also rounds the table, cradling her daughter's head against her chest, smoothing a hand down her curls. Lucerys continues to laugh, though it slowly starts to turn into giggles, which eventually die down until she’s left hiccupping, ruddy cheeks stained with tears from her outburst. His mother had run off, and now she returns, first aid kit in hand, which she gives to his half-sister, who puts her hand on Lucerys’ shoulder, pushing her to sit back in her chair. Aemond watches as her blood continues a path down her arm, before beginning to drip onto the surface of the table, leaving small dots of crimson.

She watches with watery eyes as her mother grabs a pair of tweezers, going for the glass jutting out her skin. “Shh, it’s okay, my darling girl.”

The shard is slowly pulled out, a bubbling of more blood rising to the surface, and Aemond watches with a hard cock. It’s placed on a napkin atop the table, next to the pool of blood that now seeps into the wood, yet no one moves to clean it up. Or maybe his mother does, her scabbed fingers wiping the liquid away with a cloth, always one for cleanliness. Aemond wouldn’t know, as his eye is trained on the cut along Lucerys’ palm, as her own mother tends to it. A wipe is swiped across, turning from white to red, and then comes the gauze, which is wrapped around continuously, until the blood ceases to seep through the material. The whole time, his little niece sits without flinching, eyes watching him as he watches her.

When she’s finished, the wound now covered, the room is quiet for just a moment, before a booming clap of thunder echoes against the walls, and the sound of pouring rain pings off the roof. Jace is on his knees beside his sister, hands holding her wrist, whispering apologies in her ear, ones which she doesn’t reply to as she continues to stare across the table. It isn’t until Jace follows her gaze that she replies, before picking up her fork and stabbing at a lone carrot that sits on her plate, bringing it up to her lips as she finally looks away, giving her older brother a smile.

Dinner continues as before, and by now, Aegon has slumped over his chair, fast asleep in his drunkenness. Their mother, surprisingly, pays him no mind, and neither does Helaena, who excuses herself to her room, eyes still focused on the crawling insect she holds. Rhaenyra continuously peeks over at Lucerys, face glossed in worry, but she merely listens to her brother talk, occasionally nodding her head or laughing softly at whatever it is he was droning on about. With nothing to distract him, Aemond is silent in his suffering as he watches her, eye flickering down to her wrapped palm every few minutes, as if willing it to peel off and show him that red slice once more.

The storm has gotten worse, lightning flashing through the closed windows nearly every second, the thunder becoming so loud that it interrupts his mother and half-sisters conversation, the both of them wondering aloud on whether it will pass or continue through the night. It is already dark out, the ticking clock reading nine o’clock, and it is his mother who proposes the idea.

“Please, Rhaenyra,” her fingers rub against her scar, eyes pleading. “Stay. It is too dangerous to leave now, in the dark while it’s storming so heavily. We have more than enough guest rooms for you, Luke, and Jace to stay in.”

His mothers use of Lucerys’ nickname jolts him. Beside him, Aegon lets out a snore.

Despite her wariness, Rhaenyra agrees to stay the night, and Aemond thinks he has never seen his mother so happy before. With a huff, he stands, and when his mother doesn’t even look at him, too busy staring at his whore half-sister with stars in her eyes, he takes that as his cue to leave. He glances over at Lucerys once more, both her and Jace now watching him, their matching eyes and noses making him want to sneer. Instead, he makes his way out of the dining room, his steps heavy as he trudges up the stairs, head throbbing in tune with the pattering rain.

*

He can barely sleep, his body restless as he tosses and turns among rumpled sheets, nose twitching against the scent of her that still lingers. Aemond swears he can feel her, even as she sleeps just down the hall, and his skin is slick with sweat, a pulse running through his swelling cock. He teases himself, brushing a hand between his thighs, coiling away when he only gets harder, silver hair sticking to his flushed face as he lays there with the heavy weight of shame bearing down on his chest. His only solace being the plip-plop of the rain against his window, the storm now passed, leaving only that soft sound in its wake, soothing along his headache.

Something wriggles beneath the skin of his chest, insistent as he sits up, looking around the dark room, a warning bell ringing within his ears. When he looks out the window, a flash of white crosses his vision, and for a moment, he thinks the storm has started again. It isn’t until he sees her curls, slightly damp and sticking to her shoulders, does he realize that it’s her, not the storm. She walks across the backyard, towards the small woods that sits behind their estate, clad in nothing but her nightgown. Without thinking, Aemond is slipping on a shirt and his shoes, his steps rushed as he sneaks down the stairs and out the backdoor, gaze trained on her retreating figure.

The rain is merely a drizzle now, yet it still dampens his clothes and hair, leaving raindrops along his skin, as he walks between trees, swiping at hanging branches and leaves, holding his breath as he stalks after her. She doesn’t seem to hear him, as she continues on, not faltering in her pace. The path she’s leading looks familiar to him, and he realizes that it’s the same path they used to trek as children. It leads to an old lake, full of tiny fish and swampy water, which they used to dare one another to jump in, all too afraid of what lurked below the muck. When they make it to the clearing, Lucerys doesn’t hesitate to walk up to the bank, standing along withered stones and tall weeds. The sight of the water stops Aemond in his tracks, a memory rushing to him like a vision.

It had been the hottest summer of their young lives that year, and they all spent it among the trees, lounging under the cool air the shade provided, playing trolls and goblins. When they had first discovered the lake, it was Aegon who pushed Aemond in. He had flailed within the dirty water, pale arms splashing through algae and brine as he gasped out for help, not yet knowing how to swim. Jace and Aegon had stood on the bank laughing, and to his horror, Lucerys had disappeared. It wasn’t until she rushed out from the trees, Uncle Daemon in tow, that Aemond was saved, laying along the grass and coughing up water and vomit, shivering under the stares of those around him, Daemon’s hand hard as it slapped his back. His mother had scolded Aegon, who swore he didn’t remember that his younger brother couldn’t swim, and he only became more cruel in his anger after she grounded him.

As he remembers the look on Lucerys’ young face, pinched in worry, cheeks flushed pink and bright eyes teary, he thinks perhaps he had just imagined that part. It was what he once dreamed most of; his niece caring for him. He knows this is far from the truth, as she spins around, arms held out in front of her, gaze locked on his lingering figure. Her lips curl into a sweet smile, and she wiggles her fingers, as if she is beckoning him over. Aemond finds that his rage has made another appearance, replacing his pondering with a rising fury as he makes his way towards her, swaying on her bare feet, her grin brighter than the full moon in the sky above them.

He reaches out for her, hands tight against her arms, and he watches with a curious gaze as her flesh pebbles beneath his touch, her damp skin dotted with raindrops and gooseflesh. Her head is heavy as she beams up at him, eyes hazy with sleep, her lashes fluttering under his stare. She whispers his name, lips plush around the word, dropping her head to rest against his thumping chest, nose nuzzling along the cotton of his shirt. For a moment, Aemond allows himself to revel in her warmth, his own nose resting within her hair, dark curls tickling his cheeks, and he inhales deeply, the smell of lavender and honey and rain intoxicating his senses. Lucerys presses herself closer, and as the minutes tick by, he realizes she has been sleepwalking.

Aemond has only heard tales about Lucerys’ supposed sleepwalking habit. Years ago, according to Rhaenyra, Lucerys had nearly walked out the top window in her room, her eyes open wide in an unwavering stare, bare feet pressed against the sill. It had taken Daemon picking her up and carrying her to her bed to get her to safety, and the next morning, when asked about what had happened the previous night, Lucerys hadn’t a clue what they were talking about. Daemon took to installing locks on all the windows around their home, and after that, Aemond hadn’t heard much else about his niece’s sleepwalking. He figured it was a thing of the past, something she has grown out of in the shedding of her adolescence.

Now, she stands slumped against his chest, breathing steady and her lips parted as soft sighs and snores escape her throat. The rain picks up, drizzling harder than before, and a rumbling of thunder is heard along the horizon, yet Lucerys looks peaceful in her slumber, even as Aemond’s grip on her becomes tighter. A twisted part of him thinks about how easy it would be to hurt her now, as she lays in the mercy of his hands, the same in which once easily wrapped around her throat and squeezed until her face was red. Another part of him, one much darker and persistent, wishes to slip the thin straps of her nightgown down her shoulders, to suckle on her pert nipples which press against the sheer satin, to dip a hand between her supple thighs and caress the hottest part of her.

Her neck is bare, and as he looks down, he realizes with sudden certainty that there is no one here to stop him. The moon is aglow, locusts buzzing within the grass, an occasional hoot from a lone owl, and they are in the middle of the woods, in a place unknown by anyone but them as children. She is pliant within his hold, lashes resting against her cheeks, heartbeat steady within her delicate chest. It is something he had once dreamed of, swathed in sweat-soaked sheets, cock spent along his taut stomach. And with a single dip of his chin, he is able to press his lips along the skin of her neck, right below her thrumming pulse.

She doesn’t stir, not even as his lips form a path down to her collarbones, the bones jutting out just enough for him to bite around, the feel of it between his teeth making him groan. His tongue slicks against the mark, dipping into each indent, before making its way up to her jaw, where he nibbles and sucks on the skin. His hands have moved to rest upon her hips, but as she starts to slip from his grasp, he wraps his arms around her waist, pressing her close to him once more, her breasts plush against his soaked shirt, nipples scratching between them.

He barely hears the gasp. “A-Aemond…?”

Her hands come up to his shoulders, pushing frantically as he bites down on the skin of her jaw, the sharp ache making her yelp. When he tastes blood, he finally softens, lips now wrapped around the skin, tongue lapping over the small wound. As Lucerys continues to squirm, fingernails now digging into his skin, he wrestles her to the ground, hands squelching in the mud beneath her as he holds himself above her, lips stained with a single drop of blood.

“Where are we? How did…” she trails off, realization clicking as she takes in the dark sky and the pajamas she still wears. Her eyes are glossy as she gazes up at him, the mark on her jaw shining like a beacon, encouraging him to press himself against her again. This time, she doesn’t struggle, still confused as she looks around the clearing, catching sight of the familiar lake.

His cock is pulsating as it rests between them, and he barely notices as he cants his hips to rub along her clothed cunt, white-hot pleasure shooting up his spine, making him close his eye and press his lips to her throat once again. Her breath hitches at his movements, her own legs unconsciously spreading wider, opening herself up for him to rut against her like a hound in heat. Shame twinges within his brain, yet Lucerys wraps an arm around his back, as if encouraging his ministrations, and he forces it to the back of his mind as he digs his fingers into the slick mud, hips rocking faster. She whines out, “Aem.”

In a frenzy, he brings a hand up to paw at her dress, tugging down the straps until he bares her breasts, mud staining the fabric and her skin. His lips are quick to wrap around them, going back and forth between the two, before slipping a pert nipple into his mouth, groaning at the taste of her. He imagines them swollen with milk, her stomach round with his child, her hands smoothing down his hair as he nurses from her, her sweet liquid warm as it pools in the pit of him. He grows harder at the thought, teeth nibbling at the bud, his body weight crashing atop her as he brings his other hand over to caress her other breast, fingers tweaking the lonely nipple. Her back seems to arch beneath him, her own hips matching the rhythm of his, her breath hot against his head.

“Please,” she whispers, tugging at the strands of his hair. When her pulling becomes harsher, he allows her to tug him up, her mouth agape as she tilts her chin, searching for his lips. She kisses him, wanton as she juts out her hips against his, hands frantic as they run down his shoulders and under his soaked shirt, nails scratching along his skin. Her tongue slips over his, and he thinks she tastes like the sweetest poison, of cherries and arsenic.

He pushes himself up once more, knees digging into the earth beneath him, and he doesn’t think as he rips off her dress, pulling it down her legs in one swipe. Her underwear is purple, a pretty shade of lilac that reminds him of his own eye, with a little rose in the middle, now stained with mud and grass as she writhes, trying to hide the patch of wetness that seeps through the dainty fabric. Aemond is quick to lean down, pressing his nose against her navel, the smell of rain and sleep tainting her flesh, and he gives her a small lick, from her belly button to the hem of her underwear. She whines, bare chest heaving as she looks down at him, eyes pleading underneath a cloud of wariness, brows furrowed as if she is fighting a battle within her mind. When he comes face to face with her clothed cunt, he doesn’t hesitate to press his tongue against the spot of her arousal, the cotton soft along his tongue as he laps at it, trying to taste her slickness.

“Iksan jāre naejot qogralbar ao,” he grits out over the rain, his cock aching as he lays flat against it, head still between her thighs. “Yn jaelan naejot sylutegon ao ēlī.” (I am going to fuck you. But I want to taste you first).

He doesn’t ponder over whether she knows High Valyrian, the language of their ancestors, but when she lets out a moan, her head nodding against the ground, a sense of pride settles within him. He pulls the last remaining piece of clothing off, bringing his hands to her thighs, which he pushes up so that her knees are pressed against her chest, leaving her wide open for him. A groan leaves him at the sight of her wet cunt, and when he lays his tongue flat against her pearl, he nearly creams his pajama pants at the pulsing of her and the taste of her arousal. Like a man starved, his tongue laps over the whole of her, licking and sucking as she writhes and moans, a flush starting from her chest to her hairline washing over her like a veil. His hips grind into the earth below him, his eye focused on her wet face, strands of her dark hair stuck to her cheeks and across her gaping lips. He thinks she might look even prettier like this than when she cries.

She’s wanton in her moans, head lolling back and forth, eyes squeezed shut as Aemond presses a finger into her wet cavern, his own eye fluttering shut at the tightness, a ring of soft muscles clenching down. His tongue focuses on her pearl, which throbs as he flicks and presses against it, engorged in its pleasure, and as he crooks a finger up inside her, her hips buck up in a spasm, though the grip he has on her legs, which still press up to her chest, stops her from moving. A loud whimper leaves her lips, and her peak comes quickly, her arousal gushing around his finger. When she finally calms down, going slack under him, he pulls his finger out and immediately licks her cream off it, before going back in to clean up her now sensitive cunt.

Her fingers tangle within his hair, tugging to pull him off her as she wriggles under his licks, and when he finally pulls away, her grip is strong as she whines before he gives in and rests his weight above her, lips hovering her own. Her tongue comes out to lap at them, small kitten licks that grow more greedy, until she’s slipping between them and pressing him close to her. She groans, perhaps at the taste of herself on his tongue, her hips already jutting back up against him, brushing over his aching cock, desperate for more like his own ravenous whore. His hands are quick as they push down his muddied pants, cock springing up against his soaked abdomen, bringing the head to rub along the seam of her. Lucerys seems to tense under him at the feeling, but he pays no mind as he presses the tip against her tight hole, still slick and warm even after her peak.

“Aem-“ she gasps out, hands against his shoulders, eyes wide in fear at the feeling of his cock pressing into her. “I…”

He slams his hips flush against her with a grunt, a yelp escaping her quivering mouth, fingernails digging deep into the cotton of his shirt. Tears immediately start to stream down her flushed cheeks in rivulets, soft sobs building up within her closed throat. Aemond has never felt such dizzying pleasure, white hot and shooting through every nerve in his body, until he feels like he’s aflame. He doesn’t falter as Lucerys cries, his pace fast and deep, pulling out until just the tip of him remains, before slamming back in, his sack slapping against her ass. When he looks down, he can see her blood on his cock, and the sight of it, as well as the confirmation of her virginity, makes him grow frenzier, tongue running along her salty cheeks, moaning at the taste of her tears. He wants to bite her, to draw blood, to taste the very marrow of her.

A growl leaves him as he bites down against her wet cheek, the chub of it soft between his teeth. Her hands are quick to shove at his chest, though her moans and the sounds of her slickness, sticky against him, makes him believe his sweet little niece likes it just as much as he does. When he pulls away, he revels in the sight of the marks he left, bright pink and sure to turn a purple-blue after. Her sobs slowly turn into hiccups, which turn into moans that she tries to hold back with a bite to her lips, but when Aemond wraps one hand around her throat, they turn into gasps. He squeezes hard, holding for just a few seconds, before slackening his grip, letting her breathe if only for a moment, hips digging painfully into the back of her thighs with every thrust.

“You’re h-hurting me, uncle,” Lucerys cries out, doe eyes red from her tears, peering up at his grunting face above her own flushed one. “Kostilus.” (Please).

“Mazemilā ziry hae se sȳz byka līve iksā,” he sneers, bringing his body down to rest against her shivering frame, arms wrapping around her back, slick along the mud. He presses her flush to him, and she is quick to hold onto him, legs curling below the crook of his arse. “Mirre ñuhon.” (You will take it like the good little whore you are. All mine).

Her moans are sticky against his neck, lips brushing along the damp skin every time she opens her mouth, the sounds ringing in his ears above the pittering of the rain and the grumbles of occasional thunder. His fingers scratch down her back, hips stuttering as her cunt squeezes around his cock, warm and slick and unwilling to let him go. When she pulls her head up from its spot against his neck, hands scrambling to rest along his jaw, bringing his face up to look at her, eyes zoning in on the empty socket where his left eye once sat, it is then that he realizes he didn’t put on his eyepatch. He nearly shrinks into himself, jerking his chin away from her grasp so he can sink his face back against her hair, but she doesn’t relent. Instead, her fingers trace along the jagged scar, lips open in awe as she admires the work of her own hand.

Lucerys presses her lips right below the gaping hole of his eye, tongue gentle as she licks up the length of his scar. With her mouth resting just above the dark cavern, she whispers the words he has always wanted to hear, “I’m sorry, Aem. Iksan vaoreznuni.” (I am sorry).

He pushes her down to the wet ground once more, head slamming into the slush below, and she lets out a squeal, hands scrambling to push herself up. His hips snap into hers, palms tight against her wrists as he holds her down, vision a red haze. It isn’t enough. Her apology means nothing to him now, all these years after. Years spent mourning the loss of his eye, ruminating in the humiliation and injustice of that night, listening to the whispers of his classmates as they pondered over what sight sat beneath his leather eyepatch. Years of sharp pain shooting through his empty socket, of headaches that never went away, of dreaming of the one who caused this agony, her pretty face and that ringing laughter. Nothing she can say will ever be enough.

Tears stream down her pink cheeks, repainting the tracks left previously, her moans now gasps of pain and pleasure. He sits on his knees, her ass across his thighs, hips lifted upwards as he fucks her pliant body, like his own little doll. Her hair is matted with a mix of rain and mud, lips quivering and her eyes squeezed shut, a flush of shame and arousal settling across her bare chest. She looks so beautiful, so much like that young girl who has haunted his dreams since they first met, when she was just a babe and he a little boy who couldn’t yet form a sentence.

One of his hands slides up her bruised wrist, to rest along the gauze-covered palm, drawn to the wound that will scar her. His fingers dig beneath the wrap, lifting it up until the cut is bared, and as he feels her clench around him again, a breathy moan leaving her lips as her release washes over her, he leans his head down to lick along the seam. Dried blood flakes away, and as he presses his wet muscle harder, the cut reopens, blood blossoming out of it like a stream of water, which he doesn’t hesitate to lap over. His own release hits him like a tidal wave, the taste of her blood intoxicating him as he presses into her with one final thrust, his other hand going to grab onto her waist, thumb brushing against the bulge of his cock in her abdomen. She lays motionless as he uses her, until only small dots of blood remain along the reopened wound, and his cock has softened inside her, his seed hot against her womb.

Aemond rolls off of her with a grunt, hissing as her spent cunt seems to grasp at him as he pulls out. Between her thighs is a mess of blood and semen, a mix of their essences wet along his cock, and he almost hardens at the sight. He brings his fingers up to gather the pooling of the liquid that seeps out from her hole, roughly pushing it back in with a groan, her whimper sending another wave of arousal down his spine. She twitches beneath him, and when he is confident that his seed has stuck, he removes himself from her, rolling over onto his back and gazing up at the full moon, no longer covered by storm clouds. Beside him, Lucerys is quiet, only an occasional sniffle, and it seems like they lay there for hours, not speaking, not moving. Just waiting, three eyes focused on the night sky above them.

When she finally gets up, he watches with a hazy eye as she pulls on what remains of her nightgown, now a tattered, muddied mess of silk. She starts to walk off on shaky legs, but she pauses, turning back to look down at him.

“It was an accident, you know,” her voice is raspy, throat sore from the moans and cries that left her lips that night. “We were kids… I thought you were gonna kill Jace. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, Aemond.”

He doesn’t say anything. She waits a few more moments, before finally walking off, her figure disappearing among the trees, leaving him alone by the still lake. He brings his fingers up to his lips, still wet from their mixed concoction of semen and blood, and takes his time licking them off. The taste is enough to slowly fill the gaping cavern in his chest, one full of rage and violence, images of his niece's body beneath him, naked in the moonlight, flushed from head to toe, racing through his mind in a kaleidoscope of memories.

Perhaps it was enough. Her apology, those saccharine words that dripped from her tongue like honey. He thinks maybe he can forgive her.

An eye for her innocence, for the blood that stains his cock and teeth.

*

a/n: this is crossposted to ao3 (user finalgrls)! kinda the darkest thing i’ve written so far, but it’s definitely the work im proudest of. i’d LOVE any feedback, even if it’s negative <3 i hope u enjoyed!

[val-cansalute]

PICKING UP THE ———- PIECES -———

ch. 6

ch. 1 ch. 2 ch.3 ch. 4 ch. 5

don’t be a piece of shit

cw - set in jackson with an unclear timeline, no mentions of joel or jj, kind of half proofread, profanities, depictions of mental illness, graphic situations, CUNNILINGUS 🤰, mdni

Seconds, which blur the line between moments and hours, drag by, yet breaths still come in sharp, ragged gasps.

Your chest still feels heavy, bearing the lingering weight of the memories that overwhelmed you, and the stale, dust-ridden air of your old home still churns maliciously within your rib cage though you’re far from it now. Nothing is proving helpful in satiating your ravenous lungs.

Her hand is already soothing tender circles into your back before you can register it and the violence of your inhale softens.

“Shimmer?” you repeat, words veiled by winded breaths.

“Yeah, that’s right,” like it’s second nature to her, Ellie moves her calloused hand so that it’s splayed across your thumping heart to gently ground you and the room stops spinning so frustratingly.

Your focus shifts to her touch, to the warmth that radiates from her palm.

“It’s kinda fuckin’ impressive you managed to go so long without learning any of their names,” as always, her voice is a quiet rasp, intimate and gentle as a smile plays at her chapped lips.

In contrast, your gaze is intense and, somehow, distant. It makes Ellie’s stomach twist with anxiety.

“Wasn’t planning on staying.”

“… Right. Well, you should probably learn them now.”

You’re back in Jackson – not in your home, but in Ellie’s decrepit hybrid shed, which somehow managed to outdo your actual house by miles.

What your home lacked, hers carried in abundance; warmth and soul, with pictures and posters scattered across the dulled walls and memories laced through the trinkets lining each shelf. It was alive with the force of her affection.

Coming back invited the questioning gaze of the townspeople, but your mind was too tired to pay it any mind, or to pay the fact that she was leading you away from your house any mind either.

“The place you went to... You used to live there? I, uh, saw a carving of your name and your brother’s, I think it was, in the fence. Soren, right?”

“Yeah… Me and Soren…”

“… Listen… Why did you do it? You didn’t wanna be there, I know that much. You were... fucked up, to say the least, when I found you. I don’t understand.”

“I don't know… I don’t want to be safe; I don’t deserve to be safe-”

Your heart beats sporadically at the sudden overbearing guilt inside you, the source of which you can’t trace back to a specific moment, and your breath hitches in your throat so you can't meet her worried eyes. There are so many actions you cannot justify at all, save for the fact that there was a massive remorseful compulsion to do it. For Soren, even though you know, deep down, he’d never have wanted this, you know you did it for him. You’ll never fully be able to explain why, or why you ended up going back with Ellie without argument.

“Hey, I'm here." her soothing voice cuts through the dense anxiousness in the air and, for a moment, the fog clears - the sight of her softened face, so endearing.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Her eyes are so beautiful; it's so easy to forget what you were even thinking about when you dive into them.

"You- fuck- you know that’s stupid, right? Of course you deserve to be safe, y/n, how could you not deserve that?"

You’re a fraud. You had everyone fooled, thinking you had morals, but you can’t let her believe in a falsehood. The words burst out like rust-ridden water from a burst pipe; so explosively that she jerks back slightly, eyebrows knitted in worry.

"Because I’m bad person! You don’t know me, Ellie! I killed him! I fucking beat him to death! I am so fucking disgusting!"

"You-"

"Oh my god, Ellie, he was just a fucking kid! And he was terrified! Terrified of what would happen if he let the infection take over and terrified of hurting me! Fuck, and he begged me to do it before he turned, but I couldn't fucking do it! How could I?! And then I beat him to death as soon as he came for me, because I am a coward, and when it came down to it, all it took was a little scare for me to hurt him so fucking badly... God, Ellie, it didn’t have to be like that; it shouldn’t have fucking been like that but I’m so selfish… He was all I had left… Without him, I’m nothing… But I fucking deserve it. I deserve all the shit that comes my way. And I have to take it. All of it."

Somewhere amidst the fire, she grabs your shoulders and pulls you closer,

"Y/N, no. Deep down, you know that's not true. He was just a kid but -fucking- so were you! You were just a kid, and it's not fair that you had to fend for yourself! It's not fair that you and your brother had to live like this! It's not fair that he got infected, or that anyone did, and it is not your fault that your choice had the consequences it did when you were panicked and desperate and young. It is not your fault it happened the way it did. This world... Nothing about it is fair. Even though I can’t replace him, and I don’t know you as well as him, I care about you and I want to be around you. And I know for a fact that you are not a bad person, and I fucking know that. You are not a bad person. What happened back then was not evil, it was tragic, not evil. You can’t forget it, and you shouldn’t! But your brother would never want you to be stuck in this awful cycle. He would never blame you like this. Shit happens, we do things we regret and life doesn't go the way we plan, we lose people we love, but we move forward. We have to. And you are not alone, not while I’m here, you can never be."

Her words are harsh and sharp, to get through to you, nicking little chips at the edges of your iron-strong resolve. For the first time, you let yourself consider it, and the strength of your guilt’s hold loosens up just a bit.

Through pooling tears that threaten to fall and the lump that sits tight in your throat, you reach out your arms to bury your face into the warmth of her shoulder, and push your shaky, cracking voice out.

“I miss him so much… I can’t stop thing about it… I can’t stop feeling like this…”

Ellie immediately collects your draped body into a fervid hold, trying desperately to cling onto the rare openings you allow her.

“It’s gonna be okay. Just give yourself time. Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise you.”

6 MONTHS LATER

The Tipsy Bison’s doors are held wide open, but great gusts of wind are no match for the laughter, clinking of glasses and constant hum of conversation within.

Somewhere amongst the bundles of life, you are sat at a rickety table beside Ellie, Dina, and Jesse, and are fitting in like a puzzle piece beyond all capabilities of your imagination when you first arrived in Jackson.

Jesse’s eyes held fast to Dina, who’s head was thrown back in a wholehearted cackle over something relatively insignificant. You were all slumped in your chairs with great big grins, flushed faces and strands of hair clinging to your clammy necks, in high spirits.

Your heart feels full. For the first time, you can go out and laugh freely without the intense gaze of your overwhelming guilt or constant, racing thoughts of Soren. Panic attacks lie dormant for longer than you’d ever dreamed of.

Ellie’s gaze reaches you, and the way your heart swells with all-consuming affection is mutual. You can tell from the way she looks at you, all warm and admiring.

For a second, the sight of the people behind her falls away and you are the only people left in the room, in the world. Here, you are with people who care about you, want to be around you. Here, there is a sense of belonging that you hadn't felt in a long time.

After a moment, the pink-tinged apples of her cheeks fatten with a sincere, toothy grin, hazy eyes squinting as they flit down to her glass, and you notice that the number of people here has actually dwindled.

“Oh shit, everyone’s gone, I didn’t even realise.” Dina mumbled, scanning the room. Jesse lazily rose from his chair, stretching as he looked back at her,

“We should probably get going too, huh. I'll see you two tomorrow, then.” He nodded over to both of you before huddling together with Dina and drunkenly walking off.

You look back to Ellie; she’s leaning back in her chair, legs spread in a way that brings on certain feelings, raising her glass to her parted lips and her eyes never leave yours.

You watch her swallow the last traces of whiskey and set the glass down before tilting her head at you with a smirk. You’re both drunk, warm, fuzzy, tingly.

Her eyebrows raise before she gets up and leans over, and whispering,

“C’mon, babe,” into your ear.

As you stroll back, you’re met with the refreshing cool night air and you can’t help but feel a sense of contentment, hand in hand with Ellie, watching her ramble on. Your hushed giggles carry through the empty paths.

When you arrive at Ellie's place, stumbling through the door, you collapse onto her bed. This place has become more of a home than your real home; you’re almost never not spending the night. Among the clusters of trinkets and piles of clothes, your belongings have found a place, as well as the acrylic image of your face amidst her paintings.

Candlelight, the room is bathed in the soft orangey glow, casting shadows that dance and flicker across Ellie’s grinning face. You cling onto her dearly, intertwining your limbs with flushed cheeks and gazing up at her longingly, light and airy.

You settle into a comfortable silence with your bodies pressed against each other while she stares up down at her rough palm as you trace, with gentle and loving touches, the lines engraving it, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten.

She pecks your cheek,

“Are you sleepy?”

You look up at her with a sly smirk,

“No. Are you?”

“Nuh uh, you know what I’m thinking?”

“Oh, I know exactly what you’re thinking?”

You rise from your spot, nestled into her side, taking the hand you were playing with and entwining your fingers as you hover over her. The look on her face is mellow yet excited, her hands already reach out for your waist, already making your body feel hotter.

“You gonna show me, babe?”

She pulls you closer so you dive into the soft crook of her neck, sensitive with trails of tingling skin where you place kisses, desperate to feel the warmth her body emits, desperate for her to feel so incredibly real to you, for her to overwhelm your senses. You’ve never been infatuated quite like this before, never felt quite so comfortable with the love you hold for a person. But with Ellie, it’s simple, easy, comes naturally to you. She’s so many things, but, especially a sanctuary. A sanctuary weathered by the storms of your past but still standing firm.

“Mhmm, I’m gonna show you, Els.”

Ellie’s slumped at the head of her dingy bed.

Her body is bare and her muscles are tensing with each desperate, visceral movement, glowing with a thin sheen of sweat and slick,, as she kneads her fingers into the fat of your ass and meets your lips hungrily.

You hold onto her freckled face, looking down at her fucked out, beautiful eyes. They’re just begging for more after giving it to you for so long, consolidated by the sparkly feeling of her grinding up onto you,

“You’re so hot,”

“Oh, am I?” you mutter, pushing her back against the mattress and watching her eyes widen while chuckling to yourself,

“Wha- Alright, jesus fuck,”

You crawl off her lap with deliberate sexuality, pushing her legs apart abruptly. She clambers up onto her arms but you push her back, watching her tits bounce as she collapses,

“Shut up, El,”

“Oh, I see how it is, you aren’t fucking around anymore. No more mr nice guy, no funny busin-”

“Dude, fucking stop, you just, like, made me un-wet,”

“Oh shit, gotta get serious.”

You smack her thigh gently.

She grins and folds her arms behind her head, her eyes never leaving yours as you lower yourself in front of her pussy. Yours narrow ever so slightly when she grabs the back of your head and pushes it into your mouth, moaning at the contact of your lips with hers.

It gets you warm, placing a kiss filled with genuine love on her puffy clit before borderline making out with her pussy,

The sight of her eyes rolling back as her jaw goes slack has you begging for more, so you run your tongue up from her slit before lapping at it like you’re starved and watching her go cross-eyed from the sheer pleasure.

You can’t help but dip a finger a finger or two into her dripping hole, wanting nothing but to make her feel good, for her to come undone on you, slick smeared over your mouth, nose and chin, dripping lewdly down your palm.

You watch her body convulse, mattress cover clinging to her sweaty back as it arches up off the bed and her legs pull you in graciously.

You rest your head on her thigh and relish in the sight for a moment before she’s looking back into your eyes and urging you to come up so she can hold you, and also to stop breathing onto her clit because her “legs might spasm and strangle you or something,”

You laugh and lay your head down on her naked chest to hear her heart thump within her, in the tender embrace of the arms she holds out for you.

“Els?”

“Hmm?”

“Remind me to take those really fluffy socks I have home with me later. So much stuff is here now, I keep getting annoyed whenever Im actually home for once.”

“Sure, I can do that, if I don’t also forget.”

“Great.”

She lulls your eyes into a soft close with the feeling of her stroking your hair, and as she watches you exist, she realises she’d like to do that for longer. So, she leans into your ear and whispers,

“Hey, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you just… bring all your stuff to my place, you know, move in with me?”

You raise your head from her chest (she immediately misses the warmth) and meet her eyes, face slowly morphing into an adoring smile which she reflects, before placing a kiss on her forehead and then locking your lips with hers.

PLEASE READ

a/n - last chapterrrrrr ahdgstihaveahugepenisdtyf, banners by cafekitsune and saradika-graphics, my condolences to anyone who has read this bc i kinda hate it but thanks anyways. im not gonna write anything for a while after this (except for this one req thats been sitting in my drafts for an ungodly amount of time) because of the situation in palestine and the upcoming global strikes. i dont want to think abt a game made by a zionist who embedded zionist propaganda into it and donated money to israel most likely earned from the game. upwards of 30,000 palestinians, 11,000 of which were children, have been murdered by israel since october. yeah, for now, it’s only gonna be palestine-related posts. please, please do not buy the remaster, im begging you. its just a remaster, im pretty sure we can all go without it.

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard- Chapter 4: Enough

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

CW: dark themes - no graphic depictions* but non-con, sa, domestic violence, suicidal ideations *read at your own discretion*

word count: 3.5k

[<<< chapter 3]

“Hen..” Johnny turns to walk backwards, looking at you with a lopsided smile before you see his eyes cast up and to the right- lids narrowing for a split second, but the expression passes as he continues, “It’s swelterin’ out today, what’s with the fashion choice, eh?”

It had been a terribly, unseasonably, hot day- the sun was bright and oppressive as you walked through the hedges. You can feel the individual pearls of sweat beading off your skin under the high collar, your teeth clenching at the way they trickled down between your shoulder blades and collected in your cleavage-

And may all the gods damn this forsaken corset..

You don’t say that, though you sorely wish you could. No, instead, you fan yourself; fighting vainly to keep your breaths measured and at a normal pace.

But that’s incredibly hard to do when your lungs can only expand as far as the rigid boning that lines your torso would allow.

Your handmaid, Elia, had fallen ill late last night, and her temporary replacement seems to have a grudge against breathing, apparently..

“It is supposed to be autumn-”, you mutter back, gratefully taking his arm when he returns to your side, “not bloody summer.”

“My, my.. Do they teach ya how to speak like that at Queen school, Your Grace?”

He belts out that wonderful, smooth laugh at his own awful joke- nudging into you when you give more of a strained huff than the actual chuckle you’d been going for.

This would be his last day here. The week had gone by so quick, far too quick; the days had felt like the usual whirlwind and calamity that is your life, though you admit that as soon as the King left the castle walls, you were quick to reschedule nearly every event that you could manage. Not wanting to miss any more time with Johnny than you absolutely had to-

Then there’s Simon.. Wasn’t it also a week ago since the night in the hedges? Oh- right here, actually! How painfully convenient-

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the thought, recognizing the specific spot you had been with him- fight the urge to wonder desperately if he feels the same turmoil over what occurred.

Nothing had changed between you, well, nothing outwardly, anyway. Internally? You were confused, and ashamed, so fearful, and yet, every time you let your mind recount how sinfully good it felt- to have him so close, to have his lips caress your skin, and that deep, brassy voice reverberate through your ears- you feel that awful, terrible ache for him grow even more.

“Earth to Sunny…”

You look up too fast, or maybe it wasn’t even that fast; but the moment your head tilts toward his voice, and the sun bears down on your face, you see a flurry of black stars dance across your vision, thickening until there’s nothing at all. No more light, no heat, no heaviness, no restriction around your lungs- just pure, blissful nothing.

”Mm.. My Queen..”

Warm lips press a long kiss behind your ear, his voice silky and muffled as he speaks- calloused hands roam your body, they leave the most delectable chills in their wake. Your skin impossibly hot and cold at the same time-

“I’m not your queen anymore, Simon. Remember?”

He moves to hover over you, his mouth never leaving your skin as it traces every curve, and slope, and freckle with the softest kisses you’re sure you’ve ever felt. The sensation of them is more like a feather being dragged over your flesh, slow, every delightful stroke made with purpose, intention.

And when he chuckles, you can't help but to suck in a sharp gasp at how his breath tickles the skin of your tummy, how it seems to fan out, warming something much, much deeper inside you-

“Love.. You’ll always be my queen. Or, do you not remember the first time I kneeled before you? The oath I took- my fealty sworn to you, and you alone, for as long as I live.”

The image of Simon kneeling at your feet makes you squirm under him; recalling vividly how large and menacing he was even in such a vulnerable position, how he had looked up at you under his brow- molten amber irises practically dancing in the light, so full of guile and adoration, even then.

A shrill noise parts your lips when he hoists your thighs over his shoulders, your heart racing, blood rushing to your cheeks and neck as you dare to look down at him-

And you know the minute you meet his eyes, see the intensity behind them, even with the rest of his face obscured as he nuzzles further against your cunt, that it would be your undoing.

How would anyone, or anything, ever compare?

Certainly not your King- no, not yours anymore. Wait.. is that right?

The thought disappears just as quickly as it had come, the pain of it replaced by the reverent worship of Simon’s tongue-

You’re slammed back into reality by a rush of cool water streaming over your face- it feels heavenly, since you now also feel that ungodly heat wrapping around you again, your senses slowly coming back into focus-

The earthy, sweet smell of the garden filling your nose, the feel of the water evaporating from your skin, the dry taste that coats your tongue, and urgent voices resounding in your ear.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus..”

“My Queen?”

You’re gently shaken, large hands holding your face- but it’s your name spoken in that voice you’ve dreamed about, so deep and laced with concern, with worry, that settles heavily in your heart, bringing you even further into the moment. And you so badly want to reach for it, for him-

But when you try to raise your hand, it feels like lifting iron chains, your energy thoroughly depleted; you move to sit up anyway, needing to fix this- whatever this was.

“W-what.. What is it?”

Gods, it even feels impossible to speak- but, finally, it seems your eyes have decided to work again, even if the view before you is blurred and hazy at first. You blink away the remaining starbursts, seeing two imposing silhouettes perched over you-

“Grianach..”

It’s when your gaze meets Johnny’s, your brain able to register the horror, the anguish- that you scramble to clutch at your throat.

Oh no.. no, no, no-

In their efforts to relieve you of your many insulating layers, it seems they cut the laces of your corset, and ripped the collar of your gown apart at the seams-

The high collar that you insisted on to cover the angry purplish bruises that currently wrap around your neck, the outline of a hand turning green and yellow with age. There were other bruises in much the same state on your arm and your thigh, and you thank the gods that those could not be so easily seen- because the murderous gleam in Simon and Johnny’s eyes is scary enough.

What would they do if they saw the rest…

You order them to help you up, dismissing their reservations as you simultaneously plead for them to call no one else-

“This is.. embarrassing enough. I do not wish for anyone else to see me, there are too many rumors and baseless speculation as it is-”

Simon is close again, right there supporting your weight, his body tense and ready for anything- but his eyes..

A shiver wracks through you as the image of those same eyes settling between your thighs flits through your mind; a motion they both mistake for the start of another fainting spell, judging by the way they grip you a little tighter- Johnny’s hand at your waist in an instant,

“Let me fetch the physician-”

“No.”

“Sunny..”

Looking between them, between cobalt blue and rich copper, between the man you’ve known your entire life, and the one that has somehow upended everything you thought you knew, your knees feel weak again.

“Please- Just.. Take me to my chambers.”

Simon moves immediately, leaving Johnny no choice but to follow as the towering man leads you through the hedge- but he doesn’t go towards the usual entrance you should be taking. You follow his long strides to a shadowed alcove, one you never would look twice at; but, to your surprise, when he pushes against an odd section of wall, it opens.

Johnny casts you a sidelong glance, and you wish you had an answer for him- hells, you wish you had an answer at all. It shouldn’t be surprising there are secret and hidden passageways within the castle, you suppose you’re just surprised you were never made aware of them. Especially since the corridor he chooses takes you directly to your rooms-

Your mouth opens the moment he closes the three of you in, a demand already on your tongue to know exactly how Simon knew about this, but all coherent thought turns to mush when he turns on you, pulling the black glove from his hand,

“Did he do this to you?”

The feel of his bare fingers on your skin sends your entire body reeling, unable, or maybe just unwilling, to pull away from his touch, even when you see Johnny’s eyebrows furrow in equal parts confusion and anger.

“Yes.”

“The King?” Johnny nearly choke on his own words, running a hand through his mess of hair as he watches Simon back away.

“It’s not-” You start, but you don’t have a justification, or an excuse, just the horrific memory of how angry your King had been, how he stormed into your room after the feast- his breath so laden with the smell of wine that it made your stomach queasy.

He took you that night before he left, by force. Pinned you down, and hissed the most obscene and vile things in your ear, his hands marking you for everyone to see; but you think it was mostly for his own depraved pleasure-

”Tell me about this Lord of yours- hm?” “Dancing with him like some common whore- you’re a fucking embarrassment to my crown-” “Well, since you want to act like one, I’ll show you exactly how I treat my harlots.”

As much as you tried to reassure him, he wouldn’t listen, didn’t want to hear what you had to say; and it was too easy for him to silence you with a strong grip around your neck-

You feel the hot tears threaten to spill at the memory, but you won’t, you refuse to let them fall- you refuse to shed one more single fucking tear for that monster, and certainly not right now.

So, you swallow the agonizing lump in your throat, pinning the men in front of you with a determined glare, “This shall not leave this room, am I clear?”

Johnny steps forward, “What?”

You raise your hand to stop him, holding your ground, “It isn’t a suggestion. It is a command-”, your feet move on autopilot, crossing the distance to the spacious washroom.

“But, Sunny.. You can’t let him get away with this! What else is there, huh? How else has he hurt-” Simon moves to cut him off, a strong arm reaching out to hold the Scot back, “Get your hands off me.”

They stand toe to toe, Simon’s eyes practically burning a hole through Johnny, the shorter man giving it back just as severely,

“Enough..” You sigh, moving quickly to push yourself between them, an open palm placed over their chests- Johnny’s, solid and warm, the muscle underneath heaving with every breath, and Simons.. The obsidian steel, cold and unforgiving, but it’s impossible to miss how his breathing is just as labored.

He’s just as livid-

“Please..”

At the same time, they relax under your touch, the sound of your plea softening both of their hearts for a moment- long enough to hear out, at least.

“Come back with me.” Johnny says, his voice so strong and steady that you swear you could feel the conviction behind the simple statement-

You shake your head, stepping from between them, “You know I can’t. That’s my home, our home, which you stand to inherit. The King would-“

Yes.. What would the great and benevolent ruler do? Would he make up a reason to attack your beloved homeland, to round up your family and have them executed? Would he make you watch Johnny’s head roll before casting your own off with it? He had already shown you a taste of how far his jealousy could go, how truly malicious and cruel he was willing to be when you angered him- and that only seemed to be happening more as of late.

“I will not go. I will not endanger your-” He tries to speak again, and you can see the flush of anger color his cheeks, his bright eyes so dark now, so full of turmoil, rage, “I WILL NOT.. endanger your life, or the lives of any of my people, Johnny..”

“Then I’ll take ya somehwere they won’t find us! Somewhere, where we’re nobodies, not a lord, or a queen- somewhere our names won’t matter. We’ll pick new ones, and it’ll be just us, just like it used to be, Grianach-”

A series of knocks at the doors throws the room into an eerie silence, agitation still hanging thick and heavy in the air around you as you look to Simon with a small nod; watching him cross the space and walk out of sight; your ears straining to hear who has come to seek you out, eyes staying glued to the wall, waiting to see him round it once again-

Johnny’s voice is sudden and low in your ear, so close it almost startles you as he speaks in your native tongue, or well, the bastardized slang you had always spoken to each other as children, ”Do you trust him?”

You turn to look up at him, eyebrows furrowed and your tone just as low, ”Yes, I do.”

There’s a moment when he seems to question your answer, question how little hesitation there was behind it- his eyes dancing over your face before darting up and back down to you just as quick,

”Bring him, then. Would that make you say ‘yes’?”

A familiar sequence of taps causes you to look back towards the entryway, where Simon stands as casual as ever, hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he looks between you and Johnny,

“Lord MacTavish’s horse has been prepared, along with his things, as previously requested-”

“Well, tell ‘em to take him back to stable, ‘m not leavin’.” Johnny spits back with a venom you’re not you’ve ever heard from the man.

But Simon, characteristically, is entirely unfazed by the outlash, looking back through his helmet, his expression almost comically bored.

“I answer to the Queen.” He hums out, eyes now on you in a way that feels far too personal, too intimate, as he moves forward with slow steps, “Not you.”

No.. No. I can’t do this- not here, not again. I don’t even know what this is, but it’s too much.

“All right, both of you- out.” You seethe, your hands clenching and unclenching as you all but shove Johnny back to the secret entrance- because the last thing you needed was for one the King’s many eyes in the castle to see him departing from your chambers.

He doesn’t try to stop you, but he does beg once again, softly, quietly- a plea for which you don’t have an answer to, not right now anyway. What he wants is impossible and improbable, it would never work. Right? Right.

There is no way out of this for you- there never really was.

“Later, Johnny. When we’ve calmed down and had time to think. I need to dress, now, go. I swear, I will find you.”

You watch him go, watch him spare one last glance before disappearing into the damp shadows of the tunnel, leaving you alone yet again with your Ghost. And that same, awful ache that never seems to leave you, makes itself apparent at the thought- your reeling mind certainly not helping to quell it by any means.

“You, too.” You say, squaring your shoulders and steeling yourself to face him, “I just need-”

When you do finally look up, your stride falters- seeing him already looking at you, his hand reaching for yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do- but, at the last second, he stops himself. His long fingers curling into a fist as they fall back in place at his side, and you don’t know why his restraint only serves to enthrall you more.

“I understand, My Queen..”

You want to scream and cry as you watch him slip his glove back on, covering the pale, scarred skin again-

“Si- Ser.. I’m sorry-”

“No.” He cuts you off gently, his voice warm and kind as he turns into you fully, “You have nothin’ to apologize for.. Not a single thing.”

Gods, why does he have to make it so difficult to be in his presence? Just standing here with him, his frame dwarfing your own, tall and broad, so immovable, so powerful; and yet, he somehow manages to make you feel like you’re the one looking down at him, like a deity gazing down on their devout disciple; like just allowing him the grace of your time and attention is what he lives for-

That is absurd.. And blasphemous. What is wrong with me.. It’s just a silly infatuation that I’ve aggrandized, that I’ve made more important than it is, obviously. I don’t know any better, anyway. This could be a ruse, and I wouldn’t know it, only ever having been with one boorish man; they could all be like that, Simon included-

“I’ll be at my post, Your Grace.” His voice is closer to normal now, not low and rich, spoken like it’s only meant for your ears-

All you can manage is a lame nod, turning away as he leaves because you know you couldn’t bear to see him go. Instead, you busy yourself finding another dress to cover your neck before calling in the handmaids for help.

Yes, busy, that usually tends to ward off the wayward and errant musings, the fantasies of what can never be- you’ll hone your focus on the mundane, on the way this new dress is softer than the last, the dark green velvet hugging you tenderly. Focus on the pinch of the corset, your eyes glancing at the wardrobe where you know the mutilated one now resides.

You simply won’t think about him. Or Johnny, and his preposterous proposal-

Oh, your sweet Johnny.. still ever the bleeding heart he is. You’ll send him back home with grand gifts, and hope he finds the letter you wrote for his eyes only, hope he can move on, and forget what he regrettably had to witness.

It will be ok. You’ll make sure he’s taken care of, that he won’t be cast into an unsavory light, or blamed.

Not when you’re so painfully aware that he’s the only wonderfully bright light you had been blessed with in so long, and gods forbid it’s your fault that his light is snuffed out-

The mirror catches your eye, reflecting someone so different back to you now. Different from a few short months ago, different from just a week ago, an hour ago, even. And while you don’t know if you particularly care for the woman you see, you know she is necessary for what’s to come.

It will be ok.

Simon stands guard at her door, unwavering and vigilant- but his mind races.

How could this have happened to his Queen, on his watch no less, how could he have allowed that monster to enter her chambers?

To hurt her.. defile her- his Queen. He swore his life to protect her, but he never imagined the one she needed saving from would be his own sovereign.

No matter. Because at the end of the day, the King is just a man; mortal, made of flesh and blood, a beating heart that can so easily be pierced by a sharp blade. A soft, squishy neck just made for cleaving-

And he doesn’t know this cousin of hers, doesn’t know what kind of lord he is, but she seems to trust him implicitly- they seem close in ways he can quite grasp. But, perhaps he’s on to something, Simon could get her away from here, away from this hellish place that drains her more and more, every waking moment.

He would take care of her, it would be so easy to make them both disappear.. they already called him ‘Ghost’, why not live up to the idea the mindless drones of court already have of him?

Hm.. Ghost-

The name rolls around on his tongue, Simon Riley has been called many things in his life, but none of them ever sounded so fitting.

[chapter 5>>>]

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XXI. — SELF-HARM

cw: SELF-HARM, Gore, Graphic Descriptions of Bodily Harm, Violence, Threats, SUICIDE Threats, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Abusive Relationship, Body Horror, Blood, Graphic Descriptions of Human Body, Unhealthy Relationships, Yandere, Slight Mention of Vomit, Controlling Overhaul, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. 18+ ONLY!

author's note: This day is extremely graphic and disturbing. This is not meant to be a healthy depiction of a mental illness of a self-harming individual. Overhaul is clearly unstable romantically and using violence against himself as a way to control the Reader. Please be considerate and kind to individuals who self-harm and do not let this form a stereotype. There are parts of this fic that are based on personal lived experiences. They were triggering and horrific. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any aspect! This is STRICTLY fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 1.6k words.

Boyfriend: Where are you? (13:52) 

Boyfriend: Answer your phone. (14:26) 

You missed a call from Boyfriend.

Boyfriend: Now. (14:28) 

Boyfriend: Where are you now? (14:49) 

You missed 2 calls from Boyfriend. 

Boyfriend: Where are you? (14:55) 

Boyfriend: Who are you with? (14:56) 

Boyfriend: Are you cheating on me? (14:56) 

Boyfriend: Tell me. (14:56) 

You missed 17 calls from Boyfriend. 

Boyfriend: Attachments: 3 Images. (15:31) 

Boyfriend: My blood pressure is getting dangerously high again. You’re the one doing this to me. If you were being a good girlfriend and answering me, I would be healthy. (15:32) 

You missed 24 calls from Boyfriend. 

Boyfriend: The thoughts are back. I’m getting sick. I’ll kill myself if you don’t answer. (15:59)

Boyfriend: Attachment: 1 Image. (16:00) 

Boyfriend: I’ll cut my throat in front of you. Answer me, or else you’ll be the one who killed me. (16:00) 

You missed 38 calls from Boyfriend. 

— 

A laugh echoes in the car whenever you fling yourself out, waving and howling with your friends. They bid you farewell, and all of you immediately do multiple really quick slaps of your thigh that end in waves goodbye. Your best friend snorts before honking the horn a couple of times, gripping the gear shift and putting it into reverse. You step back, watching them roll away from the tiny and cracked parking lot of your apartment complex. They accidentally hit a pothole, which makes all of you cackle whenever the car bounces, but you get a deadpan from your best friend before they kick it into drive and start to officially pull out. Watching them drive off, turning onto asphalt and speeding away, finally starts to cement the exhaustion seeping into your bones. 

Your hair feels gross whenever you swipe it back, sticky with chlorine and sunkisses. A groan leaves your lips before you slowly pivot around, scratching the dome of your head and yawning. The trek back to your pad sucks, and ascending the stairs sucks even more. But soon the stairwell ends with a scuff of your flip flops, and you’re hobbling towards your door. The sling backpack crossed over your chest feels heavier with each step, so you readjust it and sigh. Your sopping wet towel and swimsuit are in there, and it feels like the water weight never fully left them. Another groan, and you almost wail to the heavens whenever you realize your keys are stuck in the front zipper of the bag. With a heaving breath, you lazily swing it around and fumble with the zipper. 

You’re relieved to see your keys, wallet, sunglasses, and phone happily tucked in its confines. Great. Glad you didn’t misplace those—you're always doing that. You fish out the keys, but you don’t close the compartment again and don’t turn the bag around. Too much work, and you’re focused on dangling the keys and shoving your key into the lock and turning. It clicks, you smile with a million dollars, and you push the door open to cross the threshold. 

Ahh, home sweet home. The smell of candles and incense wafts into your nose despite being doused, and you can’t help but steal a few more breaths while you close the door with the sole of your flip flop and walk in. You kick off your flip flops while you struggle with removing your bag, but you manage to snag it off, so you toss your keys onto the key rack and start digging around for your wallet and phone. Your fingers curl around both, so you retrieve them and let your bag sag again. The coffee table coughs whenever you plop the wallet down, but you pay it no mind before you touch the screen of your phone. Since you left to go swimming, you kind of just chucked it in the backpack and kept it there, so you probably missed some notifications. There’s a slight sense of dread that itches at the back of your mind, but you feel weird thinking that. It’ll be fine. It’ll be— 

The screen lights up. 

The backpack thunders to the floor, basketballs hitting brick walls, and you stare in abhor at your phone. 

13 texts and 82 missed calls from—from, they’re from, from— 

Kai. 

That dread you’d felt really does start to sink into your pores, and the distinct feeling of needing to cry starts to crawl up your legs. Noo, no. This is the worst time yet. He’s never done this many calls or, you pause, he’s getting worse. Kai’s become so paranoid, so controlling—no, he’s thoughtful and caring, that's what he told you—of your life now. No. He’s just being considerate. He cares about you, but maybe it’s just a touch too overbearing. No, it’s not. You shouldn’t think things like that. Your hands are shaking. You can’t think. Oh, God, you can’t—

Kai left voicemail. He left. Voicemail. He. 

Your whole body is clenching whenever you unlock the screen and weakly locate your phone app, the red 82 a terrifying face to stare at. You swallow, you can’t swallow, you swallow, and click and head for the voicemail. 44 voicemails. You click on the first one. 

“You told me that you would always answer your phone if I called. Didn’t you say that you would always be there for me? Why are you ignoring me? You didn’t tell me you had plans today. Angel. Angel, I’m getting—Getting. Angel, I…” 

That one ended. Your mouth is cotton. Another one. 

“Yeah. You didn’t tell me you had plans. Do you see other men? Is there another man in your life? Am I just a piece of meat to you, angel? You’re more than that to me. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted and more. So why are you being so bad?” 

There are more. You randomly click this time. While the voicemail plays, you drop your notification screen down and start reading the text messages. Horror and dust dances in your gaze. 

“I feel like I’m about to get sick. I’ll find you. Did you think you could escape from me? Did you really think you could leave your husband, angel? I’ll make sure you can’t leave me anymore. I’ll slice your ligaments off. I’m so sick. I can’t feel my stomach. You’ve made me sick with your disease. Why are you doing this to me? I don’t want to hurt you. I. I think you don’t understand me. You’re—mine. Mine. We belong together—meant to be mine, my wife. I. I can’t let you escape anymore. I will—” 

You end the voicemail before it’s done—41 seconds out of 2 minutes and 57 seconds. The images of Kai’s bloodwork is a monster that has you petrified, frozen to stone and chalk underneath its penetration, underneath the reality. The numbers are rocketing up. You did that—you’re stressing him out, making him worried. Did you forget to tell him you were going swimming with your friends? Everything is spinning, choreographers and calibration. You stumble forward, falling to your knees, head whiskers away from splitting on the edge of the coffee table. You click on another—the last one.

“I have a better idea, angel.” 

Silence for 16 seconds before it ends. You feel like you can’t breathe, what was a comforting haze of burning wicks and scents becomes poisonous mustard that makes you hack and gag, cracking your ribs. Tears are already leaving your eyes, stinging your cheeks as you shakily open your texting app to finally respond to Kai. 

You don’t get the chance to before— 

Boyfriend: Attachments: 1 Image. (17:03) 

Boyfriend: Come to me right now and I’ll put it back to normal. (17:03) 

Vomit is in your throat, pouring lungs and heart out from the bars of your teeth, and you’re choking and sobbing. Frantic thrashes of your mind pump everywhere, mushrooming, and your eyes are peeled back into your head and your sight is glued to the screen. You start yelling, the sounds caught in your uvula, and you’re shuddering. 

Kai’s arm is on the screen. What was left of it. Mangled, twisted, dog bites and bitter and waxy burns. Parts of his flesh are flayed back, lolling like a tongue in warm summer air, and you hiccup. Blood is drenching his arms, his pants, his jacket, the floor, flecks of blood on his sneakers. You can see every single tendon, all of them strings, pale and taut, and they’re stretched out in vicious smiles, glaring at you. His bones are cracked, splintering like broken tree limbs, shooting high into the sky, dusty, moldy. Warped fingers, zigzags and bent upside down, his fingernails tearing off of the fruit and juicy as they dangle helplessly at the cuticles. Veins are slapping everywhere, tentacles, confetti on a piñata, the fat white and soggy. His muscles pinch together, rippling into shapes, triangles, squares, intricate bows over the gaping wounds, wrapped around the limb. 

And you’re gasping, clenching your stomach, bile in your nose, strings of pool water and snotty fireweeds over your top lip. Darkness, shadows, the house is sinking in on you, you’re mud in the ground, clay. 

Your phone throbs. 

You blink salt and saline. 

Boyfriend: Come home. (17:05) 

The phone clatters to the floor, shattering dreams, worms under your skin, twisting around and hopping to the door, to Kai, to your boyfriend, husband, to save him from being sick because of you, you’re claws and feral on the ground, Kai the only destination. 

And you don’t look back.

[greetingfromthedead]

Tempest Wind Masterlist

Through a destined meeting, Vash found you, a lost soul much like himself, under the weirdest of circumstances, and he made a promise to follow you across any desert. That turns out to lead both of you down a path of self-discovery, love, and hurt. Vash's unlucky shadow drives the two of you from one crisis to the next, but there's nothing you can't overcome together.

Tempest Wind is a 18+ Vash x F!Reader fic with some spice, some gore, a bit of action and a lot of fluff, for added flavor there's angst too ofc.

The rating of 18+ comes mainly from the occasional dark themes and not so much of the smuttiness (as those parts are labeled and can be skipped without it really affecting the story).

NB: The content is mostly Trimax canon-typical violence/gore/themes, but I give warnings and summaries for the heavier chapters and smut so you can skip them if you want!

Tags/CW below the cut!

Tags/CW: Romance, Fluff, Angst, Action, Adventure, Slow Burn, Hurt, Emotional Baggage, Reader-Insert, badass female character, Eventual Smut, Healing, Immortality, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Implied/Referenced suicide, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, powers, Mentions of impregnation, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Experimentation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Canon-Typical Violence, Gun Violence, Blood and Violence, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Established Relationship, Pre-Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Tragedy, Protectiveness, Pre-Canon, Canon Universe, Injury, Not Beta Read, POV Alternating, Tenderness, Illnesses, Scars, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Caretaking, During Canon, Creature Vash, Angel Vash, Body Horror, Body Worship, i'm shit at tagging, idk what im doing

COMPLETED: 84 Chapters / 165k words

C1: In Death

C2: Tracking Through the Desert

C3: Acts of Kindness

C4: Night Watch

C5: Birdbrain

C6: A Heavy Heart

C7: Midnight Run

C8: Odd Job

C9: A Wild Beast

C10: Wounds

C11: Laundry Day

C12: Language of Flowers

C13: Unlocked Horrors

C14: Sweet as Sugar

C15: Resemblance of Normality

C16: Taking Out the Trash

C17: Unfamiliar Experiences

C18: Moving On

C19: A Gut Feeling

C20: Gods and Angels

C21: Perfect Morning

C22: Renewed Conviction

C23: Dusty Memory

C24: Unexpected Visitors

C25: Guardian Angel

C26: Calamity J

C27: Playing Doctor

C28: Otherworldly Lullaby

C29: Patchwork

C30: Burn

C31: Towards New Horizons

C32: Stormy Emotions

C33: Tempest

C34: Desert Night

C35: Mayfly of Love

C36: Sign of Appreciation

C37: Plotting

C38: Execution

C39: Hands

C40: Storm Clouds

C41: Truth Unfurled

C42: Ray of Hope

C43: Lucky

C44: Sandstorm

C45: Back in a Lab

C46: Signals

C47: Glimpse of the Past

C48: Nature of Your Being

C49: Irises

C50: Frozen Dream

C51: Spring

C52: Worship

C53: Breakfast

C54: Experimented

C55: United Again

C56: Rest of Eternity

C57: Subject 0325

C58: Project HUMAN

C59: Comfort in Knowledge

C60: First Day of the Future

C61: Puzzle Pieces

C62: Day and Night

C63: Daylight Robbery

C64: Journey to December

C65: Snatchers

C66: Last Calm Breaths

C67: Dark Underworld

C68: Rescue Mission

C69: A Bloody Demon

C70: Time Catches Up

C71: Blame

C72: On to the Next Crisis

C73: Last Night

C74: Goodbye

C75: Fragments

C76: Talk of Love and Peace

C77: Uncanny Valley

C78: Lover's Face

C79: Ghost of You

C80: Happy Birthday

C81: A Paradise for You and Me

C82: Breaking of a Will

C83: Life and Death

C84: Epilogue

Demo Chapters modified into oneshots:

Womanizer - confined spaces affects Vash in a strange way and he has turned on his charm to try and seduce you.

Perfect Morning - domestic fluff, intimacy, mild smuttiness, shy Vash

Festivities - delusional bliss on an unfamiliar planet with weird traditions, ice skating and sweet Vash

Happy Birthday - You find yourself on a furry side quest and it turns into a very special birthday celebration that Vash puts on for you.

Mayfly of Love - Vash is tormented by a nightmare of losing you and his guilt for causing the Great Fall.

Starlight Dancing - Contains some minor spoilers for the main series. You've been spending a lot of time with Luida in her lab and Vash has felt left out because of it. To make up for it, you spend a magical evening in the biodome.

🔞 Burn - basically smuttiness with little actual plot

🔞 Desire - no plot, just porn. Often the quiet and shy ones surprise you...

🔞 Worship - Worshiping each other's bodies (Vash more so), just soft intimacy

You can also read it on other platforms: AO3! Wattpad! Quotev!

Check out my other stuff: MASTERLIST.

[thedaythatwas]

Summary: Nagito Komaeda has stage three malignant lymphoma. Hajime Hinata just so happens to be — among too many other things — the Ultimate Oncologist.

(Or, circumstance drags Hinata and Komaeda kicking and screaming into something like trust.)

CW: graphic depictions of illness and medical treatment (elaborated on in tags and chapter notes)

[sasagehoes]

THE NECROMANCER

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ;𝐂𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐚 𝐏𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𓅨˚₊‧⁺⋆♱;; Your days in Castle Ward are far from peaceful ever since that eventful night. And now with the announcement that the King's arrival is near, who could sleep well? So you ask yourself, will the gods be satisfied with all the bloodshed that shall take place outside of these walls?

masterlist | series masterlist

previous chapter ~ next chapter

CW; This series contains a LOT of sensitive topics. Just like the show, there will be individual warnings for each chapter, I'm not responsible for what you read.

graphic depictions of gore/ caracasses/ dead animals/ death/ death/ and more death/ violence towards humans and animals

2.6k words

READ AT YOUR ONE DISCRETION

After everything subsided and countless visits from the maester you were told you could finally leave the chambers, your mind was so confused at everything, the nightmares, the horrible stench that everything had, the subtle ire that consumed you at the looks men started giving you around the time of your 12th name day. 

Arya occupied most of your time with the sneaking about to spar, ending with more than a couple of bruises, mud stains, and scoldings from both the septa and Lady Stark.  

After the whole kiss ordeal Bran had avoided you like the plague, not out of ill intentions, that you knew, simply out of embarrassment. You found it hilarious, shouldn’t you be the one embarrassed? He kissed you not the other way around. 

You made it your mission that week to annoy him the most, see how much it would take for him to break the silence. 

At dinner one day you sat next to him and smiled. His body visibly stiffened, and his face went red, you tried your hardest to not let a cackle slip, but to no avail, as soon as Robb mentioned something about his reaction, you broke in laughter, the rest of the table followed suit. His eyes were fixed at the table in shame. 

“Are you alright my dear?” you asked with a knowing smile. 

“W-what?  Yeah, I’m good” he said with a slight stutter. 

The interaction earns a few other giggles from the youngest Stark. 

Once dinner culminated Bran was the first to bolt out the mess hall, you followed suit 

“You’ve been avoiding me like Greyscale Brandon” you say  

“I have not,” you cached up to him and started walking by his side 

“Yes you have, can't we just be normal friends? I'm not asking you to love me right away, hell I know I do not” you laughed and continued; “just, don’t be a stranger” 

His steps met a stop and he replied, looking at the floor “Fine, don’t keep teasing me about it, and…sorry about the other day and the days before that’ 

You knew what he meant, the constant cold shoulder, and the peck on the cheek the day you woke from your nightmare fueled slumber. 

Now it was your turn to go red “I didn’t mind...next time just ask, good night my lord” you waved and left, quite in a hurry to avoid any other questions from the boy. 

The next morning the avoidance was gone, and you exchanged a couple of words in between duties, the hesitance was there but it was a step forward. Over the months that followed the shy conversations turned into full on banter.  

Once he had tried convincing you of climbing a small wall on the castle which led to both of you on the floor laughing, gathering yourself quickly to avoid a scolding from his mother. 

One of the climbing escapades had worked out fairly well apart from the subtle scrapes on your knees and hands from constant slips, both of you now on the top of a wall hidden away, looking at the falling sun. 

“Did you have any dreams before you were told you had to marry me?” he asked you abruptly, even he caught himself by surprise “You don’t have to answer that, it's none of my business” he retaliated. “It's all right, I do not mind... I can’t really say if I longed to do something, but I know I’ve always wanted to serve my people no matter what...although now my views have shifted” you say calmly, the sadness in your voice palpable 

 “What about yours, did you have any dreams before the news?” you asked, not letting him ask any questions about your newfound hatred against your people back home. 

“I wanted to be a Kings guard” he said slowly, your eyes went wide for a second. 

“Do you resent me for depriving you of your dream?” you ask. His head turned to look at you, eyes wide “No! of course not, neither of us had a say in this arrangement, even if my parents said I could decide whether i would marry you or not, i knew they were only humoring me” he said holding your arms, you winced at the cuts getting irritated by his sudden touch. 

He took them away quickly “Sorry, we should go down before the sun goes down, the others might get the wrong idea” he said looking at the floor below the both of you. 

“Alright lead the way” you say not wanting to imagine how difficult the journey to descend was going to be. He seemed to notice and chuckled “I'll go first and wait down there, if you fall I'll catch you my lady.” 

“You better not or ill poison your food at dinner” you throw him a small scowl at his teasing. 

At the end no one fell, and no one was poisoned yet as expected your little escapade resulted in a brief scolding about how dangerous that climb was. 

“You, Brandon Stark may be experienced climbing, yet she isn’t, what if she falls? '' Lady Catelyn asked exasperated, “I would catch her mother, I helped her up and down, she’s fine” he replied. “Truly my lady I’m fine, just a couple of scrapes, nothing serious, I promise it won't happen again” 

It did happen again. 

The day of your 13th name day was just around the corner, and although the Starks prepared a small feast to commemorate the three years you had spent with them, you couldn’t get a pestering feeling that crept up in your head. Every night for the last week, your dreams were filled with the corpses of people you have never met before, dead animals, but one was a recurrent resident in the abode of your mind. A raven, as black as the night, sometimes it would stay still and quiet, while sometimes it opted to be more aggravating, screaming in your ear, flying in your line of sight to stop you from gazing at something you should not. 

Every night you would wake up in a cold sweat, it was slowly eating you alive and it was eminent in your eyes. The bastard, Jon Snow was the first to notice, although he and you did not really interact, you considered him someone that would bring you safety, having saved you from that horrible man, moons ago. You often sat next to him in silence, as he went about his duties, he never questioned it really, the silence was welcomed and so were you.  

“You’ve seen better days my lady” he said as he polished his sword, not looking at you. “Have you seen death my lord? Does it haunt you in your dreams?” you ask now looking directly at him 

To say he was surprised was an understatement, he's never been in a war nor a brutal battle, but he had seen his father execute men who take the black and proceed to break their oath. 

“It used to but then I got- accustomed to it as I got older” he said looking back at you now, “Does death plague your dreams?” he asked with a frown 

You thought for a second for an answer, saying yes would entail him asking about said dreams which would- 

“No, just wanted to ask” your response was rather quick, “I'm sorry to bother you, do carry on” with that you left the room, leaving the snow's son quite disturbed to say the least 

You sprinted back to the courtyard, the stench of blood emanating from every crevice of the garden, your insides contorted as a way to seek relief and as a final effort to do just that, the food you had eaten earlier that morning ended up on the ground. Your breath was heavy and your hands were supporting your body from touching the floor as you cursed out to the old gods and the new. You felt a piercing gaze near where you were, unmoving. You looked up and saw a raven staring right back at you, for a moment you thought you were having one of those hellish nightmares again since its eyes were as white as the snow that was said to decorate the land beyond the wall. You tried moving your hand its way to make it go away but to no avail, “What is it that you want from me you bastard” you scoffed at the feathered animal. As soon as those words left your mouth you felt your eyes go to the back of your skull, and just as it happened many nights ago. Everything went black.

You stood in front of an out of commission tower in Castle Ward, one that you failed to climb with Brandon during one of your escapades.This time it felt much taller than it did that day. In the blink of an eye, a bird fell from the upper window, falling right at your feet, making you gasp. After that, another came crashing down, and then another, and another, until the ground was covered in bird carcasses and you could only stare at it in disbelief and terror. As the last one fell, a soft scream could be heard. It sounded vaguely like Lady Catelyn’s voice, as you understood what the screaming voice said, your blood froze, Brandon it called. Brandon it wailed.

You jolted awake in the same soft grass you had fallen, the raven nowhere to be seen and the smell of rotting flesh nowhere to be perceived. You stood and went running to go find the boy, when you spotted him holding his bow, pointing the arrow at the target, you heart felt at ease once more. 

After that scare, the day went on rather normal, though your mind kept going to the Lady’s screams, the ravens and all the blood, you couldn't bear to relive that again. As the night fell, everyone returned to their chambers. You felt restless, you didn't want to succumb to sleep because the nightmares would haunt you, but at the same time the less you slept, the more irritable you became. Once you decided to go to bed at last, your mind was filled with blissful images of your family before all the atrocities that went down. Leiana chasing Ophelia down on the corridors as Amadeus taught your younger self how to read

‘All ladies should be well informed of the worldly matters’ he used to say

The images soon changed settings to the gorgeous gardens that reside in Castle Ravenna, the tulips that would only bloom in the warmer months, the lilies that often decorated Ophelia’s hair as soon as they bloomed, and the red roses that-

There were no red roses in Castle Ravenna.

Mother hated them.

You gasped as you woke up in front of that dreadful tower back in Winterfell, the ravens still surrounding you, yet instead of lifeless they were now croaking at you, all at once. If the nightmares wouldn't make you mad, this certainly would. You ran as fast as you could to the main entrance of Castle Ward yet the doors would not budge. From behind you, you could hear countless horses trotting your way, as the horses came closer and showed no sign of stopping only then did the doors open. You hurried back inside of the castle yet no one seemed to acknowledge your presence, everyone focused on the..King.

The King hopped off his high horse and went closer to the Stark family. Starting out with Neddard Stark, as soon as he hugged him, a horrible image flashed in your vision. Heads mounted on spikes, flies grouped around them, feasting on the rotting flesh, and among them all one stood from the others.

It couldn't be. 

As if to not let you know more, the vision ended, and you were once more back in front of the family being greeted by the King. Next was Robb, at the shake of their hands another vision struck you. A man with the head of Wolf was paraded as a laughing stock in a gathering. The blood from the wolf intertwined with that of the man’s, linking them as one. Your vision panned to the view of a horrified Arya, a few years older than what she was now, age not the one weighing down her features, but the things she had seen and gone through. As soon as your ears heard the words “King in the North” being exclaimed  by one of the perpetrators, you were pulled out of the nightmare. You opened your mouth to scream as the king neared Lady Stark, but the chords down your throat were not being strung, as if they were cut completely. Yet that didn't stop tears from welling in your eyes as you fell to your knees, another vision engulfing your tired mind.

You found yourself in a quiet hall as bodies littered the floors, a heaving Catlyn could barely muster any words as she held a young girl by the hair, dagger in hand, pointed at her neck. As if thunder had struck, the lady’s neck was slashed such as quick, all while her hostage held the same fate.

You couldn't handle anymore, this was your new found family..how could you stand this.

Once back at the entrance, you walked with all your might to try and stop the king from touching another family member. Yet a man with eyes as pale as snow, whom you had never seen before stood right in front of you.

“The God’s make things happen for a reason, all for which you will see with time, you were never supposed to see this. Sleep now child.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, a murder of ravens engulfed him and everything around you.

You awoke from the living hell you were just pulled from and sat up, slowly, you noticed that instead of the comfort of your chambers, you laid in the cold ground outside. In the very center of Castle Ward. Afraid this was another one of your mind’s cruel tricks, you grabbed the sharpest stone the floor could provide and gashed your hand. You let out a wince as the blood now trickled down the creases of your palm. Your body and soul were too tired to let out sobs, so you opted to stare at the abysmal darkness that the outside provided. Soon enough your eyes caught the one of a dead bird not too far away. Like a predator salivating after its next prey, the blood on your palm oozed quicker, and your mind only had one thing resounding in it, take it.

And take you did, like a rabid animal you ran to take it, your blood mixing with the birds still one, interlinking as one.

In the blink of an eye it felt like how it felt back when you were Amelia, yet this time it was more intimate, more.. Personal, it was your body getting traded for that of a carcass. Your soul transfering itself into the empty vessel of a bird. Your eyes went to the back of your head, the pearly whiteness quickly turning stygian. The lifeless bird no longer so, as your limp body fell on the ground with a thud, the bird took flight, standing atop of the tree near your sleeping figure.

In some way or another you must have regained your body’s soul back to its rightful place, since you were awoken by Sansa as you laid comfortably in your chamber bed.

“Wake up sister! I come bringing great news, the King is to come to Winterfell, and I shall marry his son Joffrey!”

The Gods have abandoned us long ago, we just pretend we are still in their presence.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ Thank you so much for getting this far, can't wait to continue this series!! If you'd like to be added to the taglist,let me know ♥︎

(っ˘з(˘⌣˘ ) ♡

taglist: @etyaty @tcapter

DO NOT;; RE-UPLOAD, TRANSLATE NOR COPY MY WORKS!!

This belongs to;;

-SASAGEHOES

[sweetlike-blood]

Sweetlikeblood's Chrisker Fic Masterlist

Chrisker Week AO3 collection [Link]

Is it okay I’m not okay?

2k words ; Explicit ; Graphic Depictions of Violence ; Self-harm, Mental health issues, Panic attacks, Knife play, Ambiguous/Open Ending

Chris shouldn't be surprised about the fact that Wesker has escaped death yet again. He is so tired of fighting (him). What happens when Wesker discovers Chris' most well-guarded secret? For Chrisker Week Day 1 - "Who did this to you?"

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When the sun goes down we all get lonely / Watch me as I disappear 

2k words ; Mature ; Major Character Death ; Soulmates, Soul bonds, Canonical character death

There are things in the world that simply are - they are unquestionable, evident. Soulbonds are amongst such things, whether they are familial, platonic, romantic or other. Albert Wesker wished he hadn't been born with the gift of the Seers : being able to see every stringy bond that tangled every human on the planet together. For Chrisker Week Day 2 - Red String of Fate

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Our little secret

1.3k words ; Teen ; No Archive Warnings Apply ; STARS era, Secret Relationship

Chris has been less subtle with his crush on their Captain than he thought he had been. When his friends teases him and unsubtly try to push him towards his Captain, what happens? Not much that hasn't already happened before, it seems.... For Chrisker Week Day 3 - STARS team playing matchmaker

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Masquerade - Stringing you along

4.7 words ; Explicit ; No Archive Warnings Apply ; Canon compliant, Masquerade, Undercover mission, Marking, Hand jobs, Come eating, Semi-public sex

Chris cursed Jill for falling ill just as they were supposed to infiltrate this Masquerade Ball organised by an influent bioterrorist, posing as a married couple. Forced to go alone, Chris comes face to face, or rather mask to mask, with his old Captain. Hand in hand, the masked devil and angel navigate this unconventional evening, as old wounds reopen and emotion guides their actions. For Chrisker Week Day 4 - Possessive

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But do you feel like a young god? 

1.1k words ; Mature ; No Archive Warnings Apply ; Post-RE5, Pre-RE6, Albert Wesker lives, Rescue, Ambiguous/Open ending

Chris makes an odd discovery while out on a mission with his protégé. For Chrisker Week Day 5 - "You're safe now"

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pray sinner, pray sinner, say a prayer for me

1.9k words ; Explicit ; Graphic Depictions of Violence ; God!Wesker, Champion!Chris, Blood and gore, Human Sacrifice, Hurt no comfort, Transformation

Chris thought he had managed to escape the cult he grew up in. But one does not stop being the God of Annihilation's champion that easily. For Chrisker Week Day 6 - "You're a wound that never heals"

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Herein is enshrined the soul of…..

WIP ; Mature ; No Archive Warnings Apply ; Modern!AU, Violinist!Wesker, Meet-ugly, Slow burn, Mental health issues [more CWs in tags]

When Albert lets his temper get the best of him, miscommunication ensues. What happens when he cannot stop meeting the orchestra's new oboist's brother? Just how close will the two men grow together?

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White lilies

595 words ; Mature ; Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings ; Overdosing, Coma, Hospitalization, Drug addition, Ambiguous relationship

Albert visits Chris in the hospital.

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The Making of a Home

2.7k words ; Mature ; No Archive Warnings Apply ; P30 Chris, Mind Control, Domesticity

When Chris jumped at Wesker in hopes of saving Jill's life at the Spencer Estate, he had never thought he would end up in the grasp of his archenemy - much less reduced to an oddly domestic role in the older man's life.

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A Clash of Fangs

WIP ; Explicit ; Graphic Depictions of Violence ; Werewolf!Chris, Vampire!Albert [more CWs in tags]

It all starts one snowy day in 1794. But when the wind turns and lovers get separated, what awaits them? What does fate have in store for these two different men? Find out 230 years later… Or The werewolf x vampire romance (transcending time) that Chris and Albert deserves.

[metamatar]

India spends a tiny fraction of its budget on public healthcare. Even in spending that minuscule fraction, expenditure on mental health comes last. In fact, the government encourages people to reach out to faith healers for “spiritual” treatments. The ministry of health and family welfare mentions on its website that “recent research has shown that religious practices can be helpful in curing and preventing physical and mental illnesses.” It adds, “When medical care becomes unaffordable, futile, and of no use, spiritual care is absolutely feasible, and a logical solution.”

[...] many superstitious beliefs, because long and deeply held, are also considered integral parts of religious faith and granted the protections attached to it. This is true not just within Hinduism, but also in Christian, Islamic and tribal belief systems. Superstitions begin to seem less banal particularly when they fuel prejudices prevalent within communities. Superstitious beliefs often provide legitimacy to oppression and injustice, acting as a way to maintain the status quo in a society, villainise minorities and women, or to keep people in their places. On the darker end of this spectrum are superstition-based crimes, which can involve human sacrifice and allegations of witchcraft. [...]

Where there is superstition, there is also a battle against it. But, while India has a lineage of rationalists and sceptics, the murders of its leading icons demonstrate how imperilled these figures are. Narendra Dabholkar, a rationalist who was among those demanding a stringent anti-superstition law, was assassinated in the run-up to the 2014 general elections, in which the Hindu nationalist Narendra Modi was elected prime minister. Within a year of Modi taking office, the rationalist Govind Pansare was also assassinated in Maharashtra, and another rationalist, MM Kalburgi, was assassinated in Karnataka. A police investigation found that Kalburgi’s statements made during a discussion on an anti-superstition bill were perceived as “anti-Hindu,” and had been the trigger for the attack on him.

cw: rape, graphic violence, ritual murder in the link below

[the-lonelybarricade]

My Kingdom Come Undone - (2/3)

Summary: There weren’t many ways Elain was allowed to want. Most things were decided for her, every path laid down before she’d even been born, where she was simply expected to follow. Lucien, with his cunning eyes and smart mouth, was something that no one had chosen for her. And even if she could never have him, that couldn’t stop Elain from wanting him. Desperately.

An Elucien Royal Guard x Princess AU

CW: Explicit content, non-graphic violence

Part I・Read on AO3

-

Elain stood at the dais of the throne room with Lucien’s sword clutched firmly in her hands. The metal, once cool, had gone clammy beneath her grasp, and she tightened her fingers in fear the golden hilt might slip.

Her mother’s court was gathered, expressions betraying their general lack of enthusiasm. It wasn’t a particularly exciting ceremony—at least, not to them. To Elain, it was life changing.

Dim light filtered in through the stained glass windows at her back, which depicted the Mother Goddess and her Cauldron. With Lucien knelt on the white marble floor, he was in perfect position for the rosy light to paint his rich features, burnishing the copper in his hair, warming his skin in complementary hues of red and orange. He looked so painfully lovely, Elain would have believed the Mother was expressing her personal approval of this ceremony.

The knight-to-be had, admittedly, caught her eye several months ago when he first began training with the royal guard. She’d heard he was a squire from the northern parts of their kingdom, with distant relations to one of the lords in the Queen’s court. Allegedly, he’d advanced quickly in his training and had mastered the seven points of agility long before he’d met the age requirement for knighthood. Impressive seemed to be the description of choice for any whisperings involving Lucien. Even Elain’s mother, as a woman who was ill-practiced in praise, seemed to think highly of his valor. So much so, that she decided that on his 21st birthday, he would not only be conferred the status of knighthood, but he would also be assigned as the personal guard of the crown princess.

Though Elain did think his achievements impressive, that certainly wouldn’t be the first word to come to mind when regarding the accolade knelt before her. Handsome, she thought. She liked the color of his hair. Red, but not like the cape on his back. More like a fox’s coat, or the color of the sky just as the sun touched the horizon. It was braided off his face in several sections, collecting in a knot at the back of his head, and she thought it made him look even more rugged than usual. He was dressed in the ceremonial white and royal blue uniform of the royal guard, with a cardinal cape draped over one of his silver pauldrons, stretching proudly behind him. It was the same color of the carnations she had planted the other day, which had conveniently been just across from the barracks

Elain was grateful his head was bowed towards the floor, because she was certain she would have forgotten how to speak, how to stand, if she was subjected to the dark russet and satin gold eyes that had made her breath catch the first time she’d made eye contact with him. This man was going to be her personal guard. Mother help her. She felt tongue tied and he wasn’t even looking at her.

Thankfully, she didn’t need to speak. That was Lucien’s job.

All she needed to do was stop her hand from shaking as she extended the blade to the curve of his shoulder. Lucien didn’t so much as flinch at its touch. He knelt with one arm propped against his raised knee, the other placed on the empty scabbard at his hip. She held her breath as he parted his lips, and the rich timbre of his voice resonated through the hall as he spoke his sacred vow.

Princess Elain, to the Mother Goddess I swear:

I am the shield that will ward off any threat against you.

I am the sword that will fell your enemy’s hand.

I am the justice for those who have harmed you.

And I am, forever, yours to command.

-

Present Day

Lucien had betrayed her.

The most honorable man she knew.

It defied every understanding Elain had of the world. She shut her eyes, for a moment certain that this couldn’t possibly be real. But when she opened them, those leather boots remained. Her mother’s most loyal knight, the man sworn to protect her with his life. Kneeling to Prince Koschei.

Just last night, he had knelt before her. Had—had—

Elain sealed her lips with her palm, raging against the sob rising in her throat. She could do nothing about the tears, but at least they were silent, dribbling down her cheeks in fat droplets that burst against the kitchen tile.

She had trusted him so implicitly. Had loved him—for years. And when she had given her body to him, she had been assured that he at least felt something in regards to her. That he’d cared for her, even if it was just the platonic devotion of a guard.

She did not even have that much.

That sword had cut through more than dirt. He’d pushed it through her heart, pierced that lovely, blossoming feeling in her chest. The memory of their night together shattered, until it was nothing more than scattered fractals of a man using her, discarding her.

Betraying her.

Elain sucked in a harsh breath, struggling for air in this new, smothering reality. The maid squeezed Elain’s arm, moreso in warning than comfort. Now was not the time to unravel, though Elain felt she had little say in the matter. She was a loose thread, unspooling as Lucien raised back to his feet. She stared at those black boots, the color of charcoal. Of a sinking abyss. Of a hollow, empty girl who’d been robbed of all her light.

And then he left. Towards the village, where he believed she was heading. Where she would have headed, because he knew her. Had been learning everything about her for years. How long ago had this been planned? How long had she watched him in adoration, while he was helping plot her downfall?

Eventually, the second pair of boots wandered off as well. Back inside the castle, where her mother and the rest of her court was… dead? Taken prisoner?

“You must go now, your highness,” urged the maid, pushing at her shoulder.

“Where?” Elain cried, voice splitting.

“As far away from the castle you can get. Somewhere they would never look for you.”

Elain still didn’t know where that would be. She would have asked, but she was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the servant’s quarter on the other side of the scullery.

“Go,” the maid hissed.

She gave a hearty shove, forcing Elain to stumble out of the table cloth, onto her hands.

The maid rushed out behind her, scrambling to her feet a moment before Elain, who felt she was doing everything much too slowly as she watched the maid break into a sprint—not towards the door.

Towards the sounds of leering men.

Elain wanted to beg her to stop, to come with, but she didn’t know how to throw her voice so that it reached the maid without alerting the men on the other side. Not that it mattered. The maid reached towards the handle. Elain panicked, reaching blindly towards the table for something to defend herself. An iron skillet, a rolling pin, a—

She yelped, retracting her hand from the sharp object that had sliced her palm. A knife.

It was loud enough for the men to hear, because the maid immediately threw herself against the door, determined to buy her princess time. She looked over her shoulder, eyes wide and, despite her courage, full of fear.

Run, she mouthed.

Blood welled from Elain’s hand, dripping to the floor. It made her feel like a hopeless, wretched coward. But she used her uninjured hand to grab the hilt of the knife and darted out the doors, feeling the sunlight warm her face just as the maid let out a scream so loud, so piercing that it leached into the air Elain swallowed. She choked on it, feeling that pain lodge against the strangling sob that was already building in her throat, constricting her airflow. There wasn’t time to stop. If she did, then the maid would have thrown herself at that door for nothing. And Elain didn’t even know her name. Had been so—so blinded.

And now she had nowhere to go, besides away from the village.

It was too much. It was all too much. And as much as she gasped, not a single breath made it to her lungs. Elain forced herself to keep running instead of clawing at her neckline, trying to force her body to take in the air she was gulping. But soon her lungs started shrieking, desperate for air, and Elain stopped, worried she would suffocate before she even made it past the castle grounds.

Breathe, she could hear a steady voice chide in the back of her mind. But that voice sounded like Lucien, and it only made her want to scream until her throat was raw. Which, by the way each shallow, rapid breath ravaged her throat, would not take very long.

He was the only steadying presence she’d known. And if he was here—and weren’t a liar—he would probably have far too much to say about the way she was hyperventilating in the open.

Why are you panicking? She could hear him ask in that infuriatingly mocking tone. You have plenty of practice hiding from me.

Elain forced herself to raise her head, scanning for better coverage.

That’s it, Lucien would say. The one who hadn’t betrayed her. You’ll be less overwhelmed if you take one step at a time. What’s the first thing you need to do?

Find cover. She could do that. There was the woods, which would present its own set of dangers, but Lucien would certainly never think to look for her inside them. They were in the opposite direction of the village, mostly used for fox hunting. She headed that direction, summoning the memory of the time she’d ranted to Lucien about the annual fox hunt. The wry smile he’d worn, always listening without revealing anything of himself.

It’s cruel, she’d said to him. What’s there to enjoy, when the men aren’t even the ones doing the hunting? Is it simply that they have the power to inflict suffering?

Lucien had sighed. Foxes tend to be a nuisance, and men often have little sympathy for the things that inconvenience them.

Do you?

Your life’s mission is to inconvenience me, princess. And yet here I am, continually at your service.

She remembered smiling at him. Mother forbid the day you run out of sympathy.

Had she unwittingly been the fox all along? Being chased into the woods certainly hadn’t warmed her opinion of the sport, but at least the forest was dense. And dark enough that once the shadow of the canopy fell over her head, Elain needed to push back the hood of her cloak in order to see, turning her head to scan the miles and miles of timber and foliage.

With no bearings on where it led, she picked a direction and started walking.

Wind rustled through the leaves, her only companion. Soothing her with soft whispers that, too, sounded like Lucien’s voice.

Get as far away as you can from the castle. Then worry about what comes next.

Is that what Lucien would advise? Elain knew nothing about surviving in a forest, but she thought it sounded sensible, and that Lucien would say something sensible if he were here.

And something unhelpful, like—maybe you should have considered better footwear for trekking hours through the woods.

“Well maybe you should have warned me that you’d be chasing me from my home,” she snapped, aware her grumbles were heard only by the loose stone that kicked up beneath her ill-fitting shoes.

The wound on her hand throbbed, still spilling blood where she cradled it against her dress. The thought of foxhounds reminded her that she ought to be careful of leaving a scent trail. Though Elain didn’t know the first thing about doing so, preventing herself from bleeding onto the forest floor seemed like a good start. She used the kitchen knife to rip a long strip from her skirts—which she hoped would be cleaner than the cloak. Elain had watched Lucien wrap wounds more times than she could count, and she supposed she should be grateful at least something had come in handy for all those wasted hours spent watching him train when she should have been focusing on her lessons.

Maybe she would have been better prepared for a political invasion if her mind wasn’t addled by thoughts of Lucien shirtless—a memory that was very difficult not to recall, especially when there was little else to distract from her pulsing hand and aching feet. Walking through the woods for hours, it turned out, was a miserable affair. It was the middle of summer, and though the trees offered shade, her mouth had gone dry. She deliberated removing her cloak, knowing she risked overheating just as much as being identified as the princess.

The Lucien in her head scoffed. Do you really think a cloak would stop me from recognising you?

He was irritating, but he had a point. She unfastened the cloak and nearly chucked it to the floor before she considered it was best not to leave any sign she was there. Even if it was cumbersome to hold the cloak and lift her skirts.

Elain didn’t feel any cooler. Her skin was still clammy and the hot air was still trapped between the layers and layers of fabric she wore.

Princesses weren’t made for the forest.

She would remove it all—but there were worse things she could encounter than Lucien. Men that she was certain would be delighted to find her in a state of undress, whether they were looking for the princess or not.

Better not risk it, the Lucien in her head advised. Good thinking.

Elain needed to remind herself that there would be no impressing the real Lucien, whom she would be directly inconveniencing by making good decisions. It was an awful thought to chew on.

Lucien would find her.

She knew that he would. He had pledged as much, drove his prized sword into the ground in a great show of dedication and meaning.

But… but maybe he could find her with a sword in her hand and an army of men at her back. Not that she knew, precisely, where to find one. Maybe if she could get on a boat, she could convince a crew to sail her to Tarquin’s kingdom. And maybe if she promised to marry him, he would send an army to reclaim her throne. Granted, she would need to find passage to Tarquin’s kingdom in the first place. Which meant she would need to get out of these woods, find a boat, and convince its captain to charter her across the channel.

That would, of course, rely on her finding a way out of the woods. Which seemed increasingly unlikely for every hour that slunk past. The low light of sundown filtered through the trees, elongating the shadows. As Elain passed a large, mossy rock she was certain she’d seen before, she wondered if she would simply die of exhaustion and starvation before she ever met a sword.

She was preparing to lay down and simply spend the night on the forest floor when she heard a branch snap. Elain stilled. The knife slipped against her damp hand, but she tightened her fists until the leather-wrapped handle imprinted in her skin. Scanning the forest, she saw no sign of men or hounds. Surely, she would have heard them sooner? They’d been loud in the castle, and in the woods, every step would have been met with crunching leaves and loose gravel and the clink of their heavy armor.

Elain held her breath, listening. Whispering wind. Chittering birds. Another crack. She jerked her head in its direction, but still, there was nothing in plain sight. An animal, maybe? One of the foxes that survived this year’s hunt.

Crack.

Elain’s heart stuttered. It didn’t matter if it was just an animal. It was coming towards her.

Moving felt like forcing rusted gears to turn. Her body was heavy, thoroughly wrung out from the day of running. She grit her teeth in response to her groaning muscles, and as her heart rate spiked, she found it was easier to match its accelerated rhythm. One step for every thunderous beat, until the forest blurred.

She thought she heard someone swear, followed by a heavy thud that turned her head.

And there he was.

Long red hair pulled off his face, dressed in the royal blue of her kingdom, golden pommel jutting out at his hip. Sprinting straight towards her.

Elain hated that the sight of him still made her breath catch. Not because he was gaining on her with alarming pace, or because he’d appeared seemingly out of nowhere. But because, even now, she couldn’t help feeling giddy to be the sole focus of his attention. Even if her objective mind was aware of his ill-intentions, Elain couldn’t help feeling pulled to him, like a powerful current surged around her.

Even so, Elain raged against it. Because the Lucien she still loved was in her head, urging her, run. Run as fast and as far as you can.

He would catch up to her, which she had always known. But at least she would be hauled back knowing that she had fought him to the very last moment.

Blood roared in her ears, so loud she almost couldn’t hear her own crashing footsteps, or every shuddering breath. Elain couldn’t count the number of trees she nearly collided with, moving too quickly to evade them with any amount of skill. Bark scraped her arms, clawing and ripping at her dress, but soon Elain broke through the treeline entirely.

She didn’t slow down, even when cool air rushed against her face, soothing the moisture collected on her skin. Elain had thought she would be able to see better without the canopy blocking out the silver moonlight, but as she stared ahead, all she saw was darkness.

“Elain!”

His voice was right at her ear, utterly panicked.

A strong arm banded around her waist, hoisting her back from an edge she hadn’t even realized she’d been careening towards, until she’d taken a step forward and her foot met empty air. She screamed as Lucien pulled her backwards, likely intending to keep them upright if she hadn’t thrashed, kicking her leg beneath his so that he fell onto his back with a soft oomph. Her knife clattered to the ground.

Elain immediately grabbed it and scrambled off of him, edging toward the cliff both to put distance between herself and Lucien, but also to gauge just how far of a drop it was. The roaring in her ears, it turned out, had not just been her rushing pulse. The ocean crashed over rock far beneath them, spraying sea water high enough that if she laid on her stomach and reached, she’d be able to touch it.

“I didn’t even know we were this close to the ocean,” she admitted, only to feel foolish for speaking her thoughts when there were vastly more important things to occupy her.

“Of course not,” Lucien said, brushing himself off. “There’s not many handsome lords in this direction.”

Elain glared. Not that he could see it very well, in the dark. “You’re not a very good spy, if you thought I was truly interested in them.”

“I’m not a spy.”

“You just chased me through the woods!”

Lucien balked. “You were running towards a cliff!”

“I heard you!” Elain cried. Her voice was more shrill than she would have liked. She had wanted to be angry—to sound angry—when she finally confronted him, and yet tears were welling in her eyes. And her voice cracked as she said, “I watched you bow to Prince Koschei.”

He took a step towards her, then froze when he watched her raise the knife and stumble back. Too close to the edge for both their likings.

Lucien held up his palms, saying calmly, “I am loyal to you, princess. Only you.”

“Liar.”

“What did you hear me say to him? That I’d find you?” His eyes gleamed. “I did. I promised you that I would.”

“You helped them attack the castle,” she whispered.

“I had no hand in that—none.” He took another step. Elain was running out of room to retreat. “And the moment I found out what was happening, I did all I could to delay Koschei’s men from going to your room. I sent a maid—”

“More lies.” Elain’s hand started shaking, sending moonlight dancing across its surface. “It’s all you’ve been doing for years.”

He swallowed. “I have been lying. But not about this, not about protecting you. I swore to the Mother Goddess I would always keep you safe and that is all I have been doing.”

She clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering. “Why did you bow to him?”

“If I had known—”

“Why did you bow to him?”

Lucien flinched. “Years ago, I was sent to your Kingdom as a Raskan spy. I—”

“You betrayed me,” Elain interrupted, shaking her head because she knew she couldn’t bear to hear any more of his explanation. Years.

“I have never betrayed a word,” he protested. “I was sent to become the Queen’s most trusted guard, and instead, I was assigned to protect the prized princess, who was more interested in flipping her hair at confectioners than providing me with any valuable intel.”

Elain blinked. “Is this supposed to persuade my forgiveness?”

“You don’t need to forgive me,” he said, gaining an edge of desperation. “But I need you to understand. I took one look at you, and all my loyalty swayed.”

More lies. More lies. More—

“I never betrayed you, because I am in love with you.”

A sob built in her throat. Lucien took another step, fingers gentle as they circled her wrist and carefully pried the knife away. Then he pressed a hand to her cheek, and she knew she should have pulled away, but instead she leaned into the warmth of his touch.

Lucien continued, thumb swiping away her tears, “I have been trying for years to convince Prince Koschei that there is nothing of interest in this kingdom. But your beauty precedes you, and your mother circumvented me. And I thought perhaps, with her compliance, he would merge your territories peacefully.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “If I had known about the attack, I would have run away with you last night.”

His expression was so earnest. But then again, she had always thought him earnest, and he had been keeping secrets the entire time she’d known him.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Her voice warbled when she asked, and he frowned. Like it pained him, the doubt, or her sorrow, or maybe all of it. Lucien dropped his hand from her face to draw his sword. Slowly. So as not to startle her, though she still risked stepping to the ledge of the cliff to lean away from the sharp metal. He extended the golden hilt towards her and bowed his head.

“Throw it in the sea, if you must. The knife, too. I have no intention of taking you anywhere besides where you wish to be.”

Then, when she still hesitated, he dropped to his knees, raised his chin to meet her eyes.

“Or kill me, if that’s the only thing that could set your heart at ease.”

Their eyes held. Beneath them, a wave crashed against the unmoving rock. If she looked down, she’d find the ocean as dark and glistening as the pools of russet and gold that beheld her. But where the water below would have been frigid, his eyes promised warmth. Love, if she could suspend her belief past the years of deceit. He could be bluffing. Lucien knew her more thoroughly, more intimately, than anyone else. And perhaps he knew that she loved him too, and believed she did not have the capacity to kill him.

Elain wrapped her fingers around the golden handle, testing the weight. It was lighter than she’d imagined.

“You loved me when you first saw me?” she asked.

“No,” Lucien said. “But you’d earned my loyalty. Love came later.”

“Why.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Because on the first day I met you, you invited me to the table for tea, and when your mother scolded you for it, you snuck a cup to me on my post.”

Elain remembered well. It was the first time she’d seen Lucien’s smile, and the memory had caused butterflies to haunt her stomach for weeks.

“I was flirting with you,” she admitted.

“Guards are expected to take orders and otherwise stay unnoticed. You were the only person who saw me. Every day, you saw me. And I knew I could never betray you, that I’d sooner die by Koschei’s sword. When I took my vow to the Mother Goddess, I meant every word.”

I am, forever, yours to command.

She lowered the sword to his shoulder in a twisted impression of that ceremony. The metal trembled in her hands just as it had all those years before. And just like he had then, Lucien didn’t flinch at its touch, even as the sharp edge pressed into his neck.

“And—you love me?” she asked

“Yes,” he said. Not at all like he was bartering for life, spilling honey into her ear as a means of convincing her to drop the sword. No, he said it like the prayer of a man already dying. Like that simple fact was his salvation, a comfort he would take with him into the next life.

“I love you,” he said again, “despite knowing that I shouldn’t. I knew that I was yours and you would never be mine, and I fell in love with you anyway. I flew into your sun like a man bent on hellfire, I betrayed everyone but you to do it, and now I am prepared to live or die at your service.”

“What if I want to leave?” She asked. “What if I got on a boat tomorrow?”

“Then I’d go with you.”

“What if I didn’t want you to?”

Lucien met her eyes, searching for her meaning. If it was truly what she desired. “Assuming you don’t kill me, I’d return to Prince Koschei and spend my life ensuring he never finds you.”

“And what if—” Now it wasn’t just the sword shaking. It was her hand, her shoulders, her lower lip. “What if I love you, too?”

He went so still, then. And it hadn’t occurred to her that he didn’t know. When to Elain, it had been so obvious.

“You do?”

The sword dropped first. Then her knees. She crashed over him, the water against the rocks below, her arms the sea mist tangling around his neck. He gasped, like he expected it was his last breath. Or like it was his first. Air, a precious commodity as her lips found his and then all they were breathing was each other.

His arms enveloped her instantly, banding over her back to tug her closer. It was strange, how his body tightened and relaxed at her touch. Something in him unwinding despite how tightly he held her.

Even so, his kiss was gentle. Sweet.

And unending.

He kissed her again and again, almost feverish. She could taste the salt of her tears and sweat and she wondered if he minded, but he kept kissing her like she tasted of sugar or wine or something equally intoxicating. He just tasted of Lucien—the most intoxicating thing of all.

Elain tugged at the leather tie on his hair so she could plunge her fingers into the loose strands. Her other hand pressed into his back and she gasped into his mouth at the resulting pain, so consumed in his touch she had forgotten about the wound entirely.

He pulled away. “You’re hurt.”

No. No, she wasn’t. Because if she thought of the weeping cut on her hand, then she would think of the maid and the kitchen and the kingdom that had crumbled in less than a day. She would need to face the uncertainty of knowing if her mother was alive and the downfall of their crown and their people. So Elain wasn’t hurt, because none of that had happened. There was only Lucien, who was in love with her, and the stars, which looked so pretty reflected in his eyes.

“Keep kissing me,” she said, resisting him as he tried to turn to look at her injured hand.

“Elain—”

“Please.”

Lucien looked pained. He leaned down to brush another compliant kiss against her lips. “There,” he murmured, like it was a job finished. She fisted her hand into his tunic, stopping him from pulling away. She felt, more than heard, him sigh. “What do you need, princess?”

So many things, of which the Mother Goddess had clearly decided not to grant her. But there were some things still within reach. There was this.

“Make love to me beneath the stars,” she whispered. Pleaded, the way a princess was never meant to, but she had never felt much like a princess around him, anyway. “Promise me that when I wake up in the morning, you’ll still be here.”

She couldn’t bear it, if he wasn’t. He was the only thing she had left.

Lucien stared at her for a long minute. Taking in whatever was betrayed by her expression and her rumpled clothes and the fist she had buried in his tunic. He started with that, loving hand closing over hers, gently prying her fingers away. She let him, moved to silence by her curiosity. Her anticipation.

He removed the golden pin from his cape and swept it off his shoulders, laying the fabric over the ground in one fluid motion. Then he picked up his sword and slid it back into his scabbard, sheathed the knife in a spare slot in his weapons belt, and unbuckled it from his waist entirely.

“Come here,” he murmured, opening his arms to her.

An open invitation to touch him. Elain couldn’t help thinking that was all that she’d wanted for years, and how like the Mother it was to grant her that wish in the most twisted of ways. And how Elain wasn’t certain if she would have chosen differently, if the choice would always arrive between Lucien or her crown. At least this way, she wouldn’t endure the guilt of making the decision herself.

Elain fell against him easily, further proof this was always the Mother’s intention. Even with the aching heartbeat in her palm, and the more excruciating one in her chest, touching him seemed to banish it all. As if the state of her world couldn’t truly be so dire, if she was in his arms and his plush lips were against her mouth, then her cheeks, her collarbones.

He laid her on the cape with a caution she knew was partway devoted to her injury, afraid of jostling her. But despite the gentle way he held her, there was a wildness in his eyes that she was certain must be reflected in her own. A shared disbelief—that they loved each other, and that these were the circumstances that led to this moment.

“I love you so much,” Lucien confessed as he hovered his body over hers. He studied her eyes, her face, like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. His knuckles skimmed her cheekbone, brushing a stray piece of hair away from her forehead. “It has been my greatest source of torment.”

Elain knew precisely what he meant. Because he kissed her, then, and she could still feel a sliver of that pain. Her cutting desperation, each slice lethal. Precise. Laid in every place he touched her. Wounds that would never mend.

She whimpered into his mouth and Lucien’s kiss became firmer. He groaned when she arched her back to press closer, responding by crushing her body against his. She could feel his hammering heart and his overwhelming heat and his—

“Elain,” he gasped when she brushed her hand over the affronting bulge in his trousers.

Last time, it had all been so new, so overwhelming. She had simply followed his lead, terrified he would gain his sense and change his mind at any moment. Now, though. There was nowhere else to be, no risk of being caught and scolded. She had the time to explore.

Elain repeated the motion, fascinated by the way Lucien groaned and bucked his hips into her touch. He kissed her again, increasingly less gentle. But she could tell, by the tension in his body and the shaking arm he propped himself up on, that he was still exacting a great deal of restraint. She didn’t want that. She wanted all of him, no more masks, no more lies.

“Tell me again,” she whispered between urgent kisses.

“I love you.”

She laughed, breathless. “Tell me your vows.”

Lucien stilled. Clearly surprised by her request. He watched her, swallowing hard.

Her confidence wavered, suddenly worried it was too odd of a request. But then Lucien leaned over, skimming his nose and lips across her jaw. Until he arrived at her ear where he could whisper, voice roughened in a way that made her stomach knot.

“Princess.”

Elain gasped, feeling her skin pimple as the rich sound skirted over her skin, a rock skipping over water, rippling heat through her body. His hand caressed her thigh, calluses scraping ever-so-softly as he pushed up her skirts.

He murmured, “I swear to you.”

Fingers, feather-soft, skimmed over the dampened lace between her thighs. His breath shuddered at the same moment hers did.

“I am your shield.”

A kiss over her thundering pulse.

“I am your sword.”

A swipe against that sensitive bud, sending a burst of stars behind her eyes.

“I am your justice.”

Lower. His mouth skimmed over her clothes, lavishing heat through the valley of her chest, down her stomach. He stopped between her legs, eyes still on hers as he hooked a thumb into her underthings and pulled the fabric off. Cool air brushed against the most intimate part of her body and Elain stretched her arm out, burying her fingers into his soft cape.

Finally, Lucien whispered, “I am yours.”

He didn’t do anything else for a moment, only stared, wanting those words to hold gravity.

I am yours.

She could see it repeated in his eyes, gold and copper glowing like an ancient forge. Elain turned molten beneath their heat. She wanted to let him reshape her with his touch. Turn her into something that wasn’t a princess, nor a exile, nor a refugee.

Something that was his.

Elain met his eyes, wondering if hers were burning with equal fervor.

“And to the mother I swear: Lucien Vanserra, I am yours.”

That felt, somehow, more sacred than any vow of marriage or oath of knighthood.

Lucien made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

Then, he bowed his head and kissed her so sweetly between her legs that her mind scrambled, wondering how something so obscene as his circling tongue could feel like the most ardent declaration of love. And it was the way he groaned, crushing her body to his face like he could smother himself and still not get enough, that sent every inch of Elain burning. He wasn’t like this last night, so abandoned with desire that he lifted her beneath the thighs and slung her legs over his shoulders. The cool sting of his pauldrons made her gasp—or maybe it was his tongue, licking upwards against her clit over and over.

“Lucien,” she whispered, because it was the only word she could still scrap together. She murmured it over and over again in her building delirium, its meaning changing each time it expelled from her lungs in sobbing gasp.

“Lucien—” I love you.

“Lucien—” I am yours.

“Lucien—” You are the only thing I have to hold onto.

He couldn’t speak either, too consumed in his own passion, but she felt his response in every slide of his tongue. In this way his fingers pressed into her skin, hard enough that she hoped their imprint would remain. He kindled her like a fire, building that intense pleasure to its peak, until her entire body tightened and shuddered around him.

Elain cried out as bright light seared behind her eyes. He continued licking her even after each pass began seizing her entire body and she whimpered, overwrought, pushing at his forehead while she gasped, “Lucien—” Stop.

Ever obedient, he lowered her to the ground and sat back on his knees. His chest was heaving, red lips glistening, and when their eyes met it was like looking into a mirror of her own ruination.

Far away, the ocean still crashed against the rocks, a distant roar drowned out by everything else in the forefront. Like Lucien, falling towards her like she was the shore pulling the tide back in, desperate to feel his kiss after so long apart—because every second not touching him had felt like hours. Already, the breeze had pressed in, and she needed him to banish its chill with the comforting weight and heat of his body.

He settled over her, legs wedged between her own, elbow propped beside her shoulder, hair falling around her face like a satin curtain. And though he was careful not to crush her beneath his weight, there was nothing controlled about his descent, near desperate to outline her mouth with his own. Meanwhile Elain returned her attention to his trousers, pulling at the laces to set him free.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “My princess—my Elain.”

Elain felt her eyes burn. Knowing she could finally admit it, she fought the pressure of tears and said, “You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. I have loved you for years—”

“Years?” He interrupted, stunned.

She blinked, feeling her wet lashes brush her cheekbones. “Surely you must have put it together.” At his blank look, she elaborated, “All those men I flirted with, it was to get your attention. Get you alone.”

He clearly had not put that together, and she watched the realization dawn on him, watch his lips spread into a smile. And then he surged forward, capturing her in a kiss as he angled his hips so that she could feel his erection slide against her arousal.

“And to think,” he said, pressing a hot kiss to her throat while the head of his cock bumped against her clit. “In the end, I’m the lordling who has the honor of fucking you in the dirt.”

She could hear the satisfaction in his voice and now it was Elain realizing belatedly that he’d been jealous when he’d said that. And maybe she was the fool to not have seen it sooner.

“What do you say, princess?” Lucien asked with a playful nip at her collarbone. “Is that what you want?”

She should never have stroked his ego.

“Lucien,” she said, exasperated.

“Come now,” he coaxed, slipping a hand between their bodies to readjust himself at her entrance, offering the barest hint of pressure. “You sounded so pretty begging for it.”

“A princess shouldn’t beg.” A statement that was not very convincing, given the whine that built in the back of her throat. “Besides, you are meant to obey my command.”

His fingers slipped upwards, circling tightly over her clit in a way that made her hips buck, which in turn pressed his cock the slightest bit deeper. They both groaned.

“Then command me,” Lucien said, partly choked.

Elain bit back a moan as his fingers continued teasing her oversensitive bud. “Give me your cock,” she said, well aware that her hoarse whisper made it sound far from a command.

And because Lucien would never pass up a chance to vex her, he ducked his head close and murmured in a low, scraping voice, “Where, Princess? Here?” He illustrated his point by grinding his cock against her. “Or would you like it somewhere else, like that pretty mouth?”

“Lucien!”

He chuckled, satisfied with her scandal. “Another time, then,” he said, before pressing a kiss to her jaw at the same moment he pushed inside her.

Elain immediately forgave his antics—she couldn’t have held a grudge if she wanted to, from the way every thought abandoned her. She threw her head back, allowing her to witness all of Lucien’s male arrogance crumble into reverence. His head fell forward against her shoulder, sucking in several sharp breaths.

“Oh, Elain,” he said on an exhale, hips flush and stilled against her.

She hooked her legs around his waist, needing to feel him closer, wanting to urge him to move the way her body yearned. He continued catching his breath, each warm puff of air caressing her collarbone. His hands clutched her so firmly, one at the joint of her hip and thigh, the other a tangled knot in her hair.

Just as she opened her mouth to ask if he was okay, Lucien pulled himself out and began whispering, “Through any trial that rises against me.”

His lips brushed over her skin as he spoke, inscribing the words on her body like they were a love letter—words that had never intended to act as one, but now felt more befitting as a declaration of love than the second verse of a knight’s oath. Hearing the words, hearing their meaning applied in such opposition to how they were intended, how she’d always closed her eyes and imagined, made her heart race blindly, made every thrust feel all the more like they were rewriting the rules of this world together. Ignoring even the Mother Goddess and her divine intentions.

“Ice or fire—“ Elain buried her fingers in his hair, cutting him off with a warbled moan as her body tightened against him. Lucien grunted, “or steel.”

And Elain knew it was only an oath for a knight, but still she pushed her lips up to his ear and whispered, “Across any distance your service demands me.”

She barely made it through the line before Lucien’s mouth was on her, open and heated and groaning unabashedly into her mouth as his pacing sped up.

He broke away only long enough to meet her eyes and pant, “I will carry your royal seal.”

Elain fisted a hand over that seal now, still crumpled but proud over his heart, just beneath the clipped-on armor he still wore.

“Lucien,” she gasped, a wet sound between their lips and tongues as his cock scraped against a cluster of nerves that built white-hot pressure in stomach, her chest, until she was drowning it.

He slowed his thrusts to grind deliberately against that spot, saying roughly, “In your name, I wield my strength and valor, an eternal vessel of your will.”

It sounded so filthy, punctuated by her whines.

“Lu—Lu—“ Elain tried desperately to say his name, to tell him that it was all building up too much, too fast, and she didn’t know what to do with the warm, glowing chord knitting tighter and tighter around her spine.

Too tight, too—

“In your name, I bid my loyal service.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, and it could have been the middle of day for the bright, blinding light she saw behind her eyelids. She tightened her thighs around his waist, buried her face into his neck, gasping, pleading, Lucien, Lucien, Lucien.

“That’s it, Elain,” he whispered, fingers returning to that sensitive bud, intent on forcing more desperate, incoherent sounds from her. “And to you—“

The last word tapered off into a groan as she tightened and shattered around him. His own pace faltered, and he was gasping to keep himself above that lethal current. In the distance, waves crashed like cymbals, another instrument accompanying the great song of their colliding bodies and the soft pluck of that golden string she swore tethered them together.

“And to you,” he repeated, each word ragged. He took another breath, then rasped, “To you, Princess, I will always kneel.”

Then he kissed her, sealing the vow so that it was seared, forever, against her lips. Duty and love and devotion, all intertwining with their tongues and the last, wild thrusts that led to his body shuddering and trembling with release. He cried out against her lips, before he slackened against her. She could feel his cock still twitching inside her as they parted to catch their breath.

His eyes were wild, so dilated they were nearly black in the moonlight. Elain pressed her hand to his chest, feeling it rise and fall, unsteady. She felt dazed. Like they’d been on a ship that had lost a battle against the rocks below, and they were the lone survivors who had pulled themselves to land. They had no bearings, no concept of what awaited them in this strange new world. Elain was uncertain what tomorrow would bring, but simply knowing that Lucien would be beside her, and that she wouldn’t be alone, made facing it more bearable.

Lucien cupped her face, brushing away her tears. “Are you alright, Elain?”

She could read the weariness in his expression. He’d given her what she’d asked for, had let her pretend for a prolonged moment that everything was alright, but aside from their reunion and their vows, nothing had changed. Koschei would still be looking for Elain, her kingdom had still fallen, her hand was still wounded. There was no answer that could soothe him.

“Just stay with me,” she said. “Like you promised.”

Take one step at a time.

He nodded. “Of course, your highness.”

“Don’t call me that anymore.”

“Elain,” he corrected with a small smile that made her heart flutter. He kissed her, so gently that it sparked a new round of tears. “I will never leave your side again, if that is what you wish. Wherever it leads me—wherever you lead me.”

There was an unspoken question in that statement, one Elain felt ill-equipped to answer. Where would she lead them, what happened next?

Take one step at a time.

She exhaled, trying to calm herself before she let the thought overwhelm her. It helped that Lucien’s weight was still draped comfortingly over her, like a heavy woodsmoke-scented blanket.

“For now, we sleep,” she said. That was an easy answer. “And then…”

He watched her, and she thought he might supply an idea, but he only waited patiently. Prepared to carry out her will, whatever she decided, even if he knew it would be to their doom. She simultaneously loved and loathed that about him.

Elain bit her lip. “And then… we take it back.”

He blinked. “We do?”

“We do,” she said. Even if it would have been easier to run away, even if she knew that was what Lucien had expected her to choose. She could not abandon her people, her crown. “We take back the Kingdom, and we make Prince Koschei pay for what he’s done.”

[giggly-squiggily]

Could I request some Korekiyo x reader hurt/comfort? Like it gets REALLY FUCKING ANGSTY (As angsty are you’re comfy with :3) and then it gets resolved at the end? (Maybe throw some tickles in there 👀) thank you!

WHOO BOY- when I tell you I read this and said "Challenge accepted", I wasn't kidding! This..is really angsty hehe. Due to the contents of the fic, I didn't feel right putting tickles in, but there is a decent amount of comfort hopefully somewhere in the mix? Either way, I hope you like this angsty Korekiyo fic anon! (and if you'd like, I'd be more than happy to write tickles for Kiyo as I'm slowly falling back in love with Danganronpa and miss him)

@sevenincubistolemyheart @giggly-toybox

CW: Danganronpa V3 chapter 1 spoilers, angst, panic attacks, graphic depictions of the first execution, grief, loss, angst, mentions of illness, mentions of death (also we're ignoring parts of canon because I said so)

The crash of the piano closing rattled you. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t think. Around you everyone seemed to fall mute. You could see them talking, crying, shouting, but you didn’t hear a thing. All you could hear was the broken notes of Der Flohwalzer as Kaede slowly died before all of you.

You needed to get out. You needed to run, to flee from it all. You turned, slipping on your feet as you bolted. Bodies- there were too many bodies. The room was too hot, you couldn’t breathe-

Her body swung like a metronome. Long blonde hair hung in her face, hiding the anguish remaining. The lid of the giant piano slowly fell forward-

Your stomach turned. You clung to the wall as you tried not to throw up, head spinning with lack of oxygen. You were gonna pass out right here and now. Falling to your knees, a blood curdling scream ripped out your throat. How’d you manage that without any air you could only wonder.

“Don’t go dying on me now!” Were her last words, tears dripping down her face as she looked at each and everyone of you. Kaede- her beautiful smile wrecked with grief. She mouthed to you a soft goodbye just as-

“(Y/N).” Who was that? Who was talking right now? You couldn’t see- the world suddenly went dark. You heard your name shouted once more before your head hit the cold hard ground.

~~~

When you woke up, you were in an unfamiliar room.

“Forgive me.” The voice from earlier spoke, so gentle but so startling to your shaken form.. “We only have access to our own rooms. I couldn’t get into yours, so I brought you to mine.”

Daring a peek, you found Korekiyo kneeling by the bed. He was a good distance away, dripping the last few drops of tea into a mug with careful hands. He was always so wrapped up- you could see the bandages were fresh. “Tea? It soothes the soul.” He held up the cup to you.

“Tea…right now?” You almost laughed. Then you did laugh, a hollow bitter sound. “Kaede just died and you’re offering me tea?” You smacked the cup out of his hand, sending the contents spilling across the floor. “How can you be so calm after- after all of that just happened?”

Korekiyo looked at the discarded mug, watching the hot liquid melt into the floor. Then he reached around him, pulling out a towel. “I had a feeling you’d do that.”

“If you did, why bother offering- What are you doing now?” You yelped when he pressed the towel against the stain. “That’s hot! You’ll burn yourself!”

“I’ve done it before.” He spoke casually, but you were already on the floor, taking his hand away from the damp towel before it could touch him. “Really, it’s not that hot.”

“Shut up. That mug was steaming!” You held up his hand, looking for wet spots through the bandages. “I think I burned my hand when I-”

That’s when you felt it. The slightest of tremors. Staring at his hand, you watched it shake within your grasp, the muscles tensing in his arms. They were so clammy beneath the bandages.

“You’re shaking…” You mumbled, looking up at his face. At first glance he seemed calm, but you could see it. The darkness in his eyes, the paleness of his cheeks above the mask. “Korekiyo…”

“Apologies. I meant to be comforting you. You passed out in the hallway- we all assumed the worst.” He muttered, gently taking his hand out of yours as he carried on dabbing the spill. The towel was no longer steaming, but you suspected it was still hot. “I don’t blame you- a sight such as that can be rather…”

“Terrifying.” You finished when he couldn’t go on. Your heart broke when he nodded, something of a shaky exhale could be heard. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s quite alright.” He reassured, but it didn’t make you feel any less guilty. Reaching out, you began to gather the pieces of shattered mug, waving him off when he started to protest. “I don’t care if I get cut.”

“...” He didn’t have much to say to that. When the spill was gone and the mug pieces were discarded, the two of you sat facing one another, you leaning against his bed and him kneeling before you. “I’m aware this is a…rhetorical question, but..how are you?”

You snorted, then immediately felt bad. “Sorry. I’m…better? No- not really. I’m numb. But I’m not gonna pass out again if that’s what you mean.”

Korekiyo nodded, and the silence continued.

“Was this…your first time? Witnessing death?” He asked, something small in his voice that put a stopper on your snappy retort.

“Was this yours?” You asked in return. Korekiyo seemed to sink into himself.

“My sister…I was there in her final moments. It wasn’t as…violent as Kaede’s.” He stammered some, as if saying her name was difficult. Hearing it was just as bad. “But it felt like it. It felt far worse, if I’m being selfish. She went so quietly and yet…”

“Her loss is so loud.” You finished, reaching out and grabbing his hand. It was shaking again. You squeezed it. “How did she die?”

“...Illness. She had grown weak so fast.” Korekiyo seemed to tremble. Tears rolled down his masked cheeks, leaving wet lines along the fabric. “One day she was smiling and sitting up, the next she couldn’t open her eyes. She just…left.” He choked out the last words with such grief it brought tears to your eyes, blurring your vision of him. “F-Forgive me…I shouldn’t be speaking of her right now. We just lost Kaede, and yet-”

You had closed the distance so fast. You weren’t even aware you were doing it until he was wrapped in your arms, your face pressed into his shoulder as you held together his fragile core. “It’s okay.” You whispered against his shoulder. “It’s okay to grief her too.”

Something broke then. Arms wrapped around you tightly as Korekiyo let out a sob. It wasn’t long before you were both crying, grieving the loss of Kaede, Rantaro, and all those who have come before. It hurt. It hurt so, so much, and you felt like you were gonna crumble away like ash at any moment. You hung on tighter, steadying yourself against Korekiyo as all the pain you felt since coming to this twisted game all spilled over.

Eventually, when you ran out of tears and felt strange for hanging on, you released Korekiyo, sitting back until you were sitting knee to knee. His eyes were red and puffy, and his mask was wet with residue tears. You were sure you didn’t look any better.

“He-eh…you know, I bet Kaede’s fussing at us right now.” You smiled, wiping your face as much as you could. “She’s probably pissed we didn’t get to hear her play a proper rendition of Der Flohwalzer.”

Korekiyo let out a shocked laugh, finding your eyes. “That’s terrible!”

“I cope with humor.” You shrugged, earning more wet laughs from Korekiyo. “Seriously though…I’m gonna miss her.”

“Yes..as will I.” Korekiyo nodded. “I’ve only known her acquaintance, but she was a lovely girl.” Something sad passed over his expression then. “I wish I weren’t so harsh with her before.”

“What’s done is done. I don’t think she’d hold it against you.” You tried to smile, but you felt so drained it hurt. Instead you leaned into his shoulder, squeezing his hand. “Hey…thanks for being there for me, Korekiyo.”

“Please, call me Kiyo.” He took your hand back. For once this entire evening, it didn’t feel cold. “Thank you too. You’ve..helped me in more ways than you know.”

Once again, you’ve fallen into silence. Your chest hurt, your face burned and your head felt like you smashed it through several concrete walls. You were sure Korekiyo wasn’t doing any better.

“I can’t stay for the night. The bear’s orders.” You groaned, burying your face into the soft fabric of his shoulder. “But could I stay here with you? Until he makes me leave?”

Korekiyo didn’t answer. He didn’t have to- not verbally. He simply got comfortable, letting you lean fully into him as he leaned into you. Your hands stayed interlocked as you lounged in comfortable silence.

For the first time since coming here, you felt safe.

Thanks for reading!

[coolmagoloraskblog]

Welcome to my very cool, not at all scuffed, awesome Gijinka Magolor Askblog!

I'm normal about him, and so are you!

You have been granted access to this world through a machine Magolor cobbled together in a week, you can show graphics on the screen of it, and talk to nearly anyone. But, as the machine was built to be more like a magic radio, you can't physically interact with the world, (for now.)

We will be following Magolor through out the blog, but other characters will have their Times to Shine too!

I have, written so much, I have fabricated all sorts of things, you have no idea. There are so many headcanons I would say its just barely canon compliant but it's not. I took a chainsaw to canon and stitched it back together. There are ocs. Come with me brother, I'll take you on a journey.

This blog also contains Magoranza, because I'm a little sucker for that ship, it is present, it is written, into the tome.

DISCLAIMER

This blog will at points contain heavy themes, including but not limited to: depictions of grief, anxiety, depression, trauma, violence and injury, and general themes of mental illness.

I'll try my best to tag all scenes appropriately, but if you don't want to see any of that, then filter this tag: "cw heavy themes"

Posts will be tagged with "cw" at the beginning of content warning tags, and while I will tag other variations, I might not be consistent, or get every one, so please be mindful and check your filtered tag list!

Rules/Guidelines:

Be appropriate, please, nothing NSFW.

I can't answer every ask, but I certainly try my best! If I haven't answered yours there could be a number of reasons as to why. The moment for it may have passed, or maybe it would have gone down a path I needed to avoid at the time, or maybe I just didn't like it. And that's okay I don't need to like it, you're still valid. Patience my friends.

Please don't send asks about Marxolor! Nothin' wrong with it, but Marx is 15 here and Magolor is 19, making it extremely weird in this au.

Tag Guide/Navigation:

Storyline: Asks and posts that are canon to the blog.

Icopost: Ooc posts made by me! Ico!

Infopost: Posts like this, status updates or just important things relating to the blog that aren't my inane ramblings.

Storyline posts in chronological order!

Prologue in chronological order

Interlude in chronological order

Chapter 1 in chronological order WIP

And my main blog

We also have a discord server now!

[pacificwaternymph]

Hiiiiii... it's been two months... again...

I'm really sorry you guys

CH: 1/1

Word Count: 8,099

Rating: T and Up

Relationships: Jimmy | Solidarity/Scott Major | Smajor1995, Jimmy | Solidarity & Pacifica (Original Character)

Characters: Jimmy | Solidarity, Pacifica (Original Character), Xornoth (Empires SMP), Scott Major | Smajor1995

Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death

CW: Somewhat graphic descriptions of blood and injury, genre-typical violence, description of depression and mental illness, character death

Summary:

Jimmy receives an anonymous note regarding Smajor's disappearance.

He decides to follow it

Part 8 of the Empires SMP Superhero AU Series

[crvwly]

my good omens fics from silliest to most serious

let's be real, that's the only ranking system that matters

Fell's Flavourtown Festivities Rating: Mature Words: 5,526

Aziraphale looks at Crowley fondly as he continues. "Next, we have a Michelin-starred restaurateur, host of Hell's Kitchen and Kitchen Nightmares, and my personal friend, Chef Anthony Crowley!" human au: aziraphale is guy fieri and crowley is gordon ramsay. yes you read that right. no i will not explain myself

get up high Rating: Mature Words: 10,880 CW: cannabis smoking

Crowley snorts, flicking his joint, and Aziraphale’s eyes follow the ashes nervously, like he’s worried they’ll catch on something and ignite. “Can’t do it downtown,” Crowley says, shrugging. “Plus, I get a great view out here. Even if I get up high in London, it’s too bright to see the stars.” human au: neurodivergent stoner crowley, babey! meet-cute and fluff

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours) Rating: Mature Words: 4,702 CW: male-presenting pregnancy, labour / childbirth

post not-pocalypse ineffable parents fic: TLC's "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" starring Aziraphale Fell and The Corporation That Didn't Get The Memo About Bodily Functions After The Not-Pocalypse i cannot remember what possessed me to write this. but i stand by it.

please bring it back home to me Rating: Mature Words: 13,462 CW: minor mentions of potentially memory-altering human illnesses (including mental illness and degenerative memory disorders) TW: content may be triggering for readers who experience derealization, depersonalization, and/or dissociation

It’s like the missing furniture. There’s a space in Crowley’s life where someone should be, but it’s empty. Maybe, wherever they went, they took Crowley with them. Maybe they left this empty, ravaged shell behind. post S2 fix-it, angst with a happy ending

these, our bodies, possessed by light Rating: Mature Words: 49,787 Chapters: 7/? CW: a ton of emotional angst, it's a tragic crowley backstory! TW: Archive warning applies - graphic depictions of violence

When observed with the naked eye, Alpha Centauri appears to be a single star — the third brightest light in the Earth’s sky, beaming like a lighthouse beacon behind a fog of nebulas. In actuality, Alpha Centauri is a binary system. Its two stars share an orbit so tight that they shine together as one. six thousand year slow burn in progress, extremely slowly updated WIP im so sorry lmfao. ft. blind crowley!

[ovwechoes]

OVW Mains and Horror Books (Recommendations) This is completely self indulgent I'm so normal about the horror genre, especially novels, and if I don't assign some I've really enjoyed these past few months I think I might go a little insane (btw if you send me a rqst asking for some for ur own mains I'll cry in happiness) TW/CWs are labelled with each book, please read them and take them into consideration before reading anything recommended below - enjoy! Characters: Ana, Ashe, Sombra, and Zarya.

If you main Ana, you might enjoy… A Collapse of Horses by Brian Evenson! This is an anthology series with a plethora of short stories intertwined with themes of perception vs. reality, dependence on the known and surrealism into each one, connecting them all unanimously. Each story is different, offering a new setting with characters you can't help but feel something for, which I really loved. I think Ana would enjoy this novel simply because she doesn't need to dedicate too much time to each short story, finding that they serve her well with how short they can be. As well, each one leaves with open ended questions left in the reader's mind that Ana would enjoy considering and discussing with others. It's a good read if you're wanting to take a step back, enjoy something not entirely focused on a complicated, long plotline and have a taste for horror. TW/CWs include: violence and gore, mental illness and psychological distress, death and suicide, existential dread and nihilism, body horror and disfigurement, child endangerment and death, and isolation and despair.

If you main Ashe, you might enjoy… The Rats by James Herbert! People might expect Elizabeth to be enamoured with the wild west, consuming nothing but that genre. However, I like to think that she enjoys monster stories, especially ones based in reality with how the creatures causing havoc came to be. ‘Rats’ satisfies that for her, serving as a novel where you follow a school teacher tasked with helping overcome the swarm of rats unlike any other that've affected London before - their bite can kill, and they have a lust for flesh that can't be contained. It was one of the first books I read after a reading slump, and it reignited my love for horror novels completely. I think that Elizabeth would enjoy the action in the book, whilst finding the bloody details enjoyable to read. TW/CWs include: violence and gore, animal cruelty, themes of fear and paranoia, body horror, mental illness, death and injury, and unsettling depictions of survival and despair.

If you main Sombra, you might enjoy… Rabbits by Terry Miles! This novel explores a reality where Rabbits is a secretive, underground and dangerous game with a high reward for it's players - you're reading as one of them, as you uncover exactly what that reward is. Sombra might enjoy the book because of it's themes of obsession, the nature of reality, and the consequences of playing a game that has real-life impacts. The tension mixed with the mystery makes this novel all the more enjoyable, and I feel like Olivia would appreciate the reminder to remove herself from online spaces and take a moment in reality. It's hard for her to remain focused on novels, especially longer horror ones, but she thoroughly would enjoy this one. TW/CWs include: graphic violence, themes of obsession and paranoia, mental illness, death and injury, existential dread, and unsettling situations involving survival and the unknown.

If you main Zarya, you might enjoy… Piercing by Ryu Murakami! I think that Aleksandra would be squeamish to horror, not enjoying it visually because of jump scares and reading because of the way they can settle under her skin and make her feel uncomfortable. However, one she would probably enjoy is this one as it's much more mild with it's themes compared to others in this post. You follow a young man who's tackling his trauma-driven, obsessive thoughts about harming his new born child (he doesn't don't worry), and how he's going to enact it on a prostitute. It has a beautifully written plot exploring the way trauma can impact behaviour and mindset, and would definitely make Aleksandra consider how her own has changed her. It's not necessarily long, so if you wanted to, you could finish it in one sitting, just like I and Aleksandra did/would. But, it's one that really sticks with you and makes you feel as though it's stained on your mind with it's vivid details. TW/CWs include: graphic violence and gore, themes of sexual violence, mental illness, disturbing psychological content, and depictions of obsession and trauma.