#i hope if you're in a position where you have to beg strangers on the internet for money to save your life

[handsomegentlebutch]

Hello! If you think this kind of shit I wish you a very fuck off

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: annnd we've made it to velaris ! yippee !! now it's time for all the introductions >:D i hope you enjoy pls let me know what you think angels <3 ok mwah bye

word count: 3.5k

synopsis: You wake up somewhere entirely new, a long, long way from your home.

CHAPTER EIGHT :: STRANGERS (AGAIN)

The air all around you is sickly sweet.

Maybe... sweet is the wrong word. The air is clean; perfumed with an allure of scents you've never smelt before, heady and swirling, sweet and sterile all in one.

But more importantly, it is utterly foreign.

You're in unknown territory. Age old instinct has you shifting the moment you wake, surging up in a rush before your memory can catch up and remind you why that's an terribly bad idea.

The sheets rustle as you push yourself up into a sitting position, a heavy dose of panic already poisoning your system. It doesn't take long for the pain to follow.

You falter in your movement as an aching agony ricochets through your body, forcing out a wince. Your eyes screw up in pain. Your entire body feels like a bruise, punishing you with every movement.

You allow yourself only a moment of pause before you force them back open to take on the new threat, every sense filtering in unknown information as they sluggishly come to life. You have to blink rapidly to clear your vision, light coming in from all angles.

Why does it feel as though you've been asleep for years?

Where are you?

A room. You're not outside which is where you memory places you last. The extent of the memory drifts back as you search the room, your eyes climbing the walls, ravenous for details. They're made of some kind of warm coloured stone that covers the whole ceiling, you realise, as you follow the line of it up.

You screw your eyes up again and blink hard when you open them again. Every sense keeps pinging for your attention, a thousand things unfamiliar. The bed beneath is too soft, the sound of the wind outside isn't a whistle, the clothes on your back...

You startle, stumbling off the bed you've awoken on as you peer down at yourself, eyes moving about wildly. You're wearing... something completely new.

Frowning down at your arm, you raise one of your hands and pinch at the new fabric that covers the expanse of your arms. It's soft. So soft.

You tentatively smooth your hands down the tunic you're clothed in, all the way down to your pants. Each thing is finely made, with details far smaller that you would ever consider, and soft. Warm but sturdy.

What the fuck? Your chest starts to heave as panic truly sets in, your breath just out of reach before you can catch it. You gasp, grasping at your chest tightly, the new clothes scrunching up beneath your fingers. Memories begin to trickle back in as your mind scours for any information about how you ended up here.

You had been... cold. It was raining.

And your wings had been—your wings—your brain trips over the thoughts as every detail bleeds back in, sudden and frightening.

Stakes driven through the flesh of them, your wings pulled taut, stretched out for lashings and prepped for removal. Your terror climbs, its cloying grip tightening around your sternum like a fist.

Eyes screwed closed, you pray to every deity you can imagine, begging the Mother for this one thing.

You twitch the familiar muscle and feel the weight of your wings as they respond. There's no describing the relief that bursts within you, overwhelming your panic in an instant, your knees nearly buckling beneath you. They're still moving, still stretching out as you command them, still yours.

You stand there and peer over your shoulder, stretching your wings out as far as you can—cringing when they stop before full extension, buckling and bunching up at the violent spike of pain that ripples through them. It echoes through your body, making you hunch forward and grit your teeth. Your left eardrum wails extra loud.

What had happened? What had changed?

You could recall the finality of being down on your knees in the pouring rain, your hands are bound as your fate. Endless agony. The secret you couldn't keep, despite all you had tried.

You had been resigned to it—to dying there amongst in the dirt from where you had come from.

So, what changed?

Behind you, there's an abrupt noise from behind a door in the room, a rustling that makes your head snap around to face it.

Someone’s coming.

You stumble back a couple steps, dread mounting in your chest and your panic returns in full-force. You don't know where you are, you don't know how you got here, you don't know who is coming through that door.

You know that you have a lot more foes than you do friends.

Eyes darting around the room frantically, you spot a balcony down a small hallway and don't waste a single second.

As you begin to stride, you realise faintly that you're without shoes, feet bare on the cool marble floor. It turns to carpet beneath you as your fast strides transforms to a run, hearing the door open somewhere behind you.

It feels like a trap. Not the nice clothes or the fancy room would be enough to fool you. You're caught in a sickly sweet trap of honey and the net is being reined in, the ropes closing up on every side of you. It feels like you're being chased.

Heart in your throat and pulse rabbiting wildly, you burst through the doors of the balcony, daring a glance behind you without thought—

—and you nearly plunge off the edge of a mountain.

The gasp that escapes your throat is entirely involuntary, your fingers gripping the edge of the stone railing the adorns the balcony.

Your balance tips momentarily, the momentum of your dash nearly pulling you over. Terror freezes you. You're fairly certain with the state of your wings, it would be a short flight and an almost guaranteed casualty.

But a wind blows gently against your face, as though helping push you back to safety.

When you're sure you're not going to topple over the edge, some of your crippling panic eases. Your breaths, short and fast, begin to slow.

Your eyes travel up from the daunting height of the mountain side and widen, all the air in your lungs stolen in pure surprise.

Because before you, stretching out across the land that meets the sea, is something you've never seen before.

It's... a city.

A city that sits amongst the rolling, steep hills of the terrain and curls around a meandering river that leads out to the ocean. Tall, jagged mountains surround it from all sides, their hills steep up the top until they give way to gentler slopes, eventually becoming paved roads and streets for magnificent buildings.

The structures gleam, even from afar, made with precision and beauty in mind. Some are white marble or warm sandstone, others the same red stone of the mountains beside the one you're standing on. Small, quaint houses with green copper roofs, their white chimneys smoking softly.

Your breath stutters out in an exhale and you don't dare blink.

A city—a sprawling, wondrous city that was bursting with people, with colour, with life. So utterly unlike the chilled gray-scale of the Illyrian Mountains.

In fact, you wonder briefly if this was even the Night Court at all. This— this incredible sight felt like something you'd imagined of Summer or Spring, imbued with warmth, a place where things could grow and thrive.

The Night Court was... foul. It was the biting frigid cold of the wintry mountains or the shudder-inducing darkness of the court that lay beneath the mountain. This... where is this?

As though you've spoken your thoughts aloud, a voice answers from behind you.

"Velaris."

You start, whipping around fast enough to reawaken all your wounds, forcing you to stifle a pained noise that leaps up your throat. Your heart thunders as your eyes lay upon an unfamiliar figure, stepping out from the empty hallway—a form cut from the very night itself.

Your hands grip the stone railing behind you and you're unsure whether it's to keep your knees from buckling in fear or from bolting off the edge, into uncertain skies.

He's unfamiliar to you, yes, but you have a feeling you know exactly who he is.

"You asked where this—" The male waves a casual hand to the city beyond the balcony before pocketing it, either unaware of your panic or uncaring. "—is. You're in Velaris."

He surveys you, his violet eyes glancing down at the strained way you clutch at the railing.

"I know you must have a thousand questions. We haven't been introduced. My name is Rhysand and I am—"

"I know who you are." You interrupt. There's a lilt of fear in your voice but you couldn't keep it out even if you tried. He's the fucking Highlord of the Night Court.

Which means—Azriel.

His name slams into you like a shooting star, glowing hotly and dripping through your ribcage with a fire warmer than you've ever known.

Azriel must be— he was the one- he's the reason you're still alive. It feels like you relive the relief of his appearance during the storm all over again, remembering that he came back for you.

You have no idea the cacophony of emotion you're giving off, shouting all your unguarded thoughts across the balcony.

Rhysand's cool expression doesn't falter at your disruption. He looks at ease, both hands in his pockets, like he's merely having a conversation with a friend.

"Then it's important for you to know," He continues. "that I mean you no harm."

Lying, lying, liar, LIAR—the thought festers from within you instinctively, only growing in its urgency. You and everyone else where you come from are well aware of the origins of your Highlord.

And while he's your ruler, he's first and foremost, an Illyrian male.

"Only half," Rhysand corrects.

You startle, sickly surprise at the fact he seems to be able to read your very thoughts.

Then he confirms it, by saying, "And I can."

"You can read my thoughts?" You echo, voice sounding so much meeker than you intend. You sound like a child—and you feel like one, feel like the same eight-year-old staring down at the scorched brown earth in Exordor. Old blood. The same dirt you had been forced to kneel upon that now makes you shudder at the fresh memory.

Rhysand's expression falters momentarily at your train of thought, a flash of hurt on his handsome face.

His eyebrows draw together, forming a sympathetic, troubled look. "I can teach you how to shield them, if you so wish."

You don't make a noise. You don't even dare to take a breath, your fingers still crushed around the railing.

Within you, some part of you knows what he's offering. What the very nature of his words implies. He voices it anyway.

"You're no prisoner here. You're free to—”

"Where's Azriel?" The question falls from your lips before you can even think to stop it. Fear hammers through your chest—Fae that make a habit of interrupting Highlord's often find their lives cut short.

But Rhysand gives no impression that he minds. All he does is step to the side, revealing the empty hallway out to the balcony.

Except it's not empty anymore.

There, standing back to hide in the shadows as he did best, is your Shadowsinger.

Reserved and holding back, clearly waiting for you to remember him, to make your call before he made himself known. Making sure you wanted to see him at all.

Azriel, all 6ft something of shadow and muscle, with his wings tucked politely behind him, takes one step out on to the balcony and towards you.

His hands stay at his sides and his hazel eyes watch you with a familiar intensity. Something deep within you unfurls at the sight of him.

It feels like the collision of a thousand stars rain down on you, their jagged, burning fragments pelting into your body.

It's as though the world had been falling out from underneath and then, seeing him before you—when Cauldron knows how long ago you had been resolutely convinced you were never ever going to see him again— suddenly your feet were grounded and the world was still.

You breathe out his name. Azriel sways forward, almost imperceptibly, as though the sound of his name on your lips was a siren call he was helpless to fight.

You don't know that you say it sweeter than he's ever heard it in all his centuries.

Like following an invisible tug, you don't even realise when you start moving, only that you're rushing towards him with an urgency you can't begin to comprehend. It's like he's calling to you and you can't bear to be this close to him and not press in closer.

His beautiful face, usually guarded, reveals a glimpse into his storm of emotions. Concern, care, and something that looks suspiciously like... longing.

Your brain catches up and your feet falter, bringing you to a stand still before him, chest heaving.

Reason starts to catch up to you, asking meanly about what exactly you meant to do, running up to him—you weren't raised with physical touch beyond violence. You and Azriel had barely touched beyond sparring and those quiet nights in your shelter, skin brushing as you passed something to the other.

In the end, it's not you that moves, it's Azriel.

He closes the distance between you with one single step and his strong arms sweep around your middle, pulling you into the tightest hug. Night-chilled mist and cedar swirl your senses.

Helpless to do anything else, with no desire to do anything but this, you melt.

Your weight slumps into Azriel and he takes it without question, your arms curling around his neck to hold him back just as tightly. The light around you shifts, his shadows frenzied as they kiss along your neck and arms, all checking for hurt they can ease. Your heart is torn between soaring and stopping altogether.

The world fades away as his head ducks down, pressing his face the crook of your neck. It's more touch than you've ever known. More safety, more kindness than you've ever dreamed of. You and Azriel seem to exist only in a cocoon of shadow and warmth, in each others arms.

"You're alright," Azriel murmurs, his breath against your neck. It sounds more like he's reassuring himself than telling you. He sounds devastatingly sincere when he says, "I'm so fucking glad you're alright."

"Thanks to you," You whisper back, not wanting to break the silence. "You—"

The words get caught in your throat and you know you need to see his face when you say this. Pulling back from the embrace, you clear your throat as Azriel straightens up. You miss the heat of his body almost instantly.

"I-I thought I was never going to see you again."

It looks as though your words pain Azriel, a flash of pain and shame crossing his expression. His voice, low and gravelly, holds a guilty tone you've never heard him use before.

"I never should have left."

You blink. That wasn't what you had expected him to say in the least. It was you who had lied, who had deceived him from the very beginning. He was— he had— this was what you got for letting anyone get close to you, you understood that.

You shake your head, pointedly ignoring how it makes your injuries throb. "I know why you did, Azriel. I can't imagine—"

Azriel's scarred hands clench into fists at his sides, anguish colouring his face.

"No." He shakes his head, his jaw clenched tightly. "You did nothing wrong. Nothing."

"Then why did you leave?" Your questions comes out with an edge this time, a biting fury as your emotions process what he's saying.

He says you did nothing wrong. He says he shouldn't have left you behind. It's a ugly mixture of hurt and anger that paints your insides as realisations churn to the surface.

Azriel steals a glance to the side, serving as a quick reminder that there was, indeed, someone else still out on the balcony with you. You glimpse at the Highlord as your anger begins to bubble but you can't bring yourself to care.

You had... trusted him— you had let him in, let him get closer to you than anyone ever had, and he had left. He left, he left, he left. He did exactly as you had feared and he was wrong for it.

The greatest secret of your life, exposed like a raw nerve, and he hadn't said a word as he deserted you.

Your heart warbles at the betrayal and you can't help but step back, putting distance between the two of you. It's such a far cry from the nearness of a moment ago.

And even though you know he wasn't responsible for the events that followed, in the haze of your upset, it's awfully easy to add it to his betrayal. As if in response, your wings flinch and shudder as a wave of agony passes through them. You wince, gritting your teeth and turning your gaze to the ground.

"I can leave to give you both some privacy," Rhysand cuts into the conversation, evidently answering Azriel's pointed glance in his direction. "However, I don't think it will be overtly helpful. She's shouting every thought so loudly, I think I'll be able to hear it from the other side of the house."

She. It's been so many years since anyone has used that in reference to you that it nearly winds you, your entire body giving a visible flinch.

It feels foreign. You can't quite tell how you feel about it; whether it's some lost part of yourself to reclaim or whether it's something you've outgrown altogether.

You don't get time to consider it further as, bustling as she walks, a fourth Fae steps out onto the balcony. She's an older female in appearance but certainly not in her sprightliness. Her eyes land on you and they lighten up, as though you're the one she's been searching for.

"You are supposed to be resting." She tsks, without much further explanation. Your heart sinks, already feeling as though you're in trouble. Rhysand, reading your abrupt switch from anger, jumps in to explain.

"Madja, here-" He gestures to the female with a polite smile- "is our resident healer. She's been taking care of you over these last couple days, helping to heal your wings."

A severe reminder of the sorry state that had been in not too long ago. Glancing over your shoulder, your eyes glaze over as they take in the dozens of scattered markings that litter your wings. Irreversible. Your glorious love, changed forever.

There's patches over the ends that you hadn't noticed before, covering where you know the stakes had been. You suddenly feel an immense rush of gratitude towards the stranger before you.

"Thank you," You say, your throat thick. You want to say it again, want to repeat it over and over til your lungs bleed because just once doesn't seem enough.

But Madja nods in a grave way, as though she knows your internal turmoil.

"You weren't supposed to be up and moving quite so soon," She says, this time with less disapproval in her voice.

She directs a more withering look towards Rhysand and Azriel, enough to surprise you. Perhaps, healers held a higher rank within the city than they did in the mountains? The whole scene looks like a mother scolding her naughty children, especially with how both males shrink beneath her glare.

"Anyhow, come now," She turns back to you and gives a gentle wave of her weathered hand, ushering you back inside. "You'll need at least a days rest before you should be back on your feet."

You amble in her direction, too fearful to glance back at the Highlord and too conflicted to turn back to Azriel. You had broken his trust with your deceit but... he had broken your trust back.

He had abandoned you when you needed him most. But he had also turned up during your darkest hour and saved your life.

You weren't sure what you wanted to do more; hug him once more or throw a shoe at his head. Probably both would make you feel better.

From behind you, you swear you hear a faint chuckle of amusement.

—

When it's just the two of them on the balcony, Rhys turns to Azriel, ignoring his brother's unsubtle sullen demeanor.

"So," He grins. "Mates, then?"

Azriel casts a glance across the balcony, still rigid and unmoving from his spot. His shadows perk up at the word but Azriel gives no reaction beyond a twitch in his jaw muscle. Debating whether to respond at all.

Finally, he mutters, "How could you tell?"

Rhys tilts his head back, chuckling quietly, his mind cast back to an old, fond memory. His violet eyes slice back to his Azriel and he gives a little shrug. "A hunch, really. I think I might have enough to start a theory actually."

He wanders over and nudges Azriel with his shoulder, breaking him from his frozen spot and nodding for them to both head indoors. Rather reluctantly, the Shadowsinger falls into step. Side by side, Rhys gives him only a moment of quiet to stew in before he pipes up once more.

"Say— how much do you remember Cassian and Nesta's first meeting? Any flying projectiles?"

[NEXT PART: FRIENDS (IN OTHER PLACES)]

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

@iamjimintrash @maendering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee

@viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13

@bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

@fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5

@rhysandorian @laughterafter @brieftriumphnightmare @hirah-yummar @some-person-somewhere

@scooobies @sfhsgrad-blog @cherry-cin @bookloverandalsocats @megscabinetofcurios

@doodlebugsblog @landofpetrichor @acourtofdreamsandshadows @florabelll @tanyaherondale

@aomi-recs @letmejustreadthanks @problemfinder @sevikas-whore @doodlebugg16-blog

@meandmysillywriting @justingnoreme @krowiathemythologynerd @hanatsuki-hime @sunny747

@coffeebeforewater @kalulakunundrum @marina468 @moonbirde @yellow-birdy @sheblogs

@shinyghosteclipse @randombibitch @itsjustwinter @emryb @books-all-the-way13

[joaofelix70]

MISS DIPLOMAT & MR. CHARMING |

dominik szoboszlai x female reader.

author's note: this handsome man's living rent-free in my head. he's a freaking masterpiece. talented, funny, charismatic, attractive. i watched interviews, tiktok videos made by supporters and much more to understand a little bit of his language, personality and what he does towards friends and loved ones. laughed a lot! i made my homework as a writer, hope you enjoy it! (compliments and any kind of retributions are more than welcomed).

summary: your job is involving the commitment of unify the population and create interrelations to another countries, using the eurocup qualifiers and the hungary national team executions. you just didn't expect to fall in love with the no. 10's captain player.

words and characters: 1,811/11,223. it was three days working too hard on this story. i'm begging for your consideration, lol.

────

sports diplomacy: it's the unique power of sport to bring people, nations, and communities closer together via a shared love of physical pursuits. this responsibility is the reason of a transition between strangers to connected individuals, advancing foreign policy goals and augmenting sport for development initiatives. the complex landscape where sport, politics, and diplomacy overlap become clearer, as do the pitfalls of using sport as a tool for overcoming and mediating separation between people, nonstate actors, and states. the power of sport has never been more important. so far, the 21st century has been dominated by disintegration, introspection, and the retreat of the nation-state from the globalization agenda. in such an environment, scholars, students, and practitioners of international relations are beginning to rethink how sport might be used to tackle climate change, gender inequality, and the united nations sustainable development goals, for example. to boost these integrative, positive efforts is to focus on the means as well as the ends, that is, the diplomacy, plural networks, and processes involved in the role sport can play in tackling the monumental traditional and human security challenges of our time. credits: international studies association and oxford university press.

────

MLSZ (hungarian football federation) ──

new training ground at telki.

"i can't believe that being in places like this made up my most theoretically utopian childhood dreams. what a progress in front of me!" you still witness exciting moments where you pinch yourself, trying to believe in the reality that surrounds you: visiting the new training center of the players who are just a few meters away from you, getting ready to represent an entire country.

"your presence is our privilege. a voice of the spread of eurocup to our nation, right here…" the technical director gives you deference, obtaining a measure of humbleness and respect by you.

"the honor belongs to me in its entirety. grateful for having me, sir. while the view is immersive and captivating — my fervent congratulations to everyone involved — could we retreat from the pleasant glass-enclosed room and see everything closer, on the outside? please? i will never get used to this atmosphere." you pour politeness and charisma to the staffs around you, being directed to the proximity of the field and saluting the employees who pass through your path.

meet dominik — your szobo — instigates the nostalgic combination of detailed moments in which your thoughts display as photographic retrospectives. you're incapable to oppose the little enthusiastic laughs, fidgeting the rings between your fingers and avoiding possible suspicious glances from others. however, for you, this wouldn't actually work. the lives of you both are correlated, but different.

the training session is finished. clapping your hands and celebrating the performances, you greet the athletes and recognize some familiar people. nevertheless, reality slows down after those dark woody eyes capture through your soul. his arms tattoos are glorified by the sun's rays, the same illuminated smile is offered to you: that one you got during the very first time you saw him — instantly knowing he made you testimony the accuracy of freedom, catharsis and emotional amorous complement. that he'd be the one to introduce you what you never experienced, what you thought you'd never receive or deserve. what love truly is. when you were novices in your actual professions, not even imagining the future gifts of your unreal purposes.

"there you are!" intimately, dominik points at you, being reciprocated by vibrant nods and your old sort of secret — not that mysterious or serious — handshake. "még mindig emlékszel rá? (still remembering it?). you're a real one!"

"hogy tudnám elfelejteni? alábecsülsz engem. (how could i forget it? you're underestimating me)". your defensive actions demonstrate purposeful falseness. masking any sensitive, verbal or figurative communicative fragment from him is a difficulty that makes you give in over time. honestly, you never complain about this. it's like he wants to understand the factors and layers of you.

"a te kézfogás fickó. ne merészelj lecserélni engem. (your handshake man… don't you dare to replace me)". a shameless wink is send to you, butterflies acquiring space in your stomach.

"és hivatalosan is a szavamat adom r��. (and you officially have my word on it)." your gloss is pigmented against your fingers while you raise it up, displaying an oath, wondering if szoboszlai comprehends that his replacement in your life would be blasphemous.

"diplomata kisasszony, (miss diplomat)…" the hungarian fingerprints are shared and you recognize the sign to hold them, ready to perform your typical fashion icon moment. "gorgeous as always. go ahead! you know what to do!".

amusement surrounds you with the nickname's citation. although, you could feel some curious glances, from the outsiders, about the intimacy between you and him. "i appreciate, our top-class national bless…" you move your body in rotations to exclaim the outfit's characteristics, lifting your feet to show off the specificities of your heels. "how is your hair so well-groomed after sweating, though?" your arms cross and you raise an eyebrow in questioning, trying to hide your fascination.

"thank you, my number-one fan, but don't change the subject. finish our inside joke, c'mon!" dominik grabs his water bottle and spreads the cooling liquid on his forehead, wiping the glowing droplets across his face as he lifted his jersey high enough to exhibits his fortified abs.

your attention is directed to any surrounding scenery, throat being piked. szoboszlai pretends he doesn't notice, preventing to embarrass you.

"alright, alright! you've won, bájos úr… (mr. charming)". your final comment escapes as, practically, a whisper. you can't control the shy laughter, coupled with the considerable redness invading your cheeks.

"that's the secret to make my day!" using his tongue to reproduce a sharp noise, he matches your humorous reactions. "would you like me to show you the infrastructure changes? i'm just gonna take a shower!"

"i've already been granted a tour around here, but in case you insist…" during the dialogue, some athletes cross your space, wishing them good luck for the competition. your concentration on the activity is significant, at the point that dominik's silent admiration goes unnoticed.

"i mean, you know me! i'm gonna insist anyway, so…" he reaches your captivity, bringing you jollification.

"i'll rate you as a personal tour guide. now, go there!" jesting each other, you both exchange exaggerated reverences, like a challenge of who makes the most chaotic one.

────

walking around the area, various subjects are explored, informations entrusted. you ask and are updated about his ethereal younger sister.

portraits of the generations are framed. you magnifies his presence in celebratory pictures, dedicated to find him in the memories and achievements on that wall. pride shines from you and the hungarian finds it lovely.

"you know i'm a sucker for accents… they're much more than mere verbal characteristics, they're stories: life experiences, marks and scars. identities and cultural integrations." the topic is random. through generalized opinions, you're explaining conceptions and dominik is retaining mental observations. he exalts every scrap of your identity, like a faithful worshiper.

"basically, you're admitting being enchanted by my accent. i can see the stars in your eyes. a win is a win!" szoboszlai and his frequent attribute to physical touch, tickling your ears and playing with them. it doesn't bother you, actually: adoring the affection exuded by you and him. you feel like a little girl dealing with your one and only love.

"it's beautiful, how can you blame me? and hey, i know mine's making you grin too." he holds your arm, shivers running down your spine, the two of you being euphoric in the midst of your own enthusiasm.

"putting me against the wall? okay, hum… what were you saying before?" he's changing the subject and you have a natural wit to boo him. lifting his shoulders as a surrender, the hungarian focuses on the specific loose strands of his simple bracelet, which you get used to help him tie it again, willingly.

"trying to avoid the truth? fine! let me take care of you while i talk about my admiration towards globalization and communication. like, with every fiber of me…" you accept the conversation's direction and utter a 'voilà' towards the accessory's new appearance.

"that's why you're the best person i've ever seen doing this job." dominik compliments you, an act full of honesty.

"thanks a lot, mate. but which job? as your bracelet helper or my real one?" you provide tenderness, looking amused.

"i mean… both of them." szoboszlai chuckles, revealing courtesy by your continuous helpfulness.

"literally? because i know you know a lot of people. you're so young and already is the national team's captain." you nudge him in a form of tease. he's a starboy, it's undeniable.

"flattered! literally, thought. you were born for this, believe me." vulnerability collides to you, as his words are deliberated: emotions embracing you and warming your insides.

"dominik szoboszlai, my dear friend, you're gonna make me cry, right here. i'm sorry, i need to do it…"

innocent satisfaction builds strength over you and executes unthought-of approach to the tangibility of your gratitude — his colony enrapturing your sensitive olfaction — in the most out-of-control way. the sounds reach your hearing: a choir of angels singing hallelujah. he reciprocates the contact, laughing at your juvenile excitement. joining him and doing the same thing, harmonizing the triumph. in the separation of the touch, you both remain close to each other and the hungarian doesn't miss the opportunity to feel the softness of your side face, caressing the skin. appreciation and satisfaction invade your structure, delighting on the palm of his hand.

"just a dear friend? why are we pretending all this time?" dominik's reading you. the intimidation at the sight of him overhanging you is paralyzing. you don't usually back down, but in that instant — superior than your most repressed desires — your gasps are escaped.

"who is putting who against the wall now?" insisting and failing on your witty answers, shyness and uncertainty corrodes you.

"please, look at me! i'm not kidding anymore." his voice is questioning, intrigued — contradictorily vulnerable and calm — your rationality being fragmented, fragile.

"you know i'm not the kind of woman you're surrounding by, domi. i'm not an influencer, bikini model. i'm not a public figure. i don't live for the cameras and gossip platforms. i live to work hard. i didn't achieve any of this with some type of perk. my routine and your routine are based on traveling..." who could deny it? szoboszlai's always been all that you see. it's much more than a mere passion. your attraction to him is magnetic, intense, vivid. consequently, terrifying.

"i'm just asking for a chance, (your nickname). i don't lie when i say i've never met someone like you. i may be surrounded by a crowd and you'll still be the one to steal my attention, because nobody compares to you."

your eyelids are closed and the exhalation of his sigh penetrates your lungs with the numbing breath of life you've never experienced before. it's happening: the rare situation where thinking carefully about the pros and cons is unworthy, dumbness. your decision is made and the privilege's resolution unify your lips. the beginning demonstrates slowness and patience — the intensification through the concluded wait of the longed-for reality, transforming light and magical kisses into open mouths discovering each other and witnessing the endearment that both offer — hairs, necks, shoulders and waists captured.

"you're the first to create a meaningful presence in my mind and heart. i want you to be the last one too. i love you, kincs (my treasure). i'm finally brave enough to demonstrate it with no fears." dominik's forearm covers your upper torso. your back against his chest, noses resting on each others. rejoicing at the miraculous, incomparable circumstance.

"i love you, drágám (my precious). you're finally mine and it was so fucking worth waiting." his whisper: the living proof of celestial existence.

"how blessed we are…" intertwined bodies, coalesced essences. solitary melodies turning into the sweetest and most complete symphony.

[itgetsdarksometimes35]

But At What Cost?

Warnings: This chapter: Thoughts of suicide, non con, physical abuse, miscarriage; the series: non-con, dub-con, depression, forced marriage, angst, forced pregnancy, 18+

Word count: 2,925

Pairings: Dark!Bucky Barnes / Reader

Summary: Reader is the youngest girl in her family. After being sold to Bucky Barnes, and forced to have his child, she and her sisters look for a way to escape.

~ indicates time change

- indicates a POV change

A/N: Holy shit, I have not updated in 4 years... Life has been so busy with moving, having a child, and starting my new business but I am so incredibly happy to be back! I would get that writing itch but would never scratch it, until now. I plan to post weekly for a long as I can stand it. I also hope to participate in challenges and NANOWRIMO next year, so hopefully this year can be a warm up to where I used to be. Anyway, enough rambling. Let's get into the third and FINAL part to my most popular series, Small Price to Pay. Enjoy!

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

Three months. That’s how long it’d been since you and your sisters had escaped your Hellhole of a life. That’s also how far along you were in your pregnancy. You weren’t showing yet, but all your sisters and nephews and nieces knew. Nobody allowed you to stand too long without offering you a chair, and you were exempt from all household chores, to your dismay. The one thing you begged to let them allow you to do was shop on your day and take care of the young children.

Today was your day to leave to get groceries. This time was always extremely stressful for you and your sisters, none of you knew what lay beyond the door. There was no way to know if today was the day that you would all have to separate. More stress was in the air due to your pregnancy. 

Lucille wrote the list of supplies before handing it to you, smiling. “Okay, here’s everything we need. Do I need to remind you not to talk to strangers?” She lifts an eyebrow, her lips turning into a smirk as you slap her arm playfully. 

“Don’t worry, mom, I promise I won’t.” She laughed at you before hugging you close. You all always did this, just in case it’d be your last time together. 

Anne was next to hug you. “Stay safe, baby sis.” You hugged her tight, calming your nerves as you smelled her candy perfume.

 You went on to hug Vienna and she rubbed your belly. “No matter what happens, just know baby boy will keep you safe.” You smiled at your sister.

“You’re so sure it’s a boy?” Vienna nodded.

“Positive. I predicted all my kids’ gender correctly, what makes you any different?” She lifted your hand from your belly, replacing it with yours. You’d always wanted a girl, but deep in your heart you felt it was another boy too. You’d never admit this to your sister, you’d never hear the end of it.

“Your witchcraft doesn’t work on me, devil woman!” you joked, causing all your sisters and you to laugh. You savored that moment, how you felt and the way you all sounded at peace. No doubt none of you had felt that way in a long time. A piece of you knew it all was temporary, soon you’d all go back to worrying. Was that shadow or a person following them? Was that stranger living near us before or did they just move in? What do we know about them?

You were pulled from your thoughts when Anne clapped her hands. “Well, on your way. You want to get there and back before rush hour.”

~

You shopped the aisles of the American store, looking for your last items. As you're pushing the cart you hit something. No someone. You looked up shocked and immediately apologized upon seeing a woman with white hair. Her hand travels down to her protruding belly protectively, and your eyes get wide.

“I am so sorry, Ms, here let me help you.” You rush to the woman’s side as she tries to bend down to pick up her dropped items. She stands back up as you bend to get her items before handing them to her.

“Don’t worry about it, I should really look where I’m going. I don’t have a giant sign on me.” She chuckles at her joke, and you just nod your head. You couldn’t help but feel you knew her, but shook your head. That’s impossible. You knew no women except your sisters and nieces.

“Well, I’m sorry again. Have a good day, ma’am.”

“Wait!” You look back at the woman when you turned to leave her to her business. “I’m sorry to bother you, but could you help me with my groceries home? I live just down the road in Kilven’s road, I was going to ask a grocer to help me but they’re all men. I don’t feel comfortable with that, I’d rather have a woman. If you can’t I completely understand, just thought I’d try anyway.”

You considered the woman for a minute. Kilven’s road was next to yours, it would be an extra 5 minutes max to help this pregnant woman. You understood her wariness to ask a male to help her home. Besides, you did hit her with your cart.

“Sure, let me just check out and I’ll be happy to help you out.”

The woman smiled at this. “Really? That’s great, thank you so much! My name’s Nat by the way.”

~

You and Nat talked the short walk to her house, she had just moved there a year prior to be with her German boyfriend-turn-husband of 6 years. You  nodded your head as she told you stories, you kept your life story vague. You had just moved there yourself, but that’s all you offered.

“Do you have any kids?” You opened your mouth to speak before closing it again, unsure how to answer. You wanted to trust Nat, but you were still getting a weird feeling around her. “I’m sorry, that’s very rude of me. Don’t answer that.”

“It’s okay.” You smile at the woman as you readjust the bags on your shoulders. One held Nat’s items and the others yours. You both shopped light to your luck. You continued to walk in a bit of silence until the woman pointed to her house. 

“Here I am.” You followed her up the steps as she took out her keys. “Would you like to come in? My husband baked a mean German chocolate cake.” She took her bag from your shoulder, and you smiled at her generosity. 

“No, thank you, but I should really be getting home if I want a headstart on dinner.” The woman nodded at your response.

“Of course, of course. Thank you again for your help, get home safe, dear.”

You thanked the woman as you waved goodbye and stepped away down the steps. You hurried off the road with your bag and to your own, never looking back. Little did you know the woman was following you the entire time. 

~

When you got to your house, you took out your keys swiftly before putting them in the lock. You opened the door, looked out and saw nobody there, then locked it behind you.

“I’m home!” You walked to the kitchen, noticing the eerie silence. That’s weird. “Hello?” You walked up the stairs, still not hearing one child. Did they leave? They didn’t call you. When you reached your room you gasped at what you saw. 

“James?” Your husband smiled back at you as your sisters sat in the small room’s corner. James had a gun pointing at the bathroom where you heard small whimpering sounds, no doubt the children were in there. 

“Hey, Baby, miss me?” You gulped.

“James, please. Let my sisters and their children go. I’ll go with you peacefully, just don’t hurt them.” James shook his head.

“Can’t do that, Doll. These women have husbands who are worried sick about them and their kids. Would it be right to just let them kidnap their children and disappear halfway across the world with them?”

You looked to your sisters as tears fell from their eyes. This was all your fault. You should’ve never stayed with them, you and Bucky should’ve found your own place to escape to. You should’ve known James would find a way to you.

“James, please. Don’t do this.” Just then the door downstairs bursted open. You all, except Bucky, jumped at the sound. Fast steps made their way up the stairs, and then Nat appeared in the room’s doorway. Only this time she had no belly.

“Natasha, perfect timing.”

Natasha?

Suddenly you remembered. How could you be so stupid? The woman before you with her own gun was the woman you met at your wedding. She talked to James about moving to Germany to live a life on the downlow. Back then she had red hair.

She sauntered into the room, smirking at you, before aiming the gun at the same door James just was. “Their husbands are on their way here. They should be getting off the plane in about 5 minutes and they’ll be here to get children and wives back in no more than 30 minutes. I’ll keep these lovely ladies company until then.” Your sisters’ eyes widened at her words, and you started crying. 

James smiled and lowered his gun before walking to the bathroom. “Good.” He opened the door and your nieces and nephews started crying. Your heart broke for the pain you were causing. James walked from the room with your son in his arms. “I have everything I need, so I think I’ll take my wife and son and head out.”

Your son calmed down his cries when he was in his daddy’s arms, snuggling closer to him and laying his head beneath his chin to suck on his thumb. 

Natasha turned her attention to you, still keeping the gun pointed at the door. “Look at what you caused. Your son could have grown up without a father. Is that what you want?” She raised her voice at you causing you to jump a little. You shook your head, closing your eyes as more tears poured from them.

“It’s okay, Nat, all that matters is we’re all back together. Isn’t that right, honey?”

“T-that’s right,” you whispered, not wanting to speak the venomous words. James walked over to you before grabbing your arms in a tight grip. 

“Happy you agree, let’s go home. Now.” The last word was growled in your ear, causing you to stiffen again. You opened your eyes to see your sisters again. They smiled weakly at you.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed out. James pulled you from the room then the house. A car came to pick you up as you traveled back to the Hell you had tried so hard to crawl away from.

~

When you got back home, James beat you. Bad. You cried and screamed at him to forgive you. Punches flew at you from every side. Your eyes threatened to swell shut from his blows and your lips were purple and bruised. You tried to tell him about the child you were pregnant with, but he couldn’t hear you through his rage. When you were down he kicked your stomach and you cried out in immense pain. He just grabbed your face and kissed you roughly.

James then picks you up from the ground before pushing you down on the bed. “Take off your clothes,” he demands, leaving no room for negotiation. Your mind was still foggy from what had just happened that James had forced on you the minute you both walked through the door and he handed Bucky to a maid you had never seen before. “Now, Doll, don’t make me repeat myself. I’m already pissed.” His nostrils flared as he spoke. 

With shaky hands, you steadily reached for the white button up you had been wearing. You discarded the fabric to the floor, revealing to James your white lacy bra. His pupils dilated as he watched on, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. Next was your skirt, and then you were left with just her matching underwear set. You looked up at James with doe eyes, waiting for your next order. Just like the obedient little girl James had made you. 

“Keep going,” was his only command as he reached to pull off his white dress shirt that hugged his muscles just right. He palmed his growing hard on, the outline very prominent in his black dress pants. The size made your eyes water with more tears. You knew he wouldn’t be gentle. No matter how many times James fucked you, you were still just as terrified as the first time, nearly crying every time he’d stuff it into your tiny cunt. 

James reached behind you aggressively to undo your bra and let it fall to the floor along with your other clothing. Your boobs bounced from being free, and you slowly slid your panties down next. 

You were looking to the floor as you untangled the lacy fabric from your legs, but looked up when you heard a chuckle. You met James’ eyes as his face was turned up in a smirk. 

“Such a fucking tease,” he tsked, “You just want me to destroy that tiny little pussy of yours, don’t you?” You kept eye contact with him as you nodded her head.

“Yes, sir.” 

James leaned down in front of you, grabbing her face and pulling you roughly forward to his lips. He squeezed your jaw so you would open to him, wanting nothing more than to assert dominance with his tongue. 

James’ kisses were never loving, just hungry. He moaned into your mouth as his tongue explored; all the while you sat back with submission, allowing your master to take full control of what’s his. After what felt like minutes, James finally pulled away, pushing you back even more and causing you to whimper at the force. The fight in you dying forever ago.

James unhooked his belt as you held his gaze, dropping eye contact was a rule that you had learned not to break. Once her clothes were off, they had officially begun; after that she wasn’t allowed to look away from him. 

“Turn around. You’re going to learn not to disobey me one way or another.”

“Yes sir.”

“Did you really think you could escape me?” You started to cry again.

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, not yet you’re not. But you will. Look at me.” You turned around and your eyes widened. James’ left arm was replaced with that of a metal one. “You wanna know how I got this?” He tossed a cast that was in the shape and color of his arm that you were used to to the floor. “I was a prisoner of war in World War 2. I was used as a war machine long after the war ended. I’m an ex-supersoldier, Baby. Did you really think you could escape me?” James was starting to raise his voice as you started to cry again. 

He spanked your ass with his robotic arm and you lurched forward at the force. James continued spanking your bare ass until you were so raw you could barely feel it anymore. Your stomach cramped so bad and you screamed at the sudden pain, clutching it and falling to the bed weakly. 

“Get up, I’m not done with you.” But you couldn’t move. You could just stay in the fetal position as your body convulsed in the worst pain you could only relate to birth. Then you felt a liquid escape from your vagina. Your eyes squeezed shut as you begged the pain to leave you soon.

“Y-you’re bleeding. Are you okay?” James’ words barely reached your ears as you suddenly felt nauseous. You couldn’t move as your stomach emptied it’s contents on the bed. Then you saw black.

~

James had beat you so bad you had a miscarriage. When you woke up, you were in a hospital bed. A nurse was checking your vitals when she noticed you were awake. She greeted you, asking how you were feeling, before informing you of the terrible news. She asked to confirm what your husband had told them, that you had fallen down stairs and that explained your bruises and swollen eyes. You said yes.

After that day you were forever broken. You never stepped out of line with James, and you became the wife he had always wanted. No more did you dream of an escape, nor what the future held. You didn’t care.

James was never the same, either. After the incident, he was doting. Always saying he loves you, buying you expensive presents daily with flowers of different kinds. He tried to set you up so you could see your sisters more often, and he even let you leave the house. But you wanted none of it. You took the gifts with not so much of a smile, you rejected to see your sisters, and you chose to only leave the house when food was needed. You only bought Bucky clothes online, not being able to stand being in a child store. 

When Bucky’s 4th birthday rolls around, 3 years later, he is eager to start preschool. He didn’t remember his aunts or his cousins, and he was closer to his father than ever before, shying away from you as you grew colder and colder to both of the relationships you had in your life. It was him who dropped him off to school as you stayed home with a maid to take care of you and your needs. You were currently pregnant with a girl. James said you’d name Dahlia, Dolly for short. She’d be your perfect rainbow baby, he said, a real Doll. 

When Bucky came back home he showed you a card he had made for James at school, insisting it go on the fridge. You obeyed, hanging it there with a magnet that made Bucky happily skip away. 

The card showed Bucky and James hugging, not a sight of you or the child in your womb. You were a waste of space, a visitor in the home you’d created. A hollow shell of who you used to be. You thought about your suicide. It seemed easy, too easy. It’s a small price to pay for freedom, but at what cost? 

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

Taglist: @jtargaryen18​ @coconutqueen21​ @collette04​ @nsfwsebbie​ 

[onbearfeet]

Crawl

I keep thinking about power, and corruption, and revelation.

I really like that Robert Caro line about Bob Moses--the idea that power doesn't always corrupt, but it always reveals. When you give a guy the power to do whatever he's always wanted to do, you find out what he's always wanted to do.

I think about slavery, and I think about my fourth-grade math workbook.

I lost the workbook, early in the year. No idea how. This would have been 1993, 1994, decades before kids did their math exercises online. You had a paper textbook and a paper workbook and you tore out the workbook pages and turned them in for homework. And if you lost the workbook, at least at my tiny church school where all the books were produced by an expensive fundie publisher in Florida, well, there were no replacements. So I had to ask my friends, every day, to let me photocopy their workbooks in the office before they did their homework so I could do it too. This was difficult because I was a gawky, "ugly" little girl with big glasses and a bigger vocabulary, and I didn't have a lot of friends. Or any friends, really. So what I actually did was beg a different person who disliked me every day, hoping they'd get over it by the time I cycled through the class again.

You're probably wondering about the slavery.

The early modern slave trade is tricky to teach children about in a school where half the teachers and most of the parents think white supremacy is a good idea that just hasn't gotten a fair shake. But my teacher tried, and to her credit, she started with an exercise designed to teach us that the idea of owning human beings is fundamentally fucked up.

Unfortunately, she did that by instituting slavery.

She explained what slavery was, and encouraged each of us to write a list of what we would want our own personal slave to do for us, if we had one. (I know. I KNOW.) She suggested things like carrying our books or fetching our lunches from our cubbies at lunchtime. I remember seeing everyone else writing a lot, and wondering whether I was doing the exercise wrong. I didn't want anyone else touching my stuff or doing things for me that I could do for myself. It felt weird and cruel to demand such things. I decided that the only valid purpose of any kind of servant, or assistant, or whatever was to do things for you that you COULDN'T do for yourself. So I wrote down: Let me copy your math workbook before you do your homework.

The teacher collected our papers, paired us up, and announced that half of each pair would be the other half's personal slave for the week, switching positions the following week. And then she revealed the twist: the only things any of us had to do as "slaves" were the things we had written down that we wanted our slaves to do for us.

There was a lot of complaining, of course, but we'd all dug our own graves, as it were. I remember the teacher coming by to collect my list, looking down at my one sentence, and smiling a little. The only kid in the class who needed to copy a workbook was me ... and I didn't have one anyone else could copy. I would spend my week of "slavery" doing absolutely nothing because I had barely scratched the graveyard dirt. My partner was utterly disgusted when she saw the single useless obligation on my list. She was baffled when I looked at hers and asked her very politely not to do any of that, please, unless the teacher said she had to. I think I eventually let her fetch my books once a day out of a vague sense of good sportsmanship and not wanting her to get a bad grade in the unit.

For the next two weeks, I watched fourth-graders performing their personal slavery fantasies for one another. I particularly remember the most popular boy in class knee-walking to fetch books from his partner's cubby and complaining the whole way. I remember thinking: Why would anyone want to see someone else crawl?

That was the part that never made sense to me: the shockingly common desire to see a stranger humiliated. It didn't seem like anyone enjoyed seeing it, so why had so many kids wished for it?

That's the image that runs through my head every time I hear about a famous artist being abusive. For CEOs, it makes sense; that seems like a life path that attracts people who like exploiting other people. Same for politicians. But artists? Who goes into ART expecting to become powerful? I can only assume that, for the rare artists who make it big, it's kind of a shock. It's unplanned, on some level. Lightning striking. Sure, they usually got help from societal privilege and rich parents, but a lot of talented nepo babies DON'T make it big. There's obviously some luck involved for those who do. And they probably don't have a clear idea what to do with power beyond their own vague impulses, the ones they would have written down in that fourth-grade classroom.

And I keep wondering, when stories come out about artists being abusive and the people around them all normalizing it: was I really the only kid who just wrote down let me copy your (blank) workbook?

Fourth-graders aren't adults, of course. Plenty of us are little shits as kids and manage to function in a society when we grow up. Maybe more of us would leave the list blank as grownups. Certainly more of us would spot the trap the teacher was laying. But as I listen to some of my neighbors talk about the election and what they'll do to their "enemies" when their "turn" comes, I wonder if I'm weirder than I thought. Maybe I'm the freak for not wanting to see anyone crawl. (I mean, if it makes you happy, you do you, but don't trouble your knees on my account.)

I think about the Neil Gaiman allegations. About him and his five-year-old son (allegedly) giving a vulnerable young woman humiliating orders, and people around them just ... rolling their eyes. Not thinking it's weird and cruel, just understanding the impulse to see someone crawl.

I wonder what I'd do. Not in an if-I-won-the-lottery way, more of an if-I-saw-a-terrible-accident way. What would I do with that kind of power? Would I still be the kid who just wanted to have the same homework everyone else got, or would I discover I've become someone who wants to see crawling? Does power corrupt? Is that why the most popular boy was the one with the wildest demands?

And if power doesn't necessarily corrupt, but it does reveal ... how weird is it that it so seldom reveals an empty list?

Of course, people acting decently doesn't often make the news. The only celebrity to come through the Neil Gaiman accusations looking good is Michael Stipe, who hosted a gathering at his home for the victims to meet and support one another and who doesn't seem to have harmed anyone in the process. Maybe all his neighbors are okay empty-list folks too, and they're not mentioned because he happened to have the good fire pit.

I don't know. Sometimes I think I was the only kid in that cult who heard do unto others as you would have them do unto you and thought that sounds like a pretty good idea.

I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this. I know there shouldn't be so many people with the power to make others crawl. But I can't help wondering how much of the perception that all of us, deep down, want to see that is the truth ... and how much is monsters lying to themselves out loud.

Maybe we hear them say Doesn't everybody want to see someone crawl? and we're afraid to say no, actually, that's just you.

Then again, maybe my girlfriend's right, and it's the 'tism.

[oneshotnewbie]

Hello! I hope you're well :)

Would you so kindly be able to do an Emily Prentiss x victim child!reader where reader is kind of young, maybe like between 6-10 and they've been held captive by the UnSub for weeks now and when the team finally finds the location, reader has gone mute and very cautious/scared of everyone and only allows (to an extent) Emily near them? Since she's the one who first finds them? Emily is very patient and comforts reader even if they don't speak and such. But reader eventually becomes comfortable enough to speak again, using short sentences and few words with Emily (maybe even some other team members, too).

Emily could possibly take them in but that part can be up to you!

I can't wait to see more of your work btw, you're so good!! Thx! Xoxo 💘

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topics of abuse, trauma, child neglecting, punishments and the plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

Authors note: I have tried my best to accommodate this request. I have to say that I changed the request a little because I didn't want to write a 6 year old child being kidnapped by a stranger, so I just had to do it with the father who has a criminal record. I also had to shorten it and basically skip a period of time in order to fulfill the second part of the request. I hope it is still okay. Also had to split it into two parts, Tumblr wouldn't let me post it all at once ♥

ᕚ---ᕘ

Walls. Excessive tightness.

You did not know how long you had been in that closet, and you did not want to know either. Far too exhausted from all the panic attacks and the walls threatening to crush you. Your stomach was growling like it had been ever since your father decided to punish you for everything you did.

Your hands were shaking, your eyes were glassy, but you were long past crying. That only made things worse. Your father knew no mercy, and certainly not for his scared and crying little daughter.

Sometimes you imagined what it would be like if you actually suffocated in that closet. Better to suffocate from the reducing air than to be suffocated by your own father. You would not grow old, you would not reach the age of 10. You were sure of that. You were convinced that something would happen to you before your next birthday. But so far you had gotten older every year and every birthday you were sure that it would be your last.

Your father would not let you sleep in your bed anymore, but at least today it was in the closet and not in the gazebo that you had to sleep in. It was late autumn and in the arbor, the roof of which had tiny holes, there was a risk of hypothermia and finally freezing to death. Your hand, which was squeezed between the closet door and your thigh, had now fallen asleep and despite your constant shaking, you felt immensely hot. You noticed your face starting to glow again- you had a fever from the cold that blew through the room at night. You carefully pulled your hand out from under your leg, hitting your head on one of the wooden insert panels of the shelves, causing a dull thud as it came loose and fell onto your body.

Your heart skipped a beat before stopping briefly, you squinted for a moment, hoping that the noise had gone unnoticed and that your father had disappeared from his guarding position in front of the closet and was downstairs in front of the TV. But then you heard footsteps, quiet and muffled through the ajar door and the wood that surrounded you. It sounded nothing like your father and his firm, jagged steps and you begged that you had not misheard and were now in for a lot of trouble.

The door creaked and your breathing became increasingly quicker. You did not mishear. You closed your eyes tightly, trying to calm yourself and prepare yourself for what was to come. If your father saw you so upset, he might keep you here longer or deny you food for the next few days.

The key turned in the lock that locked the two doors together and you heard them slowly open, but did not dare to look outside. The fear of provoking your father when you greedily gasped for fresh air and light was too great. You felt a slight breeze on your bare shoulders and cheeks. Still, you kept your eyes closed, hoping to avoid your fate.

Instead of your father's disapproving shouts and rough hands that would normally drag you out of the closet, there was only a careful, barely noticeable touch on your shoulder. When you raised your eyes, you saw a strange woman with black hair. "Hey, sweetie. I am from the police, you are safe now," the older woman's eyes were glassy. She seemed unsettled, as if she was afraid of breaking you with one wrong move, as if you were made of delicate mass. "You can come out now, your father can not hurt you anymore."

You nodded and a few moments later she had pulled you out of the closet, carefully and slowly so as not to hurt you, and immediately drawn you into her arms. You just let it happen, completely unable to understand that this was a foreign woman you were clinging to.

Your father had forbidden you from speaking to strangers and your fear of upsetting your dad was huge. But something about her voice made you give in. "I am Emily. What is your name?" she asked and rubbed your back soothingly, your courage to speak failing you. When the rest of her team stormed into the room a moment later and looked down at you in front of the open door, you panicked and shook yourself away from her before returning to the closet where you felt safe.

A hand signal directed to Derek and Hotch, they disappeared silently from the bare room with the remaining SWAT workers and left her alone with you. It took some time for you to gain confidence and crawl out of the wooden wardrobe again. The young woman had talked her head off with various topics in order to give you a feeling of reassurance.

You followed Emily's hand movements carefully, and at the sight of the little package of gummy bears, your mouth watered and your stomach began to make itself known. "Someone is really hungry!" She whispered and smiled softly before opening the small package and holding it out to you.

You carefully sat up, occasionally glancing at the door so that you could move back into the closet as quickly as possible in case of an emergency. But nothing happened. The black-haired woman pointed uncertainly but grinning at the package. "The green ones are my favorite. And what are yours?" you rummaged through the tiny package with your fingers until you held a red gummy bear between your fingers and showed it to her. "The red ones? Uhh, they are yummy!"

You jumped away while the first bite, she had raised her hand too quickly. She shook her head, swallowing hard. Emily had not thought for a split second. “Can I feel your forehead?”she asked after a short hesitation and you nodded, afraid of upsetting her like your father, granting her permission.

She gently placed her hand on your sweat-covered forehead. You were feverish. She slowly lowered her hand carefully again and watched you as you hesitantly gnawed on a gummy bear. Your father did not like it when you just wolfed down your food and often had taken it away when fell into a deep hunger.

Emily continued to watch you, her eyes sad and exhausted. You cocked your head, wondering if you had done something wrong. When your eyes met for a moment, you hesitantly reached for her free hand and placed her favorite gummy bear in her palm.

You found a kind of care and hope in her presence. Hope that you can still lead a normal life and never be locked in the closet by your father again. Emily caught the very first smile you gave her before you stood up and carefully fell into her arms. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?" she giggled softly, her heart swelling and beginning to pound wildly.

"No,"

Surprisingly, she widened her eyes while keeping her mouth wide open. After hours spent in this cold room with only forensics downstairs doing their work, she had finally managed to hear your gentle and childlike voice.

[sergle]

People are failing to realize that clothing, and cameras for that matter, can be fairly deceptive. I don't wanna say deceptive because it carries a certain connotation, but I hope you'll know what I mean. I look fairly "thin/avg" with a shirt on, but without it it's rolls and folds lol

Furthermore, it's wild to assume someone who's pretty passionate about accurate plus-size rep would be stick thin. Maybe their metric of "average" is skewed or something, but it's still weird to just show up in a strangers Asks and assume things about them and their bodies.

sorry for answering an ask about this like 4 days later but I'M STILL THINKING ABOUT THIS... this person is talking about these asks btw.

FIRST OF ALL, thank you so much for the ask, it really is good to know that other ppl are aware of the Covering Of Fat With Clothing. Like. hi. my body is obscured. people are just noticing my torso for the first time bc there isn't 5lbs of breast tissue hanging off of it. SECOND OF ALL. This is still making me insane. I am still thinking about it so I'm gonna completely just do a brick of text to talk about it. Like, there's the first part of this, right? The fact that, all of these people who were sending asks like these, are the same people who came to my account because they liked the body positivity stuff or they related to the proportions of the girls I draw, right? And yet somehow managed to miss that ALL OF MY ART IS ME. So you're relating to MY body, AGREEING that this is plus sized art, then turning towards moi and saying, okay but you're skinny though. HUH? HMM??? I literally made a 12-part series of self portraits that have been like, my most seen, most stolen, reposted, enjoyed, stolen again, pieces. And I've been so crystal clear that these are literally me. Once again, I'm pointing at the aforementioned MATERIAL.

Pictured above: a thin, skinny woman who just happens to have large breasts, ig! And outside of those, which are *literal* self portraits, I've spoken lots of times before about how I make girls of a certain size and shape because I'm modeling them off myself. Or as close as I can get, depending on how good/bad I feel and if I took a photo to ref or not. It really couldn't be clearer that this is obviously me being self-serving, I do it when I feel like I need to see it. So the thing being implied here, or flat out accused in a handful of messages, is that I'm drawing fat girls forrr clout? AWESOME. I didn't want to dignify every message but that did seem to be the rough consensus. BUT I WANT TO TALK ABOUT THAT ONE TOO. WHEN would it become a bad thing for a skinny person to draw body positive art? In a positive light? Even if it was for clout? Am I going insane? That would be Good. It honestly might be even more meaningful than what I'm doing now. If I was actually 115 pounds soaking wet, if I looked like that one girl from ANTM with the like 14 inch waist, and I was out here making the exact same art, would that make the art LESS meaningful to other fat girls? That someone who doesn't have this body type or relate to it at all found it beautiful enough to draw it so many times, treating the subject with respect? Fat people being the subject of art again? The cycling of a trend that's been gone too long? That is, I thought, what we've literally been begging to see. I have been thinking about this. And finally, the last part of it that's been vexing and haunting me:

Is it supposed to be my responsibility that someone gets dysmorphic LOOKING AT ME. HUHHHH. On the art account where I draw a lot of Me. HUH. I was meant to anticipate this? Looking at pictures of me. And that makes you feel dysmorphic. and that is my fault. I'm just double checking. On the account where I draw bodies that I relate to, that you followed because you relate to. And then seeing me. Makes you dysmorphic. Whew. Got it.

I'm putting a bow on my insane winding ramble about this. Or at least trying to, now. It is wild to have my body commented on so much. This year, bc of the breast reduction, comments on my body have increased a hundredfold. Positive, negative, passive aggressive, predatory, all of the ways it can go. There was a really obvious way to rebuff these particular comments, which would be to post a picture of myself where my body ISN'T mostly obscured. But hey, those aren't free. The art will have to do for now. I wouldn't be that surprised if half the messages were jokes meant to see if I'd post pics "proving" that I look how I look. I also thought briefly about like, what if my body did change that drastically? Would some ppl's immediate reaction be betrayal, disgust, anger? I've been sick in my life before and lost weight at alarming speeds. But I've still been fat all my life. I've gotten sick and gained weight at alarming speeds. Does my presence as a "body positive artist" mean that my body gets to be put on trial anytime it changes? Does the switch flip from "your fat art means so much to me" to "you're not in the club anymore, since you got rid of your breasts, you look different"

Anyway I thought it would be funny to draw a thin girl "drawing" a scrap sketch I already have on hand. And imagining someone's response being fully negative, bc a thin person drawing fat ppl would be somehow dishonest lmao. Look how evil this bitch is. Her body doesn't match her art.

[wifeofnatasharomanoff]

Reaching You

WARNINGS: angst with a happy ending (jk), arguing,

WORDS: 775

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x f!reader

A/N: sorry y'all...!

She's barely home anymore. It's as if your wife wasn't the same. You were losing her, just as she already lost you.

“Natasha you're barely even at home. You don't get to fucking talk about how I'm taking care of our son who I had to go through 9 months of hell for!” you shouted as you tried your hardest to not look at her. “I'm just saying that maybe he's old enough for a babysitter. The team misses you in the group, babe.” You scoff, “I'm sure that they do, but he's not even a year old, Natasha. I'm not going to leave our son alone with a stranger. You're a superhero. There are people everywhere trying to hurt you, or us too. You don't even make the time to be at home for me or him.”

“The only reason he's safe is because the world doesn't know that the black widow has a son.” Natasha sighed, “you're so god damn stubborn. If nobody knows about him, he's fine.” you shook your head. “Fuck you. You can't say that, Nat, anything could happen. You'd trust a stranger over your own wife?”

She pinched at the bridge of her nose, “That's not it, y/n. I-I'm just saying they want you back on the team, it's not safe to bring a baby to the Avengers compound.”

“And you think leaving Alex with a complete stranger is safer? No. I'm not doing it there is nothing you could say to convince me.” she muttered something before speaking up, “fine. I'll be at the compound if you need me.”

“I won't, don't worry.” bullshit you always go back to begging her to come home. You heard the front door open and then close.

Sighing to yourself as you walked into the kitchen to make a snack for you and Alex. “Mommy!” your face lit up when you looked down to see him walking on wobbly legs to you, “Hi lovebug! How did you get out of your crib hm?” you bent down to take him in your arms as his stubby hands grabbed at your shoulder. “Stawbayies.” you saw him point at the uncut fruit on the chopping board, “you want strawberries?” he nodded. “Only if you promise to not leave your crib.” he beamed at you before crawling away to his crib.

You chopped up some berries before going back to where Alex found himself in his crib, “come on sweetie, I got you your strawberries.” you cooed as he leaped into your arms. You fed him his fruit and he later fell asleep over your shoulder, “Goodnight, sweetheart..” you whispered as you quietly walked over to your bed and laid him on the mattress. You sighed as you let him curl his small hand around your finger, watching his every breath as he slept peacefully, completely unaware of what just went on between his parents.

Eventually, you fell deep asleep next to him. Not knowing that Natasha came back from the compound an hour after you fell asleep. Not knowing that she was sitting right beside you while you held Alex close to you as you slept. “hm.. darling?” she hummed in response, her emerald green eyes focused on a piece of your hair she was toying with. “When did you get home, Tasha?”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I said earlier. I was wrong, baby.” she whispered, her hands resting on your waist as her face was buried into the crook of your neck. “Natasha I-” you shifted your position on the bed to look at her, “I understand if you don't forgive me right now, krasivaya but I'm sorry. I asked Tony to not call me in unless it's urgent— I'll stay home more, dekta please.” you sighed as Natasha squeezed at your hand.

“Okay.” she blinked, a spark of hope in her eyes. “I'll forgive you.. but, on one condition. Tell the team I'll come back, except when I'm there, you have to stay home.” she slightly smiled at your words. “okay. I'll do it. I love you so much. I'm so sorry—” you pressed your lips against hers, “I love you too.” she chuckled out of relief against your skin, her hands pressed against your arms. “I love you so much, detka.”

“I missed this. I missed you, darling.”

But she wasn't there. She was on a mission, you were all alone waiting for her to come home as always. As knowing as you were about your wife's actions you were still naive to think that she'd listen to you can come back home just because you told her to.

[ghost-n-butteredtoast]

Can you write fem reader x mother Miranda smut

Me: I SURE CAN.

Also me: This might get a bit ... gory.

And though this may not contain as much Mother Miranda as you might have liked, I hope you enjoy it.

So with that... 18+, smut, gore, blood material below.

(Also posted on AO3 - Click here)

Your God Can't Hear You Now

You had prayed to your God until you had fallen asleep, still kneeling at the side of the bed. Your husband's side of the bed, empty. Not that you cared. The nights you slept alone were a blessing. Still, there was much on your mind and a crippling weight on your heart. Feelings that nearly ripped your insides to shreds; the guilt clawing at you constantly.

You did not love your husband. Nor did he love you. You shared gold bands on your ring fingers,  last names, and a bed, but it meant nothing. He lusted after another woman in the village.

...and so did you.

Your husband hated that you refused to worship the Black God, that you did not bow before Mother Miranda and her four lords. He was embarrassed to be seen with you in the village and he despised the looks he received while in church.

"Mother Miranda is a healer, a miracle worker!"

"She is not my God." You whispered.

He shook his head. "You are a disgrace," he said before slamming the door, leaving you to go drown his disappointment in ale at the tavern.

As the clock struck midnight, you woke with a start, its chimes ringing just loud enough to stir you from your position on the floor. Your legs and back ached from kneeling, and you pushed yourself up from the floor and paused. 

A rapping sound?

With an oil lamp in hand, you crept to the front room to look out a window, pulling the curtain aside to see who had come calling at this hour. For a moment, you worried. Had your husband had some sort of accident and someone had been sent to inform you? The moon provided just enough light to allow your eyes to make out the form standing at the front door.

It was a woman. You unlocked the door and opened it a crack, your lamp illuminating the stranger's face. Yet it was not a stranger. There, standing before you, was the woman you had secretly pined for. 

Izabela.

Her family had a produce stand at the market. It was there you had first laid eyes on her, selling produce. Cautiously you circled the stand, discreetly watching her as you pretended to shop. Your knees grew weak when she smiled at you, thanking you for your purchase. Every day the stand was open, you went back, not for another parsnip, not for a bundle of carrots; only for her smile, and for that you would pay a hefty sum of lei to see.

"Forgive me for intruding," the woman's voice shook. She looked over her shoulder quickly, then back to you. "May I seek shelter here?" She begged.

From somewhere in the village you both heard a howl. It was hard to tell where the sound was coming from exactly. You pulled the woman inside and shut the door quickly, bolting it several times.

"Lycans?" You whispered, moving swiftly to the window to peer into the street.

"I'm not sure." The woman's voice was now calmer. "I saw your light on, it was the only light on in the street. My father's beloved dog bolted from the house and into the night. I gave chase through the streets and lost her near the cemetery." She said, a visible shiver coursing through her. "It was there I heard the first howl, and I turned back."

"You're safe here." You said placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Come away from the door. I'll put the kettle on."

You were able to calm her over a cup of tea. It was now 2:00 am. If your husband was coming home, he would have been here by now. You showed Izabela to the spare room and wished her a good night. Once in your room, you shut and leaned up against the door. You could not believe the woman you had been yearning for was in your home right across the hall. For the past two hours, you had conversed in your small kitchen. The sound of her voice, her smile, her face in the dim light of the oil lamp; everything about her made your heart race and it was only now you felt like you could breathe.

Slowly, you made your way over to your bedside, placing the oil lamp on the table, turning down the wick, and blowing out the flame. As you pushed back the covers you heard the door click. Your mouth went dry when you saw her standing in the doorway. Izabela's long, wavy hair cascaded down her back, the moonlight shining through the window illuminated her white gown.

You swallowed hard. "Is there - there something you need?"

She smiled and came closer to you, gently shaking her head, each step with more and more purpose. "I've seen how you look at me. At the market?"

Your eyes grew wide.

"Always in the market, but never with your husband."

"He-he has other things to tend to-,"

"Such as...church? He is quite devout, isn't he? But I never see you attend." 

You shook your head. "One does not need to set foot in a church to worship." Your hand shot up to the pendant that hung around your neck. Thankfully it was hidden beneath the collar of your gown. "Where one chooses to worship should not matter. God is everywhere."

Izebel tilted her head, considering your words with a low hum. She was so calm and it made your skin prickle. The speed at which her hand grabbed the one upon your chest was shocking. Had you not been backed up against the foot of your bed you surely would have fallen to the ground.

She removed your hand from the pendant around your neck, its gold engravings catching the light of the nearby lantern.

"God," she said almost mechanically. "And this God of yours," she asked, her fingers playing with the pendant, "What does your God think of a woman...a married woman at that... yearning for...the fairer sex?"

Her last words escaped her lips in a near whisper, dangerously close to your own. Air broke free from your lungs in small pants as your eyes began to water, unblinking, from staring into her icy blues.

"I don't-I,-"

Her grip on the pendant tightened and she yanked, the chain snapping and left to dangle in her clutches. You didn't even have a chance to object let alone gasp.

Izabel chucked the necklace across the room and you could hear it slide across the wood floor and disappear into the darkness. "Tonight, there is no God to worship." She said, her hand coming back to your chest as she pressed against you. "Allow me to show you how to properly worship a divine being."

The hand on your chest made haste at unbuttoning your gown. At first, you protested, your mind was scrambling to keep up with the woman before you. Her fingers came back to your shoulders and slid the gown from your body, leaving it to pool around your feet. Izabel's tongue, sweet from the honey she had put in her tea, slipped into your mouth, prodding at the muscle within to respond. You were too stunned to move, eyes locked on her icy blue orbs. It was only when you closed your eyes, that you felt her smile into the kiss, a sinister moan escaping her lips.

She shoved you onto the bed,  knocking the wind out of your lungs and giving you no time to respond to her nails that clawed at your hips as they removed your underwear. And not that you wanted to object; the woman you had secretly craved was now between your legs, nipping at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. 

But this was wrong and it was happening so fast. Your mind was clouded with lust but your gut was cramped with worry and guilt. Your husband could walk in at any moment. You may not love him, and he was indeed having relations with another woman in the village, but he was a man, he was your husband. You must obey him; respect him.

You looked down at the woman who was now on her knees and caressing your calves. She returned your gaze as if she were waiting for you to object. When no objection came, she immediately pulled you to the edge of the bed with a strength you did not expect and went to work pleasuring you.

The gasp that escaped your lips turned to sinful moans that clawed their way up your throat as your hands gripped the sheets. Izabel wasted no time, latching on to your swollen bud, sucking and moaning while she sunk her nails into your hips. They were unusually sharp, and you hissed when they made contact, your hands shooting to hers to pry them from your body.

Her grasp relaxed, and slowly her hands trailed down your body. You panted and whined as she rose above your womb, her fingers finding you and taking the place of her tongue, sliding through your wet folds, her other hand coming to rest beside you on the bed to keep her balance.

"Mmm," she licked her lips, her mouth and chin glistening with your arousal, "are you this wet when you are in the market, watching me, yearning for me?"

Your eyes went wide as her hand stilled and she stared at you, waiting for an answer.

"I, mmmfuh" was all you were able to eke out as she plunged two fingers inside your warmth.

"Perhaps if you attended church, you'd see me more often." Her tone was perplexing; a mixture of arousal and disdain. She looked down at you, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, her breath steady yet her hand sped up. "Soaking through your dress, staining the pews with your desire...could you imagine?" 

Feeling your velvet walls begin to close in on her wicked fingers, she pulled out. You screwed your eyes shut and nearly screamed at the loss, but it caught in your throat. She cocked her head and watched you with great fascination. Your body was a limp mess on the bed, glistening with perspiration and quivering with the occasional tremble. 

Suddenly, your voice cracked and rasped out a plea. "Please, Izabel. Ple-," you begged as tears of frustration welled in your eyes.

"Begging, are we?" She whispered. Izabel shifted and leaned forward, placing a hand over your frantic heart. "Perhaps you should pray to Mother Miranda for relief."

"Wha-,"

Your eyes opened and locked with hers. Was she serious? Or was this part of her game? 

"You heard me. Pray. Beg." Her fingertips pressed into your chest. She lowered herself back between your legs, her icy blue eyes never leaving yours for a moment. As her lips hovered over your throbbing core, she whispered, her hot breath mixing with your warmth, "Pray, girl."

You racked your brain for a moment, sputtering out a few words as you tried to remember the prayers from all those years ago; the prayer your parents made you memorize in hopes of keeping you safe from the monsters that ruled over the village, from the beasts that lurked in the woods and attacked without warning. The prayer your husband made you recite on your wedding day. Oh how the words on your tongue burned, but so did you with an all-consuming desire for this woman. 

"Great ones, h-hear our voice, together as one in reverence. We call on thee, ahhh-"

Izabel's tongue shot into your dripping core, exiting, flattening, and slowly trailing up to your clit. Her arm was still stretched across your torso, her fingertips continuing to prod at the tender flesh of your chest.

"...within the endless da-ahhrk to-to-to deliver us into fate's hands."

Her free hand found your pulsing clit, and her tongue returned to your opening, darting in for a taste.

At this point, your chest was heaving and you were gasping for air. Finishing this prayer would be a miracle in itself. She was stealing every bit of focus you had to give, and if you didn't come, you might literally crumble. This woman wanted to wreck you, but you were not sure why she chose to be so malicious about it. She had seemed so pure and kind in the marketplace. But now, now it felt like the devil was between your thighs, and if the devil was a woman, you would gladly go through the gates of hell to burn with her for eternity.

Her touch and her tongue were relentless and your mind was melting, forgetting the words as all you could concentrate on was your climax.

Your volume increased and your speech sped up. "As the midnight moon rises on black wings, so we make our sacrifice and await the light at the end. In life-" you swallowed hard and tore at the sheets below as your orgasm approached, the words were stuck, "I-I-in life!..."

"Finish!" She commanded loudly, barely breaking away from your core.

You came before you could complete the prayer, and as you did, a searing pain joined your ecstasy. The gut-churning sound of tearing flesh and crunching of bone picked up where your last gasp for air had left off as the hand on your chest plunged through your thoracic cavity. Blood filled your mouth as your primitive brain kicked in, your body flooding with a numbing panic in the seconds of consciousness you had remaining.

The taloned hand that literally gripped your heart pulled you into an upright position, just long enough for you to see the woman you had loved from afar, dissipate and morph into the black-winged priestess herself.  She glared at you through her gold mask, her icy blue eyes, the same ones you thought had been Izabel's, burned into yours. You sputtered and choked as blood exploded from between your lips, running down your chin and chest, back into the gaping cavity below. As your body went limp, Miranda chuckled darkly, her hand pulling out of your chest, leaving you to fall back to the mattress. 

She brought the failing organ to her lips, her tongue running over the warm muscle as your blood ran down her arms and into her robe. Turning back to you, she observed the blood seeping into the sheets beneath you.

“Just as I thought,” she snarled, squeezing your heart and letting it fall to the floor with a sickening splat, “an unfit vessel for Eva.”

[soleius]

🏹 sun signs as i see them;

happy valentine day my loves!

heres a lil something i’ve been working on for awhile as i’ve hit 100 followers (now 300+ >w<)

a feel good post w/ intentions to get ya to smile <3

i appreciate you all so much

lots of love, daisy

aries/1h sun: you’re the embodiment of ambition, that glorious spark of motivation. you’re the image of when dawn breaks, that fiery red hue. you’re who i look at during times of desperation, the light of perseverance in a room full of hopelessness. the feeling of full marks after sleepless nights of frustration, my most prized possession, a taste of satisfaction.

taurus/2h sun: you're the sight of freshly baked goods on display children beg their mothers for a taste. you're a warm cup of coffee enjoyed in the streets of paris, a garden of fresh flowers tended to for several hours. you're my stubborn moments in time where i know im wrong, but i'll still fight. you're the image of precious gifts i buy despite being shy, to express my love.

gemini/3h sun: you’re days of endless conversations, where there seems to be no end in the best possible ways. you’re moments of self realization, times when self discovery is at its best. you are what it feels to be learning new ideas from someone else, a fresh perspective when you’re so introspective. you’re my best friend in moments i needed someone the most.

cancer/4h sun: you’re the feeling of listening to my favourite music from several years ago. the remnants of innocence i still carry as child, a memory so distant it almost feels like a dream. the sounds of happy chatter amongst loud clatter. you're the comforting hug from a mother, that friend that says everythings all right. you're the reassurance in times of doubt.

leo/5h sun: you're my warm summer's day spent looking at art pieces on display. an appreciation card filled with love and adoration, crafted with much consideration. you’re the epitome of loyalty, a light of positivity. the true embodiment of confidence, a genuine compliment given at random. you’re the feel good moments in life when giant smiles are shared amongst us.

virgo/6h sun: you’re long conversations of areas i want to improve in life, where we share each others plans and feel that surge of motivation to be better when we’re with each other. you’re those moments in life people consider mundane, but i call it comfort. a cup of freshly brewed tea and a lingering scent of lavender laundry detergent.

libra/7h sun: you're my days of self care, and a genuine breath of fresh air. you’re what i imagine gentle smiles in a crowd full of people, a charming stranger one hopes to meet again but never will. you're what ideal relationships seem like, the genuine thought of falling in love. a star amongst the dozen, one that shines brightest although all so similar.

scorpio/8h sun: you’re the embodiment of deep conversations held between two lovers. a secret kept for eternity maintaining sweet serenity. you’re the deepest depths of my mind meant for no one, a sweet indulgence made for someone. you’re a puzzle to be uncovered, but only by those you allow to discover.

sagittarius/9h sun: you're my late night drives blasting music without a care. the feeling of an impending adventure, the type of conversations with friends people would have to censor. you're the embodiment of luck and an absurd memory of winning a green duck. fun is wherever you go and that’s something you’ve always known.

capricorn/10h sun: you’re moments in life where all eyes are on you, centre of attention without meaning to. you’re the embodiment of authority and chic elegance, an air of admiration others fawn over from afar. a moment of silent confidence and unwavering determination. you’re the taste of sweet satisfaction among bitter hearts.

aquarius/11h sun: you're my outta pocket conversations held between friends i'll treasure forever, sounds of undistinguishable cackles-borderline cries. you're my otherworldly discoveries in the deep depths of my mind, the feeling of insanity in a crowd full of none. a scientific discovery meant for humanity, a founder of innovation among your collections.

pisces/12h sun: you’re my iridescent hope in a room full of despair, my childish inner thoughts in a world full of adults. you’re impossible to grasp, an illusion i dream. you’re the image of the moon glimmering over an watery scene. you’re who sirens fail to imitate at night, because you’re just so one of a kind. a piscean child, neptune’s pride. a sweet daydream during my loneliest of nights.

© soleius 2023 all rights reserved. do not copy, paste or repost my content anywhere. reblogs are fine :)!

[cherryxblossxms]

For the ABC list: D, G, H for Isaac (I am interested in your opinion!), and R, V, X for Arthur!

You got it 💜 I tend to make Isaac really vanilla so I hope his are ok ���

[Mostly gender neutral but kinda fem-geared in spots]

Isaac

D for Dirty (How do they dirty talk? What do they say?)

Isaac is a tease, despite his innocent-seeming appearance. When he's really in a good mood, he likes to make you beg for things in bed. He's not quite as hard-core about it as a couple of the other residents (looking at Arthur and Theo...), and he won't punish you or be mean if you truly don't want to comply, but it definitely surprises you at first just how dirty some of the things he says are. Asking you things like "where do you want me to touch you?", "Does it feel good when I do *this*?", "How much do you want me?", etc. It's one of the few times his confidence really comes forth, and you can see that hidden wolf inside, especially in that sweet yet sexy smile he gives you.

G for Graceful (What is the weirdest position they’ve tried?)

I don't see Isaac as super experimental with positions, he's perfectly fine with the traditional/common positions during normal sex, but he's happy to try new ones if you're interested in something. One that was both hot but very weird was the spider (pictured below; definitely not brought up by Arthur). He was bright red the entire time, as the position gave him a very clear view of what was going on and how you were connected. Admittedly, the dirtiness of the position really turned him on. But it ultimately didn't last long before he finally caved and opted to change to something else less embarrassing. But what he won't tell you is that he secretly really enjoyed it 😏

H for Hands (What do they do with their hands during sex?)

Isaac is such a sweetheart, so if he's feeling particularly romantic or soft, he's entwining his fingers in yours during sex. He just loves feeling the connection between you two, palms pressed together, sharing your warmth. Sometimes he's brushing your hair back if it falls in your face, cupping your cheek, or holding you around the waist.

He also tends to trail his fingers along your collarbone, or the side of your neck before he bites you, and if his stamina starts to fail him or he wants to tease you a little, you'll find his fingers busying themselves between your legs, he always makes sure your pleasure and satisfaction comes first.

Arthur

R for Role Play (What is their role-playing fantasy?)

I think Arthur is pretty cheesy in his role play. A scenario he'd really enjoy would be where one of you is a detective or cop, and the other is pretending to be a thief that gets caught stealing something. You two then have the option of doling out punishment for their crimes. Or, perhaps one of you could make a very convincing deal with some... incentive to convince them to let it off the hook. Handcuffs are mandatory.

I think he'd also enjoy scenarios where you two pretend to be strangers, meeting in a bar for the first time. Maybe he'll wait and let someone else approach you first (so long as his jealousy stays in check lol), and then swoop in to sweep you off your feet. He'll pull his best one-liners and bedroom eyes you've ever seen.

V for Voyeur (What do they like to watch their partner do?)

Arthur definitely enjoys the foreplay part of sex, so I think he'd enjoy watching you strip for him, especially if you two make it a game. Just the slow, sensual reveal of your skin to his eyes, until you're completed bared (or as bared as you'd wanted to be, such as in lingerie, etc). You're a feast for his eyes and he's always starving.

(I feel like I mention this one a lot lol but) Arthur would love to watch you pleasure yourself, especially if it's with toys/something other than your hands. Grinding against his thigh, dry humping a pillow, or even just watching you ride him and use him to get off.

X for X-Rated (What kind of porn do they watch or read?)

I think he enjoys both written and visual smut, being an author. If he had access to the fanfics of today, I think he'd have the time of his life. I stand by my point that he's a cheesy lover, and he really enjoys those steamy romance books intended for middle aged moms 🤭 And in general, just fantasy porn would be enjoyable; I can't see him being super particular in regards to specific topics, although he's going to prefer sweeter, more sensual porn.

In terms of watching porn, I'd have to say he's probably into porn with milfs/dilfs, and also femdom. Sorry not sorry. He's big into ensuring his lover feels attractive and desirable, no matter their ages or looks, and he loves allowing his partner to use him for their pleasure. The most important thing in the experience is that you are having fun and enjoying yourself, and if that means you're in charge, he's totally ok with that. He's also big into the homemade porn as well, and if we're talking modern AU, he is definitely making some with you (if you're OK with it, of course).

[aintgonnatakethis]

SGA Sheppard-gives-Kolya-to-Todd?

his boy's a fucking queer?

I couldn't decide which sounded more interesting

Thanks for the ask, @wyked-ao3! 😄

Sheppard-gives-Kolya-to-Todd now finally has a name and a first chapter posted! bodies in my closet which I added the Dead Dove: Do Not Eat to as a promise to myself to actually follow through on what I want this fic to be: an exploration of Sheppard's dark side. As currently all he wants to do is make out with Todd which, while is an understandable position to hold as well as a nice add-on, isn't what I'm going for overall.

What Sheppard needs to let his darkness out is an enabler. On Atlantis he's surrounded by good people who keep him on the straight and narrow through a mixture of support and pressure (what I mean by 'pressure' is Sheppard feeling pressured to live up to their expectations for what sort of person he should be). I think this is very well shown when he and his team are onboard Todd's hive and he won't give Todd an inch of ground even as Todd is clearly begging for help. If they were alone, I believe Sheppard would be much more willing to provide assistance, but in front of the others he has to 'save face'. Like when he says to Todd "every time we work together I feel like there's a live grenade in my pocket". He would never have said that if there'd been someone else - anyone else, even a stranger - in the room with them, because he's admitting to a weakness: 'I know you're dangerous and I'm going to risk helping you anyway'.

"You're a prize bull, Sheppard. I hope the ride was worth it."

his boy's a fucking queer is inspired by the song the lyric's from: He's So Good by Trash Boat, and is pre-canon SGU, way back when Telford and Young were young men (ages aren't specifically given but mid-to-late twenties, perhaps early thirties at a stretch). Telford stumbles across Young making out with a man. Now, back in those days trading handjobs was common place (yes irl not just in my headcanon lol) because there were so few women on base - if any - and there were often long periods where everyone wasn't even allowed to leave the base at all. So it was viewed by the majority as Not Gay, just something you did to get by.

Kissing, however? Hmm. Telford reacts extremely poorly, and so far it's left open to the interpretation of the reader whether that's because he's jealous, wants Young for himself, and has internalised homophobia about the whole thing, or whether he's just straight up homophobic. But it gets angsty and hate-crimey so it's heavy reading, perhaps even to a more serious degree than the torture in the above Kolya fic, purely because a large section of the people who engage with fandom are queer in some way and therefore will be feel more personal connection to a hate crime over the torture of a "bad guy".

I tried to stop myself from launching off "bad guy" and put this in the tags because it's not strictly tied to the fics, but I couldn't help myself. Sorry. 😂

So. What does 'bad guy' really mean? How has western socialisation affected our views on the subject? Is Kolya a bad guy or someone in a terrible situation? Can you blame any of the 'bad guys' in Pegasus for what they do? They've been subjugated and terrorised for ten thousand plus years. Wouldn't any of us do anything to escape that or even have just a single scrap of safety amongst the horror? Like I don't blame Ronon for never accepting the Wraith in any way shape or form because they slaughtered his entire planet and on the other side of things I don't blame the individual Wraith for killing because the only other option available to them is death, and any species will do incredible things in order to survive. I'll chuck the Iraq-Afghanistan comparison in there too: the Genii as a whole and Kolya as an individual are only the way they are because of Wraith oppression, much like when Western troops roll into places they should not be in and start killing the local populace - they create resistance groups and lend credence to existing ones because people are watching their families die. If someone came into my home and killed my family I'd want to kill them too. I know the eye-for-an-eye viewpoint isn't a healthy one for society and overall I am a prison abolitionist and rehabilitation-focused person, but that's an easy stand to take when I don't have skin in the game, ya know? 🤷‍♂️

Back to the fic! I haven't worked out the ending yet - it's one of those short stories that I get distracted away from halfway through and leave unfinished for a while unless someone expresses interest in the idea - but I don't think it's going to be a happy one.

Everett goes white as a sheet. Telford's never actually seen anyone have the colour drain from their face at such a rate before. He's always imagined it's the response duty-death informers get, calling to the house of some unfortunate serviceman's wife, who knows as soon as she sees a man in uniform who's not her husband at her door.

WIP Name Game

[rjmartin11]

I'm Aaron

Chapter Eight

Pairing: Elvis & female!reader

Summary: You're a workaholic who decides to take a private mini vacation in Las Vegas. While there, you stumble into and befriend a handsome stranger at a bar. This handsome stranger is more than meets the eye. He wants to show you a great time... privately. It's an experience that you've never had before. You soon realize that you're in over your head, and your heart is falling fast.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Smut, sex, oral exam (f. receiving), little dirty talk, kissing, licking, touching, cussing, only for mature audiences. Viewer discretion is advised!

Author's Notes: Welcome to Chapter Eight! If you've made it this far, you are in too deep with me, and I thank y'all! Thank y'all for the likes, comments, and reblogs! If you love this chapter, like and follow! I appreciate all your kind comments! Now, give it up for the smut!!! 😉💕😉💕

✧❁❁✧✿✿✧❁❁✧❁❁✧✿✿✧❁❁✧

Elvis continues to furiously work on your clit. Those flames in you are ignited again. Burning hot within you and no signs of decimating in sight. You writhe against his delicious lips as he brings your leg above his shoulder.

You feel as if your heart is going to explode. You feel that vibration between his mouth and your cunt. You can't help but moan loudly. You can barely hold yourself up, but Elvis has you positioned perfectly.

You gently slide your hands into his soft hair, allowing the strands to caress through your fingers. This action makes Elvis moan against your core, making his tongue relapse in his mouth.

"Don't stop, please. Keep going. I need you, please." You beg.

Elvis hears your pleas and continues fucking you with his tongue. His tongue adds fuel to the already scorching flames within you. He slowly moves his hand up your waist, past your belly to your breast. He grabs your breast and rubs circles around your right nipple. Then, he slips his fingers into your mouth. You suck on them and pleasurely swirl your tongue around them.

He does this all as a detraction. He has you tasting his fingers as he works your clit rapidly sucking it like cherry flavor lollipop. Without notice or warning, he inserts two of his fingers into your pussy, hitting your scared spot. You pull his fingers out of your mouth and holler in pleasure. "I'm cumming! Elvis, I'm cumming!" Those flame within your core relinquish as you catch your breath. Your head is spinning, and your heart is stable. How does he do it?

"Mmm, you taste good, mama." Elvis whispers as he laps up your sweet nectar.

"Thank you. How do... How do you manage to leave me speechless every time?"

Elvis crawls up your body and places a kiss on your lips.

"How do you manage to taste so sweet?" He asks. You laugh at his comment, and he lays his head on top of yours. You stare into each other's eyes for a moment. He allows you to see him in that moment. All his hopes, dreams, and desires. At this moment, he desires you.

You innocently slide your fingers up his face and through his hair. Elvis touches your face and admires you. He's not done with you yet. He slowly slides his hands down your body to where your dress ends and pulls it up and over your head, leaving you both completely naked.

He slides off of you and stands before you. All of a sudden, you feel shy and cover your breast.

"I believe you and I are a pass shy, Y/N."

"Are we, Elvis Aaron?"

"Yes, we are. Move your hands, baby?" You do as you're told and place your hands above your head. Trying to pose sexy for him. He smirks that deliciously malice smirk. He rubs your legs and, in a flash, flips you over on your belly. You didn't know what to expect, but this really left you speechless.

Elvis starts to kiss your thigh and works his way up to ass. As he works his way to your lower back, the butterflies have returned along with the flames of passion. You giggle in between breaths, as his perfect lips graze your skin. He then eases his way back down to your other thigh.

When his lips leave your skin, you briefly take a moment to catch your breath. Elvis roughly grabs your legs and spreads them apart.

"Take a deep breath, baby."

As you do, he penatrates you from behind. You let out a wail so loud that it echoes in the suite. He strokes into you wildly again and again, setting your core a blaze. You grab a hold of the sheets for purchase. With each pump, you moan your way into oblivion. His moans are uneven with yours. He raises your hip a bit higher off the bed for a better fit, clutching tightly onto them for leverage.

This pleasure of being one with him is stimulating as well overwhelming. Elvis bores into you again and again. He gently places your waist down, not exiting out of you. He brings himself closer to you by lying on top of you. He kisses your back and clasps his hands on top of yours, intertwining your fingers together with his. You turn your head to the side, trying to catch your breath from having your face against the mattress too long. He brings himself to your ear and whispers,

"You alright, little darlin'?"

"Yes, love."

He kisses your neck and starts up again, rocking into you slowly but firmly. You arch yourself into him as he rides you out. You moan with thrill as he pushes himself further into you. Rocking back and forth again and again. You feel yourself shutter as he bonds with you. "Fuck, you feel so good, baby." He says as he pushes into you faster and faster as he fills you up. You feel yourself reaching your peak. That heat from the flames within you attaches itself to your skin. Your orgasm hits you quick and hard as you hold Elvis' hands tightly. "Holy fuck! Yes! Awe! Yes."

Elvis strokes into you one last time cumming inside you, coating yourself walls. "Fucking Christ almighty!" He pulls the both of you up on your knees in the bed and wraps his arms around you. As he places his head on your shoulder, he tries to catch his breath.

"You okay, baby?" He asks you.

"I'm great, love. Are you? Are you flying high?"

"I...I..." He chuckles as he tries to find the words. He lays you both down at the head of the bed. "Baby, I-I-I think you have me at a loss for words."

You both laugh at his statement. He holds you in his arms, and you turn to hug him in yours. He breathes you in so deeply.

"Elvis Aaron, when I'm with you, I don't feel so lonely anymore. I like this feeling."

"I like it too, Y/N. I like it too." He pulls away from you to look into eyes. You see him stare at your lips, and you close eyes to kiss him. His kiss has you melt into him. Oh, the things he can do he can do with his tongue!

"Elvis, you're always surrounded by people. At what moment do you feel lonely?" You inquire.

He opens his eyes and glares you're at the ceiling. "Almost all the time. There's nothing worse than being around people who make you feel more lonely. There are times when I'm not as lonely. Like when I'm around the boys, or I'm on stage, or when I'm with you."

You look at him. He looked you in the eyes as he said this. How could you be falling for this man so soon? So hard? The words he says. You smile at him, not wanting to share your secret inner thoughts.

"Did it get worse when you became famous?"

"Yes and no. I-I was fine at first. Then all the road trips and being away from home. Being away from Mama made it worse. I'd be in my hotel room locked in until the next day. Sometimes, I had company, and other times, I didn't."

Company? You thought back to what Lucy had said earlier. The company of other women. You didn't pry on that. You kept that to yourself as promised, not wanting to kill your buzz. You decide to move to the next subject and quick.

"I hear some of your friends call you E.P. or E? E for Elvis. P for Presley?"

He nods his head. "Yeah, that's been my nickname since childhood."

"I like it. May I call you E?"

"Sure, baby. As long as I can call you Your/First/Initial?"

"I'd love that. I don't have a nickname."

"That's a crime." He jokes poking your nose. "What did your mama call you?"

"She called me baby and love."

"Those are great nicknames, Y/N/N. Your friends don't call by something special? Just Y/N?"

"Just Y/N. Just poor, insignificant Y/N." You close your eyes and begin to retreat within yourself.

Elvis grabs your face and looks you in your eyes. "Don't ever say that you're insignificant. I don't see ya that way. I think you're quite special. Beautiful, too." He softly kisses your lips and stokes your chin.

You lean back and bite your lip.

"Don't mind me, E. It's just a bit of self-pity."

"Stop that, then. Let's not ruin a great night, baby."

"Yes. There are much better things to talk about." You say wrapping your arms around him and lying down beside him, making yourself comfortable in the arms of your lover. You pretend for a moment that he's all yours. You don't have to share him with a single soul. He's all yours, and your heart is full.

"E?" You ask, rubbing his shoulders.

"Yes, Y/N/N?" You giggle at the mention of your nickname, and a lite surge travels through your body.

"E, have you been on one of those car dates?"

Elvis opens his eyes, a bit confused at your question. "Car dates?"

"You know. When you pick a girl up and take her to a drive-in movie or one of those restaurants. Then you park the car somewhere private and kiss. A car date."

He chuckles at the way you phase it. "Yes, Y/N/N. I've been on car dates."

"I've always wanted to go on one. They seem like so much fun."

You lay back and imagine what it would be like to go on one with Elvis. Maybe a drive in the countryside and watch the sunset. He steals a kiss from your lips. You feel your eyes get heavy. Elvis nudges you with his face.

"Ya got any plans for tomorrow, baby?" He asks, cuddling into you.

"Spending time with you."

"Well then, how would you like to go out on the town with me? View the Vegas Strip?"

"I'd love that, Elvis Aaron. I love..."

You stop yourself and grow quiet. It almost slipped out. It's too soon. He looks at you.

"What, baby?"

"I'd love to sleep. I'm sorry. I'm so tired, E."

"That's alright, baby. Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." He kisses your forehead and safely tucks you in his arms.

"Good night, love." You close your eyes and cuddle in his arms until sleep takes over you.

Taglist: @missmaywemeetagain @beeandheroddobsessions @headfullofpresley @everythingpresley @epforeverohyes @plasticfantasticl0ver @pianginferno @powerofelvis @ab4eva @foreverdolly @searchingforgravity @thatbanditqueen @daffieapple @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @epsgirl @richardslady121 @literally-just-elvis-fics @thememphisflash1935-1977

[nathank77]

2/9/25

9:54 a.m

I had so many detailed dreams about you that I slept in a little just so I could see you. Cause unfortunately for me I think you're only ever going to be the girl who lives in my dreams. The dreams weren't even positive.

In one your husband was trying to kill me to keep me away from you. I was running from him.

In another i was close to one of your kids, she loved me. She wanted me to come over all the time and live at your house and be her best friend. Your other kid was cool with me but me and one of your daughters were close. We played games together and she would beg you to let me come over. But you didn't want me there. Yet you let us hang out but not at your house. And it was sad but I was just glad you let us hang out and I could be close to someone who you loved deeply and you trusted me with her. I went to her school to pick her up (you allowed it.) We played hide and seek and Minecraft. It was sorta a nice dream.

I had another where you told me you never wanted to see me again and you didnt care If I was dead. That you hoped I killed myself and that's why you blocked me. It was just nice seeing you even though you were mean and I left and never talked to you again.

There were more. I spent a lot of time with "you." Last night. Yet every dream you didn't want me in your life.

Unfortunately for me I'm always going to want to be in your life and I'll prob never hear from you again. Our past relationship is irrelevant to me, we will never be that again although we may never be "we" again. We may always be strangers. It's sad but I have no control over it. I just hope you and your family are happy.

[awkward-spacecase]

It feels so weird to do this because I haven't actually posted on here myself since early Tumblr days, but it didn't feel like enough to just journal this experience. I feel like I have to shout it into the ether to strangers who may or may not care to read this and hopefully don't know who I'm talking about and who might sympathize and send a little bit of good energy my way because don't we all need it right now.

In essence, not counting the dark era of early pandemic lockdown, the last 6 months of my life have been some of the worst 6 months of my life. I own a small local business out of a brick and mortar space that I love and I work hard and it brings me so much joy. But running a small business is hard and it's expensive and sometimes people don't always understand how much an owner pours into honing their craft.

In the last 6 months I've dealt with obstacle after obstacle, shitty landlord, broken HVAC, annoying retail neighbors, leaking ceiling, city inspectors, and bills on top of bills on top of bills, and every time it felt like I was finally getting a handle on things, something else would blow up in my face. Then, after much lamenting, a good friend of mine introduces me to someone she thinks can help. Help with some admin stuff I've let pile up, fill some gaps with staffing, help me decipher analytics, and she does help. The weight on my shoulders was somewhat eased. And then she started sticking her nose where it doesn't belong, overstepping her bounds, blatantly ignoring my personal and professional boundaries, pushing my business in a direction I thought I was clear with her I wasn't ready to go in. And just like everything recently, this also blows up in my face. Except this time, the damage is EXCEPTIONAL. I'm talking this person backed me into a corner that she made and left me hanging there with a $13K bill due by January 31st. I'm trying real hard not to fall apart. Maybe I already am considering I'm posting this here lol. I've vented to my closest circle. I don't have therapy til Wednesday. I guess I just needed to drop this little journal entry into the ether and hope by some miracle someone sees it and decides to reach out and help me for real. Not because it'll benefit them somehow, but because they can feel how hard I've been fighting and have the ability and willingness to help me out for real. Because I'm so SO exhausted and I'm truly losing the fight in me to keep going. The somewhat positive thing I'm taking out of this is that my instincts have been right. Everytime. And I need to trust my instincts more than I've trusted the awful people who've put me in a worse position than I was before.

Idk how to close this out. I'm having a rough night and I'm trying not to lose my mind and chew this person out. If you're reading this, trust yourself! No one knows you better than you so don't let anyone sway you in a direction you're not comfortable with!!! And if time travel ever gets invented, go back to August 2024 and tell my younger self the same thing! Please I beg 😩

Ok rant done for now. Thanks tumblr

[yearningaces]

I think one of my favorite concepts is 'questionable husband' Ethan.

Because is he alive? Is he dead? Is he some monstrous ghoul? Something different using Ethan's skin as a suit? Even he doesn't really know

But he loves you so much. And he's here again so would you really turn him away?

Anyway

-

Death came far gentler than what might have been expected.

Being dragged towns away from his walk from work when he only wanted to go home to you, his love, his world.

Being taken away from you, from the world he knows.

Ethan has always been a pious man when it comes to you. But he was still a man. An overpowered, bound and gagged, tortured and butchered man.

The rot of flesh reeks in his nose, the varying blood splatters of others who have come here before him. To rot, to fade, to die.

Because Ethan remembers every single moment. The pain, the fear, the burning rage within him.

Ethan remembers being bound and dragged to the middle of the woods by a strange man, unbound and told to run as the stranger with far too sharp a smile and far too bright a single eye.

And so he ran.

It didn't last long though.

His leg was cut off first. Moreso stabbed as he was running, forcing him down. Then that man tore the blade through him, severing one leg, watching him try to scramble away again. Taking the other leg, watching Ethan crawl pitifully, pathetically, sobbing as he drug himself through the mud and the rot, blubbering near silent words of someone he has to go home to. Can't leave. Won't leave.

Ethan remembers the pain, the ache, the feelings all very very well.

'Our love, even in the darkest night'

He remembers his first then second arms being removed, hearing the stranger cackling in glee.

'lights my every step.'

But above it all, Ethan remembers the stream.

'To my last luminescent breath,'

It was more of a creek really, but while his body was on fire, aching, pulsing, his heartbeat felt through his entirety, his eyes hazy, his head fuzzy, he was close enough to wriggle a few inches closer, and lay his head in the water.

'in this world and the next,'

And he thought of you. Soft, gentle, loving nights alone, bundled in bed together, quietly murmuring of hopes, dreams, wishes of the future. How many times had he repeated his vows to you in those moments?

'I am yours and only yours.'

The water was cold and dark, covering his eyes and his ears and his nose in murky chilled currents. Just high enough to lower his head into, just enough to submerge himself enough to forget where he was, how far from you he would be. And he thought of you. Remembered you.

'Eternally.'

Ethan died there. Taking his fate away from the stranger, submerging himself with the comfort of your memory, his vows on his tongue.

Eternally.

Eternally yours.

His body was left there.

Rotting.

And one day it was found.

And removed from the stream.

And something changed that day.

Be it nature's mercy for a devoted man, those vows he swore himself to beyond life and death, or his own burning refusal to leave, something gathered. Something formed. Something rose from rot and decay.

And all at once it heard you. Every plead, cry, prayer, beg, grief stricken wail, everything.

And it responded.

"What are you thinking about, Ethan?"

Your voice was such a gentle pull from his own mind. He turned his head to eye the clock.

One in the morning according to the dim green light. He'd been patrolling again after you fell asleep just an hour ago. Ethan took a moment to register what he was doing, his hand on the backdoor lock, clicking it to the locked position again.

He shakes his head slightly, turning to you, in all of your sleepy demeanor, and he smiled. "Was just checking the locks, honey. Don't want anything to happen when you're sleeping all safe and sound, do we?"

"No, but still. You can stay in bed you know? Nothing's gonna happen."

You were so considerate like that, but those words are what he always told himself, and his fate was hell. No no no, Ethan wouldn't let the same happen to his sweetheart. "C'mon, back to bed with you," his voice is quieter than normal, adjusting for how tired you seem as he ushers you along, following you back to bed to tuck you in again.

Ethan never gave up any fight when you dragged him into bed with you, easily bundling under the covers and wrapping himself around you. He shifted slightly, resting his head on your chest as his eyes finally closed.

'ba-dup'

'ba-dup'

'ba-dup'

As consistent as always. Ethan slowly relaxed, mumbling soft words into the fabric of your shirt as his arms slowly wrapped around you. This is where he always wanted to be. Right here, listening to your heart and your lungs. You're so alive. And he'll do anything to keep it that way.

Eternally.

Any ideas floating around in your head rn? I’m not asking for a full story or anything but I’m curious if there’s anything about the monster partners you’ve created that you wanna talk about but don’t have enough on/in you rn to write a full story about

I have very many very complex ideas that I have tried answering this ask with but seem to have a difficult time doing so, so please accept this major word tossing I’m handing out 

During pride month no less 

There’s something wrong with your husband. 

He’s by no means harsh, or cruel, and he’s far from brushing you aside no matter the day. That’s never been the issue. 

The issue is that he’s acting far more attentive. Which feels ridiculous to complain about, especially considering how many people want their husbands to pay them more attention, you sometimes feel silly for even saying anything about it but... but- 

“Honey? Is something the matter?” There he goes again, ears perked up as your very human husband seems far too in tuned to the slightest change in your very heartbeat from across the house. You peer out the window into the rows and rows of homes that line the block. 

“I’m fine, Ethan.” Because it’s silly to say he’s too understanding of every little thing for some reason. 

Ethan has been beside you for nearly seven years and married for the last four. He’s always been loving and considerate, and steadfast beside you, as well as a smartass at times. You loved him so much. He loved you even more. 

But Ethan went missing three years ago. On March 8th he went missing three years ago. 

His body was found April 24th two years ago, decomposing and rotted in a shallow grave by a creek in the woods far away from your shared home. 

Three years ago, you pleaded with everything in you to have your husband back, two years ago you knew you were a widow.  

One year ago, something answered your heartfelt cries. 

Today you have no idea what you are, a spouse, a widower, a partner, a mourner.  

Because Ethan is sitting next to you now, the cushions under him give way to his weight, his hand grasps onto yours in a silent show of support as he rests his head against the top of yours. He’s warm, and solid, and smells like the earth after heavy rain for the first time in months. 

But he still has a gravestone that marks his death date. You still leave flowers sometimes. He never goes to the graveyard if he can avoid it, and when he does go it’s like you can only see him or the gravestone, never together, never at the same time, your mind just blurs one or the other out. 

Then again, when was the last time you looked at his face? Saw him? Ethan is sitting right beside you, his arm moving to wrap around your shoulders, cuddling you close and pressing a kiss to your temple in nothing but pure loving affection for you.  

But you don’t even remember if you’ve looked at his face and seen him since he came back. 

You remember what he looks like, you remember what he feels like, sounds like, smells like, taste like, but is it memories you’re reliving or is he here despite his body being lain in a grave as peacefully as one could be? 

“Ethan?” 

“Mmh?” His voice is soft right now, lips still pressed to your temple before he relaxes and presumably looks down at you.  

“...” What do you say? He’s never mentioned what happened or how he’s here and you don’t want it to be some illusion that’s broken when you question it. “I love you,” Your words are uncertain in tone but sincere in meaning and you can feel Ethan squeeze you just a bit closer. Just a bit tighter. 

“I love you, too.” His response is simple yet so warm. 

He’s here, and maybe that’s enough.  

- 

Ethan is almost the same he was ‘before’ as you’ve taken to calling it. Before he went missing, before his body was found and buried, before you woke up that morning to find yourself in his arms, bundled in bed as if he’d always been there.  

The biggest difference though, is his diligence. He wanders the house nearly endlessly if he’s not preoccupied doing something with or for you. It’s almost like patrolling, you sat back in the kitchen one night and watched him. His movements were scripted, precise, as if muscle memory made from years of doing something. He’d pass each window, placing a hand on the lock and locking it if it was unlocked, (You might have walked behind him and unlocked a few to see if he’d do it again and he would every time.) The same with the doors. He’d circle the house endlessly looping, guarding some unseen path or border he had established in his mind. The moment you called his name, he was beside you of course, but the principal seemed to be he’d do for or with you, and then go back to what he was doing. 

Sure, he’d come lay with you in bed every night when you were tired, but once you were deep asleep, he seemed to slip away to continue this endless patrolling behavior. He never commented on it, never explained it, if anything it seemed to be nearly as automatic as breathing. 

It was really harmless, so you never stopped it. 

It was harmless until you woke at 4 in the morning to the sound of breaking glass in the kitchen downstairs. 

You were quick to move down the stairs, wondering if he’d accidentally hurt himself, but no- 

What you saw was Ethan, as much of him as your mind seemed to process in that moment. His body? Sure. His hair? Blond and pushed back as usual. His hand? Holding up a stranger wearing a dark hoodie and jacket, his hand lifting the stranger by the throat. 

Now that should have been the most alarming thing. 

It wasn't. 

The most alarming thing was Ethan’s face. Black. Like a shadow had been cast over him, concealing every distinguishable feature on your husband's face except for one single eye, wide and enraged. A low crackled rumbling sounded from Ethan as he stood tall, holding the stranger up by the throat with far too much ease. “You don’t belong here.” His response is... both clear and confusing as he speaks to the stranger despite having no visible mouth or mouth adjacent movements. 

The intruder -probably just someone young and stupid going by the small backpack and no weapons despite him breaking into your home to most likely steal something- mumbles quiet pleading to be released, let him go he won't come back... 

Until he turns to you, “Please, please help me-” As the intruder’s attempted begging grows louder, it’s cut off by Ethan squeezing his throat far too tight as he then turns to look at you. 

This is the first time you’ve been able to truly process what you’re seeing as more than what you’re used to seeing and it's so empty. It’s his body, his hair, his head, but his face is so... clouded by some sort of unending darkness. His voice is as soft as when you’re both lounging in bed though. “Go back to bed, honey. I’ll be there shortly.” 

You don’t know what to do but... 

“It’ll be alright, go back to bed.” Ethan sounds so doting as he softly promises that things will be okay, and he means every word. He patrols every night for this reason, after all. He won’t be caught unaware again, he won’t be taken from you again, he won’t hear your heartbroken cries ever again, nor would he ever let you undergo anything remotely similar.  

Ethan is here, he’ll keep you safely tucked away from the monsters and the darkness outside of your little home, even if he’s part of it now, he refuses to act like it. So go back to bed, he’ll clean up the mess and be there soon. 

Go back to bed.