#i need this show to stop brushing off stuff like this so badly... but

[mikhailoism]

yeah im back to thinking about bobby's black book, his plan and his suicidal ideation in 7x09 .... this is on my mind so much because its honestly never really talked about anymore. like it took 6 seasons for the book and plan to even be mentioned again. one of my biggest fears for s8 is for the whole argument between athena and bobby and all his suicidal thoughts and whatnot to be ignored and brushed over .... I don't want that ! i need him to have to serious talks with athena and a therapist about this. like i need them to talk about their argument for bobby to admit he was bordering suicidal even if he didn't really realize it.

I NEED THEM TO TALK ABOUT THE BOOK AND THE PLAN. like what do you mean that athena never knew about this huge thing ??? i need a whole scene of bobby letting in athena on this and better explaining. idk it's always annoyed me how easily they brushed off the book and the plan in s1 after everything with chimney and then throwing away the book, but like this was a big coping mechanism and whatnot is it really that easy just to stop that way of thinking??? and i want more of athenas side in this, I want to see her struggle with the knowledge and how badly she wants to help and save bobby but she can't it's not how it works. she knows exactly what it's like to have someone you love try and commit suicide and the knowledge that bobby planned to in the past and is currently feeling like it again?? horrifying and terrifying to her . and the frustration of bobby not letting her in ?? l need active conversations about this so badly , let me see them genuinely talking and having therapy sessions together and alone i just need proper resolution to this

[sidras-tak]

Accessibility takes too goddamn fucking long.

My brother was paralyzed in October 2023. We got him home from the hospital (in Texas, when we live in Iowa) in a clunky old hospital chair. He hated it. He was scared and angry and in pain and his life had just changed forever and he couldn’t do anything for himself in that wheelchair. His first goal (aside from learning how to transfer) was to get a wheelchair. My family was lucky enough to afford one so we thought it would be easy enough. Nope.

We couldn’t buy him a wheelchair. He needed a prescription. For a wheelchair. A doctor had to examine him and declare him in need of a wheelchair. It wasn’t good enough that he had scans and tests showing tumors cutting off his spinal cord. He needed his primary care doctor to examine him during a physical and write a prescription. He was making 2-4 transfers a day, tops. He had no energy to get to a doctor. Home health was in and out every day. He had no time to get to a doctor. He didn’t get a prescription for almost a month. Then it had to go through insurance.

We asked if we could skip insurance and just buy a wheelchair for him. Nope. They wouldn’t sell us one, not even at full sticker price. It needed to be approved by Medicare. We ordered a wheelchair, a nice one, a good shade of green, sporty, small. It would let him move around the house. He would be able to cook, to reach drawers and get stuff from the fridge and brush his teeth and put his contacts in at a sink. We were told it would take awhile, maybe two months. Silently we all hoped he would be around to see two more months.

He went on hospice care on a Saturday in March. On Monday, I was calling his friends to come see him before he died. I got a call on his phone. It was the wheelchair company. They were about to order his wheelchair, she said, but there was an issue with insurance— had he stopped being covered by Medicare? Well, yes. When he started hospice care, he got kicked off Medicare. The very nice woman I talked to told me to call her if he resumed Medicare coverage so she could order his wheelchair. He died less than 12 hours later.

We ordered that chair for him in early December. Medicare didn’t approve the order until March. He was dead before they got around to it. He wanted that fucking wheelchair so badly. The only reason he had any semblance of independence and any quality of life for the last five months of his life was because the wheelchair company lent him an old beater chair, a very used model of the chair he ordered. If I could go back and change one thing about his end-of-life, I would get him his dream wheelchair. He told me again and again he couldn’t wait to get it, so that he could feel like a person again. He made the best of what he had with that old beater chair, but it still makes me mad to this day. He was paralyzed. He needed a chair that afforded him dignity. We had the money for it. And yet, we were left waiting for five months, for a chair that wouldn’t even get ordered until the day he died.

[domreaderheadcannonscenarios]

(I don't know if this is considered to be a noncon but if it is, you can either delete this or informed me so I can rearrange something. I'm gonna tag this a one anyway)

CW: NON CON I think

since we now know that the Chasity belt's purpose, other than to show their devotion to god, but to keep them 'pure' in someway, aka from lust, I've been thinking....

After we manage to remove the belt, this make them prone towards the lust, and since they are a supernatural beings, they will started to gain HEAT CYCLE (let's make every non-human character go through heat, tht thought has been rotting in my mind🫣)

And since, in some way, they're 'innocent', They probably don't know what's truly going on into their body. Might even think that this is another challenge god gave them to pass. So who will they got through?

You, of course!

Imagine waking up in a middle night to see a figure on top of you, humping on your leg or kneeling on the floor with their head resting on your feet. Legs shaking and hips becoming jittery as they whimper 'help'. You can't see much as the room is still and so the person, but you can feel something wet patching on your covers.

Alright bye 🏃

WAIT CONE BACK- (YES ALL NON HUMANS NEED HEAT CYCLES—)

This is so good!! I love it so much!! Just so perfect! (also I slow dubcon, noncon esk stuff!)

It would make sense as to why they’d ‘need’ to stay locked in a cage to surpress desires, as once introduced there’s no undoing it. Once their heat cycle starts, there’s no undoing it, they are left suffering as no angel would know/be able to help their blight.

Then they realize you stirred maybe more than they were ready for, you have done what only their god could, and they are left trembling as they hunt you down and by the time they actually find you, you’re asleep in bed. They cant wait for you to wake up, who knows how long that’ll take?!! They need your help now!

They manage to get in without alerting anyone (even you) and they are in agony and don’t even know HOW to approach you for this. Is this a challenge like before? Should they plead or threaten for help? Should they even wake you..

Cw (all): Dubcon, heat cycles,

-

Gabriel

There’s something about seeing you sleeping peacefully that has his heart fluttering and he quickly approaches your figure, he’s trying to think how to wake you, but with the consistent ache from his cock he can’t think clearly. All he can think about is touching himself, grinding against whatever until the ache between his legs stops.

Before he makes it to your bed his knees gave out and he’s left kneeling near the edge of your bed. He’s groping himself as he lifts himself up enough to lean over your bed. He groans upon feeling his arousal brush against your bed, but the little friction he gets has him unable to think straight and he bucks against your bed’s edge.

Even as he hears the bed squeaking, watching you sleep, he cant help himself. It feels so good, you look so good…his heart aches as he once again deluded himself with your image matching his God…he goes faster, loudly moaning out praise for you.

You had started waking up to your bed shaking, you opened your eyes to see it’s still pitch black and as you turn you can see a man’s silhouette at the edge of your bed….humping it. This is Hell but…you haven’t had this issue yet.

“Satan?” You ask curiously, the individual instantly freezes, you lean down to grab him but as you get closer you freeze, actually seeing his face. “Gabriel!” You jumped back and hit the headboard. You knew he was probably pissed over the getting jerked off in public…but to hump your bed? Angels were weird.

“My Lord, I-I need you s-so badly, please!” He whined out as soon he realized you were awake and aware of him. He tugged on your blankets and climbed on the bed before you could react. “What you did before-again? P-please?” He grabbed your hand and shoved it between his legs so you could feel the swollen organ.

He mewled in bliss at just the thought that you’d ‘service’ him again. But you try to move away. “You came to Hell…for a handjob? Isn’t that dangerous?” He groans in response and rubs himself while waiting for you to help.

“H-hurts…won’t go down no matter how much it leaks, touching it isn’t enough…” You stared at him before reaching for the appendage, it jumps as soon as you make contact with it, it’s definitely engourged enough to cause some kind of pain to him. On impulse you squeeze it and to your amusement, pre bubbles were the swollen head of his cock rest.

Gabriel whimpered and bucked into your hand with a gasp. “You are really needy…” You are beginning to understand what’s wrong. “Oh you poor thing…you’re in heat…” You laugh a bit thinking how he’s a ‘pure’ being that now is blighted with a heat cycle. Angels weren’t supposed to have sex, so you supposed this is god’s punishment for his first orgasm.

Him wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close to him as he tries to grind against you. “D-do what you did before, d-damit! Touch it pllease!” He sobbed out, humping your hand desperately. Your own body was getting excited watching an angel humiliate himself for scraps of pleasure without hesitation. “You’re blessed, I need you! You’re all I can think of…”

You could see the same look in his eyes as you saw in the bar, when he was deluding himself into believing…that you’re his Lord…you don’t think now is a good time to correct him when he’s so hard he’s trembling in front of you.

You lazily grab his swollen cock and gave it a hard yank to force him into your lap. That should have hurt, but he mewls and a copious amount of pre spills onto your stomach. You think about punishing him but the sob he lets out upon you pinching his cock is a few pitches too high for your liking. “Oh, you’re more sensitive than I remembered.”

You didn’t mean it to insult him, but it seemed to have a effect as he bucks towards and drags his cock on your stomach as he lets out pathetic cries. You reach to stop him, but he freezes on his own and raises his hips off you. “I’m sorry!” He whines. “I, do as you wish to me just please, please help with…” He whimpered as you were left barely able to see as he’s kneeling above you with his cock hanging noticeably slick with its on pre.

The wet heat between your legs spikes at the realization he had stripped in the excitement and was now presenting his manhood as a form of submission. You force him to sit in your lap as you flip the position so he’s now on his back. You grab his cock and tug on it, not even trying to ease him into a pace as you stroke his sensitive dick as fast and roughly as you could.

He nearly screams in what you can imagine is confusion as he trembles under you, maybe on your tenth stroke, he yelps and he’s cumming in your hands, hard.

Out of mercy your hand doesn’t stop. Even as he trembles and whimpers for mercy. His cock doesn’t soften, but you catch on that he’s getting sensitive. You stop stroking him and rub just the head as he sobs under you and writhes against the bed as his cock is worked into overstimulation while still needing more.

Michael

He was able to sneak into your room with ease, he’s taken aback as he sees you sprawled out in bed. His arousal stiffens more at the sight, and as he gets closer, your scent makes his pants feel tighter. He gets into your bed to admire you, he didn’t mean to wake you, he just couldn’t wait!

Not when his poor balls might burst if he cant empty them soon…He hadn’t felt like they had weight until now, but now he felt like he’d burst if he didn’t get to finish soon! But…he cant touch himself, he needs you!

He ment to wait until you awoke to help him but instead…he was left panting and he ground himself against your thigh, tears running down his face of humiliation and frustration as his cock barely gets any friction. He mewled while watching you stir in your sleep, he is taken aback when you press against him with your thigh and his aching bits randomly getting added friction has him jump.

The mewl that escapes him gets your attention, you nearly thud your thigh between his legs before he quickly moves back realizing you’re waking up. He tries to hide the clear boner between his legs by bringing his thighs up protectively.

He felt humiliated that he just woke you…to him dragging his privates over your leg like a dog….

You start to get up and look around, locking eyes with him. In the darkness you don’t recognize him. “Hey…were you…grinding against me?” You’re honestly more tired than mad.

“I’m sorry Master.” He breathes out fast. He sees your face tense up upon hearing his voice. “I’m…in need of you, please take mercy upon me.” He crawled over to you and laid next to you, just close enough to be able to see his face in the dark. “Im sorry to ask this, but…what you did at the auction house…can we do it again?”

You blink in confusion. “You want me to bring you back there for that?” You were half asleep and not quite sure if he was being serious but you could feel him cock hard and resting against your leg.

“No!” He quickly jumps. “I m-mean I want you to…caress me the way you did,…touch me where I’m…‘unfamiliar with’.” He nuzzles into your shoulder and dampening your clothes. You wrap an arm around him on impulse upon noticing he’s crying. You partially recognize it might be since he just…doesn’t stop crying.

Still you pull him down on the bed, a hand slipped down to pull his cock out, feeling the heat radiating off it as you start feeling it up, trying to remember the spots he liked. “Like this?” He nods. “Alright…” Still half asleep you gently rub and stroke him and to your surprise, the light touch has him trembling. “You look like you need more…” Your grip on his cock tightens.

He tensed and you adjusted, you stroked faster and he visibly tenses trying to stay still as his body trembled as the pleasure hit him harder than he was ready for. His pre leaked like a fountain as you twisted your wrist on the swollen head.

After you applied pressure to the slit, he jumps and bucks forwards, unable to stop himself as he whimpers. “My Lord…I’m going to…burst…” He thrust forwards with every stroke, you can feel the pulsing between his legs worsen until he pulses out cum into your hand, it was an impressive amount. It splattered over his on stomach as you kept stroking him.

You felt his cock remain harass even as you don’t slow down. Michael whimpers, the heat between his legs worsening with every stroke. “You are really excited, maybe…” You bite your lip and lean down, licking he’s base. You feel it pulse again and the angel moans loudly.

He climaxed again…you grin realizing he’s experiencing his first heat.

At your mercy…

Raphael

Cw: leg humping, scent kink

Raphael had barely managed to sneak into your room unnoticed and without breaking things. (Thought it was tempting.) His mind was still foggy as he laid eyes on you, he could feel the ache between his legs worsen…he needs you now!

He growls and jumps onto your bed, the weight and force startling you awake.

You look to the source of what woke you, Raphael’s face was inches from yours as he seats himself in your lap.

“Satan! I thought I locked the door, let me sleep!” You laugh out, unable to see the persons face, but Satan is the only person you knew who’d jump onto you or go out of his way to get into your room like this.

Raphael tries to not show his pause as he takes your hand and without hesitation forces it between his legs, he felt you lightly brush against his clothed arousal, earning a moan. He felt you tense up and whined, knowing he’s been caught, his voice isn’t close to Satan’s Afterall…

“W-wait who..?” You try pull away and he flops ontop of you to stop the inevitable attempt to run, he groans and begins grinding against you, and with your struggling to get away, to your confusion the ‘stranger’ is now jumping your leg.

Raphael on freezes when you manage to reach over and turn on the lamp. His heart sinks at the look you give him, he knows he’s in the wrong, but you did cause this, so it’s only fair you handle it!

…right?

Even with the blinding ache between his legs he slows down and swallows, trying to ‘clear’ his throat to talk to you. “You…did this, fix it! What you did before I need again! It wasn’t enough!”

He tries to act assertive even as his face flushed and he resumes jumping your leg as if that’s all he knows how to do to bring himself pleasure. He closes his eyes as he thrust against your leg for stimulation.

“I…you’ve been hard since Christmas?” You ask, but he shakes his head, you watch as he speeds up only to cum onto your leg, dragging his cock against your leg as he finishes, while you expect it to stop you realize he’s remaining hard. “Oh….oh! You poor thing!”

You laughed out as you quickly pull your leg away, he’s sloppy and can’t catch you, he flops onto your bed, where you were, he groans as he looks up to you and notices you walking around, but…your scent…is making him dizzy. He whines, sniffing your blankets…he’s begging you to understand why that greedy king likes to scent so much…your scent is so intoxicating like it’s on aphrodisiac…

You watch the angel roll around on your bed, still hard, his clothes barely covering anything it seems like he tried to toss aside his clothes earlier but couldn’t wait long enough to strip completely. You know what is happening…

“Your first heat…you have no experience so you came to me.” You say in a pitiful tone as you watch the angel rub against your bed to get your scent on him like a dog trying to scratch its back. You’d be laughing if you weren’t so tired and confused.

The angel moans as you acknowledge him, he doesn’t stop, but rolls onto his back to look at you. “Please just…help?” He huffed out.

-

[kaijuborn]

so I had this idea last night and I can't stop thinking about it

Soap x actual ghost Simon Riley.

everyone knows the base is haunted, footsteps heard in empty corridors, doors suddenly slamming shut, long scratches appearing across tables and lockers, mirrors breaking, things flying off shelves. only Price knows it's actually Lieutenant Simon Riley, who died a couple of years prior. he had endless unfinished business, hoardes of enemies still alive, countless issues unresolved, enough that it will take years for his ghost to move on. Price tries his best to help him, to deal with his enemies, but no matter what he does it doesn't seem to make a difference

Soap is new to the base and doesn't believe in the ghost stories at first, but he soon realizes all the rumors are true. unlike everyone else he's not scared though, it's just a ghost, it can't hurt him. he greets the ghost when a door flies open, asks him about his day when scratches appear on the table in front of Soap, gently chides the ghost when he pushes stuff off the shelves. says "goodnight ghostie" before going to bed.

eventually the ghost starts to settle, becoming less violent, less restless. doors start opening for Soap when he's got his hands full. things he's misplaced mysteriously reappear in his room. little messages show up on the mirror in the bathroom, written in the steam from the shower. "stay safe" "don't forget your notebook" "welcome back"

at night, in bed, Soap can feel the ghost's featherlight touches, innocent at first, stroking his cheek, playing with his hair, pulling the blanket over his exposed feet. eventually it becomes more than that, ethereal hands sliding across Soap's chest and stomach, following the curve of his hips, brushing against the inside of his thighs. Soap, half-asleep, half-dreaming, touches himself, the ghost's hands making his skin tingle and his heart race, egging him on.

afterwards, when Soap cracks his eyes open in the dead of night, he thinks he can see a white skull in the darkness. it's not frightening or even unsettling. it's just the ghost. it's his ghost.

years pass. the rumors of the base being haunted fade, the ghost no longer a menace. only Soap knows the ghost still remains, but it only ever haunts Soap. Price tries to ask him about it, certain that Lieutenant Simon Riley still has unfinished business and that his ghost wouldn't have moved on, but Soap denies knowing anything about it.

it's a dangerous line of work. Soap gets injured, badly. he barely manages to hold on until they're back at the base. he's dying and he knows it, but he can't die out on the field. he doesn't know where he would end up. he needs to die at the base, where the ghost is.

and he does. he would have liked to live a longer life, but all in all, it's not so bad. everything just kind of fades. there's a moment of complete darkness, and then a figure emerges, wearing a skull mask.

it's the ghost, welcoming him with open arms.

"Johnny", the ghost says.

it's the first time Soap hears Simon Riley's voice, and it makes him fall in love all over again. their spirits settle into one another, both of them finding peace at last, fading from this world and into the next, together.

[saintship]

Could I request a fic for konig (and/or anyone in the 141) (whoever you think fits the best).

One where the reader has an eating disorder that she's been hiding for a while and the team is starting to notice.

Eventually they confront her and she tries to defend herself but only makes it worse. Saying stuff like she knows her limits now and explaining how it doesn't really hurt that bad to purge since she figured it out.

Like she's trying to comfort them but is only making it so much worse. I need my angst + comfort

I decided on Ghost because there’s a lot of König’s big ass on my blog

WARNING: potentially triggering content for people suffering from restrictive/bulimic eating disorders

This hits close to home, and v accurate to how a confrontation like this can go, I hope you’re alright ml

You’re not fine - Simon Riley x Reader, 141 & Reader

You had a love-hate relationship with little celebrations like these; you liked talking with everyone, and you also liked that it was held at the base, so you didn’t have to worry yourself watching your back. But with celebrations, there will be alcohol, and then food, and then inebriated recruits spewing whatever comes to their mind. One in particular you were sat near was especially vocal, swinging his glass in arcs as he grumbled on and on. Many of his words were nonsense, their only repercussion being the drunk giggles of his friends.

You sat up a bit straighter when he leaned closer.

“Oi, I hate these, you want it?” He murmured, gesturing to the cherry adorning his drink. You looked away a bit, shaking your head.

“Why? You was eatin’ them before..”

“I had enough.”

He only grinned. “What, you think a cherry will make you fat or something?”

Your silence only amused him more.

“Aw, you starve yourself, lovie?” He laughed loud and bright, like what he’d suggested was the most amusing thing he’d ever thought of. His friends didn’t miss it either, now cooing comments and non-questions in your direction that made your head spin.

It wasn’t until you pushed yourself to your feet and made a break for the door that you clocked the eyes behind Simon’s mask, following you carefully. The embarrassment flashed through your mind, but you continued, leaning against the outside wall where people came to smoke or grope each other in the lamplight. You felt the cherry on your tongue, your stomach beginning to flip before you gathered yourself. You were in control. A sharp pain sliced through your gut. You’d been able to walk the line of hiding your self torture until now; if someone walked up to you, there was no way you’d play it off. You were in control. Everything is under..control.

You thought about going back inside, just eating the stupid cherry and getting rid of it in the common room bathroom. But you were tired, and the only 141 member inside seemed to have a habit of burning holes in your back, so what was the point? Going back to your barracks seemed best. Walking by the front entrance again, Ghost pushed open the door simultaneously.

“Oi.”

You stopped and turned; Ghost rarely incited conversation. He approached you, scanning around the grounds as he walked. He seemed to be searching for the right words, a quiet grunt escaping him before he spoke.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re acting..” he gestured with his hand vaguely, his eyes glowering with suspicion.

“Acting what?”

He dropped his hand. “Off.”

When you didn’t reply, he sighed. “Look, I’m not good with this shit, yeah? If something’s wrong, I’ll only catch it once. So what is it?”

Your heart ached. You wished so badly there was a way to brush him off and reinforce his compassion at the same time. But there wasn’t.

“I’m okay, really.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Sergeant.”

His reply made you blink, but your head still shook for the negative. “I’m fine.”

“You-"

“Goodnight, Ghost.”

Your tone only registered in your mind when you’d walked ten paces away from him. Simon Riley had just mustered up the courage to show a bit of concern, and you’d fucked it up. It would take a miracle for him to show vulnerability like that again. Your exhaustion urged hot tears to run down your cheeks, your skin heating up with shame and embarrassment. You didn’t get a wink of sleep.

The next morning it was pouring rain, and your walk to the med bay left you completely soaked by the time you opened the door to your office. The cold and discomfort of wet clothes were dull in your mind; all that played in your head was the encounter from the night before. The unit was empty other than resident patients, the rest of the staff likely at the mess hall. By noon, you were dry and warm, but every knock at your door made you jump. Just as you tried to convince yourself that you were being paranoid, your pager buzzed. Price’s voice rang clear.

“My office. Now, unless someone’s dying.”

Another day, you would have huffed a small laugh at his bluntness, but now, your anticipation weighed heavy on your chest.

Jogging through the rain again to the main building, scenario after scenario ran through your mind. Ghost outranked you, and you’d brushed him off without a glance behind you. You’d never had a charge of insubordination, ever. You admired and cared for your superiors in a way you hadn’t expected, and with that, there was never a time mouthing off even crossed your mind.

You lowered the hood of your rain jacket carefully as you eased Price’s door open, seeing it was already ajar.

Your heart sank through the floor when you saw Price’s expression, and then further some when you looked around the room. Soap, Gaz.. and Ghost.

“Is this an intervention?”

Your joke was met with a downcast silence, as Price rose from his desk chair. “Sit.”

He walked past you to shut the door gently, leaning on its surface. You obeyed his request, settling into a chair near his desk.

“Sergeant..you know that you’re cared for here, right?”

You blinked, glancing at Gaz and Soap. The two of them were so rarely serious that their concerned expressions were distracting.

“Uh..yes. Yes, sir.” You murmured.

“Since we care for you, we notice when you’re not all there. Isn’t that right?” The squad nodded, and you wished for a sinkhole to pull you into the center of the earth.

“Ghost. Why don’t you explain why we’re here?”

You couldn’t look at him, but you felt his eyes.

“You ran off last night. And I know it wasn’t cause of that daft recruit.”

The wood panels of Price’s floor were faded with a worn path of heavy boots. Gaz stepped a bit closer.

“We just don’t want you to be doing anything that’ll hurt you, love.”

You didn’t look up.

“Why would you think that?”

The sound of shifting weight was all that answered at first. Soap’s gentle voice filled the small space.

“You’re not eating, lass.”

Your eyes finally found their way upward out of surprise. “That’s what this is about?” You look around; no one’s expression had shifted. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve skipped every weigh in the last three months.” Price folded his arms.

“I’m a medic, I was busy! I think I would know if I had a problem.”

“So why do you drink your calories? Why do you work through mealtimes?” Ghost’s tone became a bit firmer.

“We’re just a tad worried-"

“There is nothing to worry about!” You interrupted Soap, making Gaz back up a pace. “I know my limits, I know how to do it right. I don’t need a lot.”

Price’s head tilted. “Sergeant..”

“I know how to do it right.” You repeated, a trembling hang raking through your hair.

“Do what right?” Gaz’s question hung heavy in the air.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, I-I figured out how to..you know, purge. Correctly.”

“What?” Price pushed off the door, standing closer.

“It’s fine!” Tears pricked at your eyes.

“No, it’s not.” Gaz’s voice was low with emotion, his eyes following you as you got to your feet.

“I’m fucking fine!”

“Sergeant, lower your voice.” Price’s order silenced you, a tear escaping down your face.

“It’s—I have it under control..” your voice wavered.

Soap sighed. “That’s not how it works-"

You wiped your tears angrily, irritating the skin that was already warm with embarrassment.

“What do I have to do to convince you that I am fi-"

Ghost’s arms were around you. The rest of the room was silent. Your eyes were closed. You cried into his vest. He smelled like smoke.

“You’re not fine.” His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it.

“I’m sorry..I’m sorry..”

“Oh, love..” Gaz hand was warm on you shoulder.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Soap assured. Ghost’s gloved palm stroked your back.

A different hand laid on your other shoulder, and you turned you head to see Price lean to your level.

“You’re not alone, soldier.”

That night, the entire team accompanied you to dinner. They made sure to tell you that even if you couldn’t stomach anything, just being there made them proud. Proud that you could face this disease that would follow your every step, and that you trusted them to walk alongside you. Ghost excused himself for a smoke, and you followed him out where he stood in the night air. The cicadas were chittering incessantly, but the breeze was nice. You stood by his side for a few moments before speaking.

“You called the meeting.”

He held his balaclava away from his face slightly with a thumb, exhaling a breath of smoke.

“I did.”

Your heart hammered in your chest.

“Thought you’d be angry with me for brushing you off like that.”

His head shook slowly. “No.” He breathed a sigh of the fresh air. “You’re not the snippy type. Something was off. So I went to the people who deal with that sort of thing better than I can.”

You eyed him. “Why do you always end with that?”

He glanced back, but continued to toe at the gravel.

“What do you mean?”

“You say you’re not good with this sort of thing. But you are.”

His brow furrowed. “M’not.”

“When I walked away from you, you could have just decided I was a dick and moved on, but you didn’t.”

His head shook again. “I had to get backup.”

“You knew who to put in that room.”

“Because I couldn’t do it alone.”

“You hugged me.”

Your shoes turn toward him, the glow of the entrance light glancing off the woven fabric covering his face.

“When I was freaking out, you steadied me. It really helped..” your admission suddenly embarrassed you, and you looked at your feet the moment he brought his eyes forward.

“Doesn’t mean I’m good at this.”

“You’re good to me.”

He blinked. “Am I?”

“You’re good to the team. Good to your trainees.” Looking up into his eyes, the apprehension there was gut wrenching. “I’ll tell you every day if that’s what it takes for you to believe it..”

“Sergeant..”

“It’s true. You make me want to be better.”

Ghost shifted on his feet. “I just want you alive.”

You cracked your first smile in weeks. “You make me want to be that, too.”

He gazed at you a bit longer before outstretching an arm, pulling you into his chest while taking another drag with his other hand. Your smile stayed as you leaned into his coat, the warmth radiating from him making your heart swell. The gratitude you felt that Simon Riley was letting you be so close to him was exhilarating. He rubbed your back as he’d done in the office, but out here, where it was just you, Simon, and the cicadas, it was just better.

[slvttyplum]

જ⁀➴ a line | suguru geto

short “drabble”

you called suguru your “brother.” he was the guy you went to when you needed money, needed an oil change, needed help with classes, everything.

he knew his role and never tried to step over a line that was clearly drawn. you trusted him, and he didn’t want to ruin that.

but one particular night was too much for him.

the two of you didn’t live together, but he let you stay over whenever you wanted. you were there the prior night, so you decided to stay another night.

he never nags you or cares about who you went out with or how late you came back, as long as you were safe.

this night you came home really late; your dress hiked up your thigh, almost showing your ass, but you weren’t drunk.

tipsy? yes, drunk? no.

when his eyes land on you, it’s like he just saw you fall and scrape your knee so badly that it scraped blood.

“you went out like that?” what was he talking about? he never questioned how you were dressed.

obviously, you cock your eyebrow and laugh, thinking he’s making fun of your club attire, but he’s not.

“yup, a little flashy, i know.” even though you were smiling, he was not. why were you dressed like that? who’s attention were you trying to get?

“you like people looking at you like that.” his voice like hot water being thrown in your face, but once again you decide to brush past it.

suguru stands up from where he’s sitting and walks towards you, holding out his hand and tugging your dress down.

“i’m going to bed; watch what you wear.” and with that, he left his room. the next week, it was the same thing.

his whining and critiquing what you wore like an overbearing parent, the last incident before everything went off the rails was a stone being thrown in a glass house.

you were in a tank top and shorts so short you could see the bottom of your ass, bending down and looking through the fridge.

suguru couldn’t help but look; it was like a car accident that you couldn’t look away from.

slowly sliding behind you, he takes both his hands and puts them on your waist, the touch startling you.

“suguru?” your voice low as you’re deep in the fridge pulling out a to-go box, his grip getting tighter.

“why do you continue to egg me on?” those were the last words he said to you before he crossed over the line, altering your relationship.

you were now on the counter, getting drilled by someone whom you thought was your brother. it felt so good, but so wrong.

“you’re definitely gonna fuck him?”

“y’all live together and don’t fuck? bullshit.”

“he’s so fine; i would’ve been on that.”

"girl, fuck him!”

all those thoughts running through your head and your response running through shortly after.

"stop; he’s like a brother to me."

just how easy were you that you were now getting deep strokes from someone who you introduced as a “brother.”

suguru slammed his hips into you with all his might, his head thrown back as he tried to catch his breat

his bang that was hanging low, not stuff on his forehead from the sweat. your shorts on the floor and your panties around your ankle.

even though you never thought about fucking him, this felt better than any fantasy; the way he was hitting each and every spot was heavenly.

his deep voice in your ear every now and then as he pushed his hips up and forward, tapping and pressing on your sweet spot.

“suguru, slow down!” your whimpers are more defined; if he didn't, you were going to explode out in pleasure.

“i… i can’t.” he stuttered out, and with that, he did. pulling out and releasing on your stomach, your legs are twitching with pleasure.

the post, but clarity hit you both like a truck, looking at each other with your eyes bulging out.

“wanna…?” no other words followed after that, yet you said

“yeah… yeah.”

with that, he was no longer your brother, but something more.

[babyhatesreality]

We-sponsor-bilwittie

Paring: Daddy!Stucky x little f!reader

Summary: You really want a pet. Papa really doesn’t. Daddy is just having fun watching the battle.  Warnings: DDLG themes (SSC), f!reader, reader is named (but name scarcely used), language, stubborn baby, stubborn papa, threat of Time Out, fluff (there will always be fluff in my stuff (that rhymed, album coming out with Anthony Mackie soon) :D)

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. THIS STORY IS SFW- THE REST OF MY BLOG IS NOT NECESSARILY SO. MINORS DNI. I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE STOLEN, COPIED, OR TRANSLATED ONTO ANY OTHER SITE BUT MY OWN. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated. 

“Please??”

“No.”

“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease??”

“No.”

“PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!”

“No no no no no no no.”

“But Papa!” you whined, throwing your hands up desperately. Steve looked up from his desk with that no-nonsense look. You sighed and dropped your hands, knowing you’d already lost. You pouted with all your might.

“I said no. Now stop asking,” Steve said firmly, arching one eyebrow up at you as if to warn you to behave. You tilted your head as his blue eyes stared sternly into yours. 

“But...how am I a’posed to get you to say yes if I can’t ask anymore?” you asked, genuinely curious. Before Steve could heave another world-weary sigh, a chuckle from behind you turn your focus around. Bucky was leaning against the doorframe, not even trying to suppress the shit-eating grin on his face. 

“Convinced him yet, munchkin?” he asked you. You shook your head dramatically, hoping it would win you sympathy points. 

“No. He still says I can’t have a kitty,” you said mournfully. Steve rolled his eyes at your theatrically wounded tone. “But I really really want one, Daddy.”

Bucky nodded. “I know you do, baby. I’m on board. But like I said- you gotta convince Papa.” He looked up to see Steve shooting daggers with his eyes in his direction. “Personally, I still think it’s a great idea,” he plowed on, deliberately ignoring the glare. 

You whipped around to face Steve again, your eyes wide with delight. “See, Papa! Daddy says we can!” Steve’s face morphed into something kinder as his gaze turned to you. 

“Angel, you’re too little to take responsibility for a cat. It’s a living animal that needs care and attention.”

“I can be we-sponsa...we-sponble...we....I can do it!”

Steve couldn’t help but grin as you stumbled over the word, but then put his serious Papa face back on. “Maybe I’d believe you if your bed was made and your teeth were brushed. Those are both chores that you have yet to do that show your responsibility, and I’m pretty sure neither of them are done right now,” he said nonchalantly, deliberately turning his gaze back to his paperwork to see what you’d do. 

Upon hearing that, you turned and raced out of the room, Bucky neatly sidestepping as you tore down the hall to your bedroom. You knew Steve shouted something about not running or something, but you didn’t have time to listen- you were on a mission to prove that you were we-spans....we-spandable...that you could do it.  

Bucky laughed, watching you nearly slide past your door in your socked feet during your mad dash. Steve’s ticked-off gaze swung back up to his partner. “You’re not helping,” he snarled at Bucky. 

“I’m not trying to,” Bucky answered back. Steve shot him an aggravated look. “Why are you so dead-set against getting a cat, Stevie?” he asked, walking into the room and plopping himself in the chair next to the desk. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“Because, Buck, you and I have a lot on our plates already, and Katie is too little to remember to take care of it consistently.”

“I think she can do it. She wants it badly enough. We can just add it to her chore chart.”

“And see how well that’s working out?” Steve responded sarcastically, gesturing to where you had just exited in a rush a moment ago.

“So she missed a couple things this week. Big deal.”

“First off, you can’t miss a couple things when you’re taking care of a live animal. Second, you want to reward her bad behavior by getting her something that will be even more work?

“Stevie, you’re looking at this the wrong way,” Bucky said, leaning forward on his elbows. He stopped for a second, hearing the pounding of little feet as you raced to the bathroom to complete your second task. “If that doesn’t prove my point...” Bucky murmured under his breath before turning his gaze back to his husband. “Look. She really wants this. She wants it bad enough and she’s stubborn enough to pull it off. Why don’t you try letting her show you she can be responsible? Give her a few new things to do, tell her it’s a trial run to see if she can handle it. Either she’ll prove that she can, or it’ll be too much work and she’ll lose interest.” Steve thought for a moment, then fixed Bucky with a no-nonsense stare. 

“Will you stop encouraging her to pester me about it in the meantime?” he asked, arching one eyebrow, knowing that Bucky had been behind the subtle reminders to bombard him with your asks. 

“Absolutely not. This is too much fun.”

You raced back into the room just in time to catch the word ‘fun’, clambering onto Steve’s lap. “Look, Papa, I brushed my teeth! See?” You breathed heavily and open-mouthed right into his face so he could smell the minty freshness. Papa snorted a laugh, then suddenly wrapped his arms around you, cuddling you into his chest tightly. 

“You are adorable, you know that?” he said, nuzzling his nose into your hair and smelling your clean, warm, soft scent. You giggled and blushed, turning your face into his chest and nuzzling back. 

“Made my bed too,” you said hopefully, your face smushed up against him but not wanting to lose your momentum. Steve dropped a quick kiss onto the top of your head, then leaned back to look you in the face. 

“Alright, sweetness, let’s make a deal, okay?” 

“Okay, Papa! Deal!” 

“I haven’t even told you what the deal is yet.”

“Right!”

Another chuckle. “Here’s the deal. Daddy and I are going to give you a few more chores on your chore chart. They’re going to be things that need to be done every day. These are going to be things to prove that you can be responsible enough to take care of a kitty cat every day. Do you understand?”

You nodded vigorously, wiggling in your excitement. “Yeah, Papa, I do! I do! Then we can get a kitty?”

“Well, that will depend on you, baby,” he said simply. You stopped wiggling- this was getting serious. “You will need to do all your chores, every day, for a whole month. No missing, no skipping, no ‘I forgot’. If you can do that, we can move on to the next step of possibly getting a cat.” Steve ignored the glare that Bucky was now shooting his way, presumably about the ‘next step’ remark. Hel, if he was going to capitulate to both of you and bring a live animal into this apartment, he was going to make damn sure it was the right call before subjecting a poor kitten to possible neglect. 

For Bucky’s part, he knew that Steve was going to make you jump through hoops to prove your responsibility, but he hadn’t anticipated a multi-tiered acceptance program. Sometimes he missed the little guy that would just rush head first into anything, but being an Avenger and seeing the trouble that Tony would get himself into with that kind of thinking had curbed that to an extent. Not to mention anything having to do with you; especially your well-being and safety. If Bucky was being honest with himself, as much as he sometimes missed the ‘little guy’, he loved the caring, sensitive, over-protective man even more. His face morphed from annoyed into a soft smile at that realization. 

As for you, you thought very hard about what Papa said. He was very serious about the whole thing, so you knew that you must be serious too. Could you do it? It wasn’t that they ever gave you chores that were out of your league or didn’t understand when you were a bit younger and couldn’t complete them- they were very fair and understanding. It was just...a lot to think about in your little mind. 

But you were also stubborn and determined. You could do this. You could do this for your future kitty cat child. You WOULD do this. 

“Deal,” you said to Papa, with your most serious face on. You held out your hand to shake as you’d seen him and Uncle Tony do a lot when they were done arguing about stuff. Papa barely suppressed his grin and shook your hand. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Exactly one month later, Steve was flabbergasted. And starting to sweat. Not only had you completed your chore chart every day (sometimes by the skin of your teeth but it still counted), you had also taken to “feeding” your stuffies every day to show your responsibility. You brought them to the breakfast table and insisted on making them a little bowl full of whatever handful of stuff you could grab from the pantry- Cheerios, goldfish, M&Ms if you could find them. You would then plop your chosen stuffy down next to you with the bowl in front of them and tell them to eat up as you ate your own breakfast. 

The first couple days had been cute, but then Steve was starting to get disgruntled at the waste of food. “Katie-Cat,” he’d scolded gently. “You need to stop putting bowls down for your stuffies. They....” He’d been about to say ‘don’t eat’ when he stopped. Both yours and Bucky’s eyes had slid to him on his last ‘they’; yours were wide with concern, Bucky’s were narrow at Steve’s close call to breaking your spell of play. “They...don’t finish it all,” Steve concluded lamely, giving Bucky a look as if to say Is that better? “We don’t want to waste food, do we?”

“Papa,” you explained carefully and slowly, as if he was dumb and just not getting the concept. “I HAVE to. I am being we-sponsor-ball.” 

How was he supposed to argue with that?

It wasn’t that he didn’t think a cat would be a good addition to their little family. He just wanted to make very sure it was the correct move, especially where you were concerned. Tomorrow was the deadline for the month, but what was the next step going to be? 

As if to answer his inner turmoil, he heard Bucky scolding you from your bedroom about keeping your room clean yet again. It had been a point of contention for all of you ever since day one. Both Steve and Bucky liked clean, orderly spaces- a throwback from their days in the army, no doubt. They made it your chore to make sure all your clothes were picked up and your toys were put away by the end of the day, but they hadn’t counted on just how much destruction you could do between waking up and going to bed. You just simply didn’t care if your pajamas were on the floor all day- they just had to be put in the hamper by bedtime. Neither Bucky nor Steve had made any headway in convincing you to just put them straight into the hamper. And from the sounds coming from your room, it was pretty clear that Bucky was trying (and failing) again. This gave Steve a fantastic idea. 

He trotted to the door where Bucky was standing, arms crossed, and peered inside. You were stomping to your hamper with ill grace, throwing your pajamas and socks and play clothes into it, not saying a word. The scowl on your little face was adorable to him, although he knew Bucky was about two seconds from the ‘lose the attitude’ speech and making you sit in Time Out.  

“You know, angel,” Steve broke in, causing you to look up, surprised. “You’re going to have to keep a kitty’s stuff clean too.” He saw Bucky suddenly relax and smirk out of his periphery- he knew where Steve was going with this- and Steve knew he was on the right track. “You’re going to have to wash its food and water bowls and pick up any kitty toys that it leaves out,” he said, emphasizing all the additional chores deliberately. “Going to have to clean up a lot for a kitty.” They had previously agreed that there would be no litter box scooping- they were both too freaked out about the germs that you could get and anyways there were all these self-cleaning litter boxes nowadays. No sense in not taking advantage of today’s technology. 

The little statement worked like a charm. Suddenly, you were in a flurry to clean up the rest of your clothes, even going so far as to toss Pipsqueak back onto your bed from where he had fallen a couple minutes ago. When your room was clean, you stood in front of Papa, brushing the hair out of your sweaty face and looking at him hopefully. 

“In fact, that’s the next level of you being responsible enough to get a kitty,” Steve said, laying it on thick. “You will need to keep your room perfectly clean all day.”

“I can do it! I can be we-sponsor-ble!”

“For three months.”

Your jaw hit the floor. Three whole MONTHS?! Were they insane?! How did they expect you to accomplish such a huge, Herculean feat?! Was this even legal?! 

Both Papa and Daddy were smirking at your astonishment in how you were possibly expected to live up to such lofty expectations. And those smiles got your stubborn wheels turning. You stood stock still, thinking hard. Then it came to you.

Suddenly, you ran to your bed, yanking up your blankets, pillow, and Jellybean. You tossed them off your bed. “That’s not keeping your room clean, Trouble,” Bucky said casually, but you ignored him. You carefully smoothed down the sheets and reorganized the remaining furry friends into a nice display. You then gathered up your stuff and proceeded to march out the door. 

Steve and Bucky were confused- what in the world were you doing? They followed you into the hallway, curious. You plopped your stuff down, then brushed past them again, closing your bedroom door. You turned to look at them, expectantly. They stared back at you. None of you spoke for the longest time. 

Steve finally broke the ice. “What was that all about, baby?” he asked gently, gesturing to your pile of blankets. 

“My room is clean now,” you said triumphantly. “So I’m gonna live in the hallway for three months and my room will stay clean for the whole time and then we have to get a kitty.”

It was Steve’s turn to drop his jaw. Bucky ducked his head, his whole body shaking as he tried to contain his uproarious laughter at your proclamation. Once he had gotten ahold of himself enough, he looked at your with wild mirth. 

“So I’m thinking a solid white cat. Maybe we could name it Alpine. What do you think, Trouble?”

[gloomysoup]

when the world stops turning (my heart stops beating) - pt. 2

so i decided not to be TOO mean and keep writing this... there will be at least one more part, maybe more, i haven't decided yet. honestly i'm just playing it by ear and seeing how far my brain chooses to take it. so here we go!!

ao3 pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

cw: drugs, drug abuse, illusions to overdose, minor character death, dissociation, hospitals, illusions to child neglect (i think that's it but please let me know if i missed anything)

Eddie hated hospitals.

He sat in the waiting room with his bandmates and their tour manager, thinking about the first time he ever had to go to the hospital.

He was seven years old. His mom had been self-medicating really badly again, floating through their house like a ghost. Pale and lifeless in a way she often was those days. His dad was always out of the house, claiming he was working. Eddie had always been suspicious of that, never sure exactly what kind of work he was doing. His dad never said what his job was, but Eddie knew he had a long history with criminal activity. Wayne had taken him out to the park that day for a couple hours in an effort to get him out of the house.

The nearby park had this line of trees by the pond, set off several feet from the playground itself. Eddie liked to climb those trees when he was a kid. He liked the way the bark felt, digging sharply into his palms. He liked feeling the wind blow, the leaves brushing against his face. It made him feel free. The scary parts of the world couldn't reach him in the treetops. Earthly fears stayed near the ground, tethered to the dirt while he put as much distance between them as he could. Wayne had warned Eddie not to climb too high. Eddie should've listened.

He climbed a few branches up on the tallest tree. His favorite tree to climb. He sat on one of the thicker branches, back against the trunk. He watched the leaves waving in the wind above him. His brain still itched with ground thoughts, so he climbed higher. He kept going until he wasn't worried about his mom anymore. He kept going until his head was blissfully empty of those stupid anxieties. He was finally free.

And then he was falling.

Eddie doesn't remember much of what happened. Wayne says a branch broke unexpectedly, giving way beneath his weight with a loud snap. He hit the ground and passed out. Wayne took him to the hospital, where the doctors said he was lucky. A fall like that and all he had was a broken arm. They put his left arm in a cast and kept him for a few hours of observation, just to be safe. They were worried about a brain injury, or internal bleeding. Wayne called his mom, to let her know what happened, but Eddie always assumed she was too drugged out to understand. She never showed up. Wayne stayed with him the whole time, trying to keep him entertained and distracted. The doctor had given Eddie something to help with the pain, but it didn't help with his dislike of hospitals. He hated sitting in a sterile, white hospital room. His nose burned with the smell of bleach and lemon-scented floor cleaner. He didn't know why they used that stuff. It was overwhelming. He couldn't escape the ground thoughts if he was tethered to the ground.

Once he was finally released, Wayne took him to the pharmacy to pick up his new prescription. Pain meds; take one as needed while the break heals— those mysteriously went missing only three days later, and Eddie suffered in silence from then on. Then Wayne took him home, where his mom was asleep on the couch and his dad was fuming. Eddie vaguely remembers laying in his bed while Wayne and his dad argued in the living room. He isn't sure what they argued about; Wayne never told him and always changed the subject if Eddie asked. He assumed it was about the hospital. Hospital bills aren't cheap.

He wasn't allowed to visit his mom when she was in the hospital. Wayne said she needed space to get better. He knows Wayne just didn't want him around all of that. The hospital always kept him from his mom in one way or another. And then there was the spring of ‘86. It only further solidified his hatred of hospitals. Confined to the lumpy, scratchy hospital bed for weeks. Beeping machines and lemon-scented floor cleaner. Sticky patches and wires that always tangled. Itchy IVs and sharp needles and drugs that made him float just on the edge of too far. He didn't like those. Reminded him too much of his mom.

And now here he was, sitting in the dull waiting room of a hospital in New York. He felt numb. Tears still rolled silently down his cheeks, though he wasn't sure how he had any left. He was completely unaware of the passage of time. It could've been minutes or days, and he wouldn't have noticed. He couldn't stop thinking about his mom. He hadn't thought about her this much in years.

“Eddie?” He looked up at Gareth, but he was barely seeing him. “I'm going to go call Wayne, let him know what's happening. Do you want to come talk to him?”

Eddie blinked slowly a few times, his eyes still glassy. He didn't answer. All he did was stare, unseeing and silent. Gareth sighed, shooting Jeff and Grant a look.

Jeff frowned, also standing. “I should call Robin. She should know too.”

“Go,” Grant said, nodding toward the phones. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Their tour manager was talking to a nurse a few feet away. Eddie couldn't hear what they were saying. He didn't know how this could've happened. He didn't understand how he missed this.

His thoughts wandered back to the day Wayne found out he was selling.

Eddie sat on the front step, watching Wayne and Hopper talking in the yard. Wayne was frowning, nodding along to whatever Hopper said. Eddie knew he was mad. Why wouldn't he be? Eddie was illegally selling drugs, and just got caught by the chief for it. Luckily, Hopper was in a good enough mood just to give him a warning and a ride home. Made him promise he wasn't going to do it anymore. They both knew that was a lie.

When Hopper got back in his cruiser and drove away, Eddie watched Wayne take a breath before he turned around. Eddie shrank back at the look his uncle gave him.

“Wayne, I-”

“Hush up.” Eddie shut up instantly. “You're gonna listen close, understood?” Eddie nodded. “Jim was kind enough to let you off this time, but he won't be next time. There better not be a next time.”

“But, Wayne, I-”

“No buts.” Wayne gave him another look. Eddie knew he was disappointed. He hated disappointing Wayne. Hated it even more than he hated making Wayne mad. His uncle had always done so much for him. The least he could've done was not cause trouble. “Drugs are a dangerous thing, Ed. I know you know that.”

He did know, is the thing. He knew better than most people just how dangerous drugs were. Drugs tore his family apart. Drugs killed his mother. Drugs were the main reason Eddie lived with Wayne at all.

Eddie looked down at his hands, fiddling with one of his rings. He didn't have all that many yet. “I just wanted to help with the bills,” he said softly.

Wayne sighed and sat next to him on the rickety steps. Eddie slid over to make room. “You ain't gotta worry ‘bout no damn bills, Ed. That's for me to take care of. You just gotta be a kid.”

Eddie frowned. “I just thought that, maybe, if I could help, you wouldn't have to work so hard. I know taking care of me is a lot of extra money.” He paused. “I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment.”

Burden. That's what he wants to say. Disappointment is what comes out. Maybe that's for the better.

“You're not a disappointment, Ed. I just don't want you endin' up like your mama, that's all. And while I do appreciate you wantin’ to help, I don't need ya to. I'm perfectly capable of takin’ care of us. You're fifteen, Ed. Be a kid, for Christ’s sake. Don't worry ‘bout anythin’ else yet.”

From that day on, Eddie stayed away from anything harder than weed or the occasional shrooms. He made a promise to himself that he'd stay away from it. For Wayne. For his mom. Wayne knew he kept selling, but they didn't talk about it. The K he intended on selling Chrissy that fateful night was a fluke. A one-off. It was something extra Rick had given him before he got locked away. Eddie hadn't even intended on selling it at all; he was just going to keep it hidden away until Rick got out, and then he'd give it back.

After Chrissy, Eddie didn't touch anything for a long time. When the band got themselves a record deal, when they started going out to parties to network with more of the industry, Eddie started smoking weed again. He never touched anything more than that. He knew better. He worried about his bandmates falling to the same vices that killed his mom, even though they also stayed away from it. Her ghost still haunted him. It kept him hypervigilant. He was always watching for addictive behaviors.

So how did he not see it?

How long had Steve been falling down that path without Eddie even knowing?

He should've known.

Eddie blinked, and Gareth was standing in front of him with a bottle of water. When had he come back?

“Eddie, you gotta drink something,” Gareth said gently, holding the open bottle toward him. Eddie pulled his knees tightly to his chest and shook his head. Gareth sighed and sat next to him in the uncomfortable hospital chairs.

That was another thing Eddie hated about hospitals. Everything was uncomfortable. The chairs, the beds, the wires and tubes. IVs itched and the gowns crinkled weirdly. It was a sensory hellscape, truthfully. How did anyone handle it?

“Eddie.” He blinked again, looking beside him. Gareth was still holding the bottle toward him. “Come on, man. At least a little bit. We're worried about you.”

Eddie took the bottle, but his hands were shaking so much he could barely keep a grasp on it. He forced it toward his mouth, his throat burning as the cool water slipped past his lips. He gave it back to Gareth. He looked like he wanted Eddie to drink more, but took the bottle anyway.

“Are you…” Gareth started, but his sentence fell off as he seemed to search for the correct word. “Obviously not okay. That'd be stupid. Of course you aren't okay. I don't know what I was even thinking.” He looked over at Eddie, his rambling cut off.

Gareth always rambled when he was anxious. Worried. It didn't happen all that often. Gareth was pretty laid back, never worked up about much. The exact opposite of Steve. Steve worried about everything. Steve rambled a lot, like Robin. God, Robin. Eddie should talk to her. They hadn't had time lately to call. She was probably worried. Eddie could easily bet she'd been rambling a lot lately. Then again, Robin always rambled. She wasn't like Gareth, who only rambled when he was worried about something or someone. Speaking of Gareth, he was sitting there staring at Eddie with that worried little pinch in his brows. Eddie should answer. He should, but he can't. His tongue feels like lead in his mouth. It won't form shapes or push air through his lips. It won't do anything it's supposed to do. It just sits there, heavy, making it impossible for Eddie to say something, anything.

“Eddie?” Gareth waved a hand in front of him. Eddie blinked. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

Eddie thought hard. Gareth’s mouth had definitely been moving just a few moments before, but anything after the ramble was lost on him. He had no clue what he had said. He shook his head. Gareth sighed.

“I talked to Wayne.”

Oh. Wayne.

God, Eddie didn't know how to feel about that. On the one hand, he needed Wayne. The man was a solid figure in the storm of Eddie’s life. He had always been there. He never walked away like Eddie’s dad. Eddie wanted little more than to curl up on the lumpy couch with Wayne like he had after his mom died. On the other hand, Eddie didn't want Wayne to know about any of this. He didn't want Wayne to have to live through this again. He didn't want Wayne to feel like he had to deal with Eddie again.

“He said he’ll try to catch the next flight out.”

Eddie’s head snapped up, eyes wide. He quickly shook his head back and forth, so hard that his neck popped and his hair flung across his face. Wayne couldn't come. He shouldn't have to. He would have to call out of work. Wayne never calls out of work. Eddie didn't want to be the reason he started. He opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. He couldn't force his tongue to move. His lips failed to form the letters and syllables required to speak.

It was then that their tour manager approached, looking somber. Like he had bad news. Eddie wanted to be anywhere else. He wanted to go back; back to when things were simple and Steve wasn't dying. He wanted to go back to being a kid and stop his mom. He just wanted this to stop.

“Eddie, he's alive.”

Eddie hated that instead of being relieved, his heart crumbled.

Steve was alive, but at what cost?

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

tag list: @acowardinmordor @mugloversonly @djohawke @hallucinatedjosten @geekyfifi @current-steddie-brainrot

i tagged people who either asked to be tagged or showed interest in wanting more but lemme know if you wanna be added! like i said, there will be at least one more part, but probably more than that tbh

hope you've enjoyed !!

[idontknowreallywhy]

Teeth

This didn’t go the way I expected at all, it was meant to be some Dad!Scott from Scott’s POV but then Allie intervened and so it’s from his now. Haven’t really tried to write a young child’s inner voice before so sorry if it is clunky and out of character and the sentence structure is appalling but… a bit of an experiment…

Also not proof read because work calls… but yolo…

💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️

He woke with a terrified shriek and it hurt!

It hurt!

It hurt really bad!

Something was chomping on his legs and it had big teeth and maybe it was an alligator like in Gordy’s programme or a shark or… or a monster.

He shouted at it to stop and kicked it and kicked it and then realised he was cold now. His covers were gone and he could see by the red glow of his rocket nightlight that there were no gators on his bed. Maybe they were stuck in the covers.

But his legs still hurt so badly from the bites. Maybe some teeth broke off and were still stuck in his legs. He curled up in a ball and hugged them close. They felt normal to his hands but they hurt so much. His nose was all runny like it was crying like his eyeballs were and it was making his face itchy. He sniffed and wiped the tears and snot off with the arm of his pyjamas.

Gordy snuffled and turned over in his sleep and Alan froze. He wished he could climb into his big brother’s bed because Gordy knew all about gators and sharks and stuff and maybe he could make them stop biting. But Gordy had been sad and grumpy and Virgie had said the reason was he was hot and poorly and needed to sleep so the bugs in his ears would die. It sounded confusing and scary and Alan didn’t want bugs in his ears as well as teeth in his leg bones so he tried his hardest to be quiet like a big brave boy.

The invisible teeth gnashed at his legs again and Alan bit down hard on AstroTed’s fluffy arm, unable to stop himself sobbing. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to be eaten. He pushed his knees into his eye sockets and tried to remember the names of the stars Johnny had showed him just before bedtime. There was Jupiter but that was a planet and… and he couldn’t remember the others because his brain was full of OW.

He tipped sideways as a weight made his mattress dip and for a second he was scared he might fall into the water where the toothy things were but then there were strong arms and warm hugs and Scotty’s soft voice telling him it was ok and… and… Scotty. Alan stopped trying to be brave and tried to explain about the teeth but his voice was all jumpy and he couldn’t make the words right. Scotty got it though and Alan sighed as big hands wrapped around his shins and rubbed them firmly like he was brushing the teeth off and making them warm again. It still hurt but it wasn’t as scary because Scotty would make sure he wasn’t eaten. He closed his eyes and pressed his ear to his big brother’s chest and felt the vibrations as Scotty hummed the little tune he always used to make the monsters go away. The one he said Mommy had made for them before she had to go to heaven.

Then the tune stopped and Scotty was whispering and there was Virgie too. He had the bottle of pink medicine and the magic warm bear that could go in the microwave. None of his other bears could do that as it would hurt them but this one was special. Scotty pressed the bear on his legs and Alan accepted a spoon of the tasty medicine and then licked a drip off it off Virgie’s thumb because it was too nice to waste and Virgie laughed quietly before taking it back to the high cupboard in the kitchen.

Scotty didn’t leave though. He leaned down and picked up Alan’s covers and Alan shuffled hurriedly away and perched on his pillow because didn’t he know that’s where the gators were hiding? Scotty was brave and could fight them but Alan wasn’t that brave! But then Scotty was standing holding the covers up high and he shook them hard and showed Alan all around… no gators or monsters or aliens with fangs just colourful space ships and stars and Alan felt a little bit silly for being such a scaredycat.

Scotty didn’t laugh at him for being silly. He never did, unlike Gordon. Scotty only laughed at Alan when Alan was telling a joke and wanted him to laugh. Big brother smiled kindly and explained how Alan’s legs just hurt sometimes because he was growing so fast and maybe it meant he would be as tall as Scotty one day because Scotty’s legs used to do it when he was little too. Alan knew he was doing ‘surprised face’ because Scotty said “it’s true!” Maybe if having hurty bones was helping him be as big as Scotty he didn’t need to be so scared.

Warm bear was helping and Alan’s eyes kept closing. Scotty covered them both up with the covers and hugged him tight and hummed the special song while Alan flew through the blue sky in a rocket plane with his biggest brother standing close behind him.

💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️

[ashley-foster-13]

Newt's injured imagine x Y/n

You stumble through the door of the Newts hut, half dragging the second in command on your shoulders. Occasionally he quietly moans in pain, although he tries to suppress the sound. You close the door behind you and seat him on the bed. He winces. The sound sends shivers down your spine as you wonder if you are too rotten for Newt to think of how cute he is at this moment.

As a Runner, you don’t get to see your crush much. But when the golden opportunity shows up, you use every bit of spare time to be with him. Usually these are just walks around the Glade, sometimes little picnics in the Deadheads. When it’s your day off, you help him in the Gardens.

Today you got lucky, too. Newt, apparently, didn’t.

“Why did you get involved in the fight, anyway?” You ask, shuffling through your drawer for the medicine.

Right before the Runners returned, Builders had put up a fight with the Slicers. And, sure enough, builders are strongly built and slicers, well… they have knives.

Newt interfered just in time before anyone got seriously injured. The thing is, Gladers injured him.

Not to mention the bleeding gash on his limp leg he got in the afternoon, working in the Gardens.

He sighs, “Y/N, I am the second in command and can’t allow bloody stuff like that happen here. Besides -”

“Yeah, but why?”

You take the bowl of water with some medicine mixed in – damn, that’ll sting - and some pieces of fabric. You need to wash of the blood and dirt first.

“Why what?” he asks, not understanding. You note that his voice is hoarse, tense in an attempt to hide the fact that he’s badly in pain.

You sit down on your knees, taking his right hand. Then grab the towel and soak it in warm water, brush it on his knuckles. You’re both silent. It’s not to bad, a few little scratches. When you take his other hand and try to clean it off, he hisses. The wound goes right from his pinkie finger to his wrist. No need for stitches, fortunately.

“Why didn’t you fix up your leg in time? Or called someone else to stop the skirmish?” You talk quietly, not accusing him but simply wondering.

No answer.

You look up at him.

“I need you to take off your shirt,” you say.

He stumbles, “Wh-what?”

You are almost sure he blushed. Almost.

Newt and you are best friends – probably something more, to be honest – but you both refuse to admit it. Too much trouble that’ll be. Boys will get jealous, and Alby is unlikely to think it’s a good idea for his main helper to be distracted by a girl. So most of the time you avoided accidents like that – something that can bring you closer, something intimate…

“Take it off,” you order.

When Newt doesn’t move for a second, you start to unbutton it yourself, feeling his stare burning on your face. You carefully pull the fabric off of him, soaked with sweat and blood. You are close enough to feel the smell of his. Hell, he smells so good, so…

You mentally slap yourself. Stop it, Y/N, you scold and sit on the bed beside him.

Newt turns a little so that you could get a better look, or so that he can avoid looking in your eyes, now.

You let out a small gasp. A deep wound spreads on his upper back, while his lower is covered in bruises. You could swear they only get bluer as you watch.

“Hey, it’s not that -” he starts.

“Shut it, shuckface,” it came out more roughly than you intended.

You take the clean towel and soak it in the water, put it on the wound, and Newt yelps. Your hands jerk back at the sound.

“Sorry,” you lift the towel again for another try, but Newts hand stops you short.

He turns his head and looks at you, his breath coming out a little to short. You search his eyes and don’t quite believe what you see in them. Yeah, pain, sure, but this..? It more looks like…

No. Newt is never scared.

You free your hand and break the eye contact, returning to your task. This time when you clean the wound he stifles a groan, but does not interrupt. You take the ointment, and he shudders and the sudden touch of your fingers feeling of cold on his skin.

Then you tell him to face you again, so that you can put some ointment on the little scratches on his chest.

You are suddenly so conscious of how close you are right now, and how ragged has his breathing become.

He’s just in pain, you tell yourself.

“Y/N…”

You take the bandages and wrap around him. Then make him face the wall once again.

“I try to avoid Med-jacks,” he tells you as you put another ointment on his lower back and massage it a little bit, “because they’ll tell me to rest. And I hate to do bloody nothing.”

“Don’t tell me you’re workaholic,” you tease.

The massage must have a soothing effect, along with your response, he chuckles.

“No. That’s not the only reason, though.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and continues.

“I sometimes don’t go there because -” he hesitates.

“Hmm?” you stop rubbing his back and clean your hands on the towel from the ointment.

Newt turns to look at you. You wait.

“Because of my limp,” he breathes.

You ask for a further explanation with your eyes, and he goes on in hushed tone, now finding the floor very interesting to look at.

“When something happens to my legs, if I go to Med-jacks, I have to show them. And they would come up with questions – Newbies, especially – which I don’t bloody want to answer.” His accent strongly kicked in. “Triggers the memory,” he finishes.

You are touched at his confession and it makes you terrified a little.

“About your leg…” your voice trails of as you look at a wide gash crossing his bad leg.

Newts head snaps upward, eyes worried. No, scared.This time you were sure he is, and that unsettled you even more.

You try to sound calm as you say, “Let me get a closer look on it,” and sit on the floor.

Well, you think, it’s red. Really red. There is blood everywhere, uh-huh. And it is a huge, huge wound, plus super deep, plus on his injured leg, plus…

You nearly laugh at your dumb conclusions, but all the same realize that he needs stitches.

You look up at him, and you both ask a silent question.

Is it really necessary?

You nod once, making you both shiver.

When you appeared from the box, at some point you learned that you can do that creepy thing with a needle and a thread. Still, doing this to Newt, your crush, was kind of, well, you wasn’t sure if there was a word to describe the whirl of emotions flooding through you right now.

You start preparing, cleaning everything, finding the tools needed. And from the corner of your eye you can see how uncomfortable and nervous Newt gets with every passing second.

“Scream out loud if you have to,” you tell him, placing a hand on his cheek in an attempt to calm him down a little, “If it’s too much, I can bring you some alcohol. I’m sure Gally has some left.”

Fear and pain seem to consume him, so he stiffly nods.

You can’t help but notice his gorgeous eyes wide open in terror.

And then you brace yourself and you start.

Things go pretty good. He is silent for full five seconds. But when the needle finds its way out of his flesh, he groans.

But then Newt’s quiet again, and you are so proud of him.

You’ve done three stitches already, and go for the fourth, when his cry pierces the air and you nearly drop the needle.

He breathes heavily through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed so tightly you are sure he sees stars dancing.

“Y-y/N it h-hurts,” his now high pitched voice cracks, and it breaks your heart to see him like that. Then your heart comes to an abrupt stop as you realize that you hit the nerve.

Nerve. Limp bleeding leg.

Nerve. Newt’s limp bleeding leg.

You hit the nerve of your crush’s limp bleeding leg.

And still he’s adorable.

A bunch of curses almost escapes your mouth as you think how easier it could be for Newt if the Creators sent more painkillers. Gladers ran out of them last week, and the next Greenie would show up two weeks later.

You wait a little, then decide to stitch a little farther from that. As you continue, he says nothing, but you notice him shudder badly. Then he sobs, and your heart breaks and stops all over again.

Fifth stitch.

Sixth stitch.

“You good?” you ask, not daring to look up, because you’re sure you’ll lose it after one look in his face.

“Yeah,” he lets out.

Seventh stitch.

And finally, the eighth.

You quickly and very carefully wrap his leg. Then sit next to him.

“That’s it,” you put an arm around his shoulders.

“That’s it,” Newt breathes, then sobs, once again.

You pull him close, carefully not to touch the injuries. He rests your head on your shoulder, and soon your shirt is wet from tears. You rub his back with one hand, another tangled in his hair, occasionally whispering “That’s it” and “You’re okay.”

When he calms down, you pull back and cup his face. Your fingers gently brushing away the tears.

“Do you need something else?”

He just stares back.

“I’ll be back,” you say and flee out of the room to grab some food, water, and throw away all the mess left from curing Newt.

Halfway to the Cookhouse when Alby and Minho stop you. They start talking simultaneously.

“Y/N!”

“How’s Newt?”

You think for a second. Then answer, “Fine, I guess. Just finished stitching him up.”

Boy’s faces twitch in sympathy and disgust.

Frypan walks by. “Hey, Y/N! What’s up?”

You grab him by arm, “Fry, can I grab something to eat?” you ask him, and then add when confusion washes over his face – you don’t eat much, let alone ask for snacks, “for Newt.”

“Oh. Sure.”

And so you’re back to Newt’s hut with some sandwiches and bottles of water. He’s probably dehydrated from all that hurting-crying-exhaustion thing.

You come in and see him propped up on his elbows on the bed. Hot.

“Hey,” you go further into the room and put the food and drinks on the nightstand.

“I should probably thank you for -” he tries to stand up, completely forgetting about his leg, and hisses.

You do not respond, instead “Here,” you hand him the water. He gulps it all without stopping for a breath.

“You should go to sleep,” you push him slightly and make him lay down.

“Y/N -” he starts.

“I’ll come tomorrow morning to check up on you.”

“Y/N -” he takes your hand.

“And you don’t work for at least two weeks. Oh, and try to walk as little as possible -”

Newt yanked your arm and you almost fell on top of him, luckily you reacted fast and put out your arms, supporting yourself.

“Y/N, listen. Maybe you’ll stop get so bloody worked up about all this -”

“I’m worried about you,” you blurt out without thinking.

The silence is so loud you don’t realize at first that…

You said you’re worried about your crush.

Moreover, you’re laying on top of your crush.

And on top of it, he’s half naked.

This time, you’re frozen in place as he cups your cheek and smirks, “You’re worried about me?”

You just nod.

His fingers stroke your cheek and you close your eyes, leaning into his touch.

It turns out your faces are to close, so your noses now connected.

You open your eyes. Newt’s are flickering from yours to your lips.

“Can you stay?” he whispers, almost inaudibly.

You can’t hold it anymore.

You close the distance between you two and your heart cheers, I’M KISSING NEWT!

Then your brain adds more joy to your current mood, saying, NEWT’S KISSING ME BACK!

You’re not sure how long it lasts, but when you pull away, both of you are out of breath and blushing fiercely.

“I’ll stay,” you say as you lay yourself next to him. He hugs you gently, and by the way he does, you can tell he’s as shy as you are.

The thick silence now is filled with your breaths and heartbeats.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Beat-beat-beat.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Beat-beat-beat.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Beat-beat-beat.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Beat-beat-beat.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Beat-beat-beat.

“I love you,” Newt blurts out.

Breath out. Nothing. Beat-beat.

Beat.

Beat.

Nothing.

Beat.

You kiss him on a cheek and hide your face in his neck, hiding your blush.

“I love you,” you aren’t sure if you’re confident or shy right now. Maybe both.

Still, he lifts his shoulder a bit to make you look at him, and kisses you again. Shorter this time. When your head is back on his shoulder, he kisses your head.

And then hugs you tighter.

Holy grievers, is your last thought before drifting of to the coziest sleep ever.

[antisyscourse]

Im a system host and something bad happened in my system and I need to vent for a bit if that’s okay.

Please tell me other systems have crazy things happen in their inner worlds like headmates having powers I feel insane right now.

So headmate A is a headmate who was very important to me discovering my plurality, he’s been very adamant that I’m a system ever since he showed up. Meanwhile headmate B is a headmate who’s main goal seems to be to fakeclaim me, voice my doubts about being a system, and point out anything he sees as evidence of this not being real or imaginary. Needless to say A and B don’t like each other.

I’ve been trying to bond with B and get him to come around, at one point I enlisted A’s help and we forced B to hang out via inner world powers A had. After this I realized using force was a horrible idea and apologized to B. Since then I’ve played video games with B a few times and I think that he could slowly come around some day, but A hasn’t really gotten the idea of using force out of his head.

This culminated in A snapping at B and using the inner world powers to take B hostage (I’m not joking) until B promised to stop fake claiming us. This sent me and many others in the system panicking as A was hurting B pretty badly. Luckily the situation didn’t last long (it happened late at night while I was trying to get to sleep and was resolved the next day) some other headmates used weird inner world powers to fight A and won so B is safe now.

So headmate A is a fictive of an evil character who’s done some very bad things in his source. That being said he seemed to become a much kinder person within the system and I genuinely trusted him and saw him as a friend. One thing he’s been struggling with is feeling inferior to his source now that he’s became nicer, I’ve tried my best to comfort him but I don’t think I said the right things. A isn’t really being honest about why he did it but I’m sure that was part of it. I feel like I should’ve seen the signs as A was making threats before this that I kind of just brushed off as non serious and I feel like I should’ve been able to help A before he got to this point of lashing out due to insecurity. I feel like a bad host, I know it’s not my fault but I just wanted everyone to get along and I failed and now one of my closest friends within the system did something very bad.

And what makes it worse is that this attempt to get the fake claiming to shut up has only made me doubt myself more. I feel like this kind of stuff shouldn’t be possible within a headspace or inner world or that headmates aren’t supposed to have powers inside the inner world even though I’ve heard about inner world stuff like this before. So now I just feel crazy even though I’m sure I wouldn’t get this worked up about it if it was imaginary. I just don’t know what to do.

oh goodness grief, i'm so terribly sorry that happened anon. D: i will say that you are not alone in this!! we have alters with things like powers as well, we have introjects of gods and such, so it's not just you, and you're not fake for experiencing that!! i do hope that all is well within your system soon!! i pinkie promise you're not a bad host!! please take care lovely!!

[ID: STOP! this is a syscourse free blog! it is a safe space for all systems, so please go away if you intend upon stirring up drama!]

[countrymusiclover]

25 - The Future Lady Lannister

Part 26

The Last Velaryon

Tag list @rise-my-angel @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila

Chezney's pov

Riding back into the Stark camp on horseback with one leg on each side of the horse I tugged the reins making him stop where I slowly climbed down off my saddle. Tying my horse back underneath the stable building I brushed my fingers through its mane hearing footsteps coming behind me. “Lady Chezney, a letter has arrived for you.”

“You swear you've been secretive of these yes Ser Lannister?” I whispered under my breath, taking the sealed letter from his hand. After Robb had sent him to deliver the peace terms I had been paying him in some food scraps so long as he would come back and deliver my letters to and from Tyrion.

He nodded his head yes before hearing someone coming towards us. “I should go, my lady.” He ducked his head down using as much of his cloak to hide his face as possible vanishing into the woods outside the camp.

Haelesa was apparently the one coming over to me and she seemed to have been crying because she was all red in the face. “Hey Hael, so what did he want to talk about?”

“He gave me a crapass apology thinking I would forgive him easily.”

I gasped wishing so badly I could hit the Stark king upside the head right now. “That cunt!”

“Chezney!” She warned me.

Shifting the letter in my left hand underneath my cloak I throw my right hand up in the air. “No, he needs to be called out for that. He claims that he loves you but then he obviously doesn’t because of how he’s been treating you.”

“I suppose you’re right. What are you holding underneath your cloak?” My best friend tilted her head seeing that I had kept one hand underneath my cloak, leaving my freehand hanging on the other side in her view.

I bite my lip avoiding her gaze. “Nothing. My hands have just been cold unless I stuff them underneath my cloak.”

“We’re no in the North. We are getting further South so you shouldn’t need to be warm. So what are you really hiding from me, Chez?” She raised a brow at me knowing when I was lying.

Slowly pulling out my hand that had the sealed letter I showed it to her. “I’ve been sending secret ravens to King's Landing.”

“What! Why?” She blurted out completely awestruck.

Tucking hair behind my ear I slipped the scroll back underneath my cloak. “You’re not the only person to apparently be captivated by a lion.”

“Jaime has escaped camp. Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

Shaking my head, I corrected her. “It’s not him. It’s his brother, Tyrion.”

“How did it happen, when did it happen, why didn’t you tell me, does he love you-“

I began listing her answers off my fingers. “One we formed a bond while drinking wine at Winterfell, two it happened in a matter of days and he gave me something from him as a parting gift, three you’ve been busy shuffling around things here as queen I didn’t wish to bother you, and four we have said I love you yet. Although I doubt when we get to the city that Robb will spare him simply because he’s a Lannister too.”

“I’ll do my best to make sure Robb doesn’t kill him. If he wishes for me to forgive him this shall be the first step in that direction. You don’t have to worry, I'll ensure it, Chezney.”

Flinging my arms around her neck we embraced the other in a warm hug before she broke it. “Thank you, Haelesa.”

“I’ll see you later. I’d like to read your other letters if you’d allow me the chance.” Haelesa smirked, spinning on her feet and walked away giving me the chance to go read the letter. Pushing my way through the entrance of my tent I sat down at the table in the corner breaking the lion sigil beginning to read the letter he had sent me. “Dear Chezn,

I must say that this letter won’t have as many jokes as my previous ones about how everyone in this city isn’t as clever as me. Instead it has some sad news to it. I will be forced to marry someone by my father Tywin who is now Hand of the King. The lady is Sansa Stark of Winterfell. I am sorry to write this to you but I wish you deserved to know what is happening. I will always want to marry you and call my Lady Lannister. Maybe the gods will be good and let us marry someday down the road, yours Tyrion.” Laying the letter back down I lifted up my left hand letting the ring catch the light, twirling the ring on my finger remembering when he gave this to me.

Haelesa and Jaime hadn’t come down for breakfast but I knew why just like everyone else in the castle did. They were husband and wife now so everyone assumed they’d slept together, only Tyrion and I were the only two people who knew the real truth that she was still a virgin. Standing by my horse I brushed its mane I heard footsteps coming up to me before I felt three taps on my lower back. “Chezney, I wasn’t certain I would see you before we went our separate ways.”

“I must say I wish you were coming back with us to King's Landing.” I admitted tuning around to face him with my hands intertwined together in front of my stomach.

He smiled, bending his head down at his boots briefly. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. But this might be my only chance to ever see the Wall. I have to go see it.”

“Well as long as you write down your adventures then we can try and both live through them.”

Tyrion reached and dug around for something inside his pocket. “I want to give you something before I go. When we reunite I’ll do this properly of course but this is for the moment.”

“Ohh Tyrion. It’s beautiful.” I took the small band from his fingertips that had a lion engraved into it.

He smiled, taking it from my hand sliding it on my left hand. “I’ll have one of my mothers made up for you in time. But this should do, will you marry me Chezney Ally?” He lowered himself down on one knee before my eyes.

“Yes. Yes I will. I’ll become your wife someday.” I grinned, helping him up to his feet leaning down and kissing him before we heard some people talking and coming in our direction so we broke away from one another.

[dartlekey]

Eddie wakes up with a yell, toppling out of his bed. 

Well, fuck, that was awful , Eddie thinks, and brushes his sweat-soaked hair out of his face.

He knows he doesn't get nearly as many nightmares as the others - he likes to joke that he got them all out of his system during his coma, but to be honest it still doesn't make sense to him, how little it all affects him now. He knows the others reacted so much better to the Upside Down stuff, were so much more put together when shit went down, and yet he's come to expect being woken up from sleeping like a baby to one of his friends falling apart at the other end of a phone line, even months after it’s all over.

Eddie’s eyes dart around his room as his heart refuses to stop hammering. It is all over, right? The others killed Vecna; El on the mental and Nancy on the physical plane, Nancy and Robin even burned the body so there was no chance of an unexpected return. And yeah, okay, Eddie wasn’t there to actually see it, but the bats all dropped dead, one of them right before it was gonna tear out Eddie’s throat - that means it’s over, right?

But for Will it started with the nightmares, before the mindflayer showed up for the first time. Max, too, slept badly when Vecna chose her as his target. What if this is one more of Vecna’s mind games, some kind of prophecy…?

Eddie has to go check. He hastily pulls on a T-Shirt, the plaid pajama pants he always kicks off. He opens the door to the hallway, and nearly has a heart attack when he’s faced with Wayne, hand raised as if to knock; the only reason he doesn’t yell again is because Wayne looks just as startled as he feels. “You… you okay, kid? I heard you yellin’,” Wayne says hesitantly. 

Guilt gnaws at Eddie’s insides. While Eddie doesn’t always feel the effects of his week-long scapegoat hunt and near-death experience, he knows Wayne does - a fairly laissez-faire parent before, he now gets worried if he doesn’t know where Eddie is at any given time, doesn’t like him going alone to places, unexpectedly goes for rusty hugs and awkward shoulder pats like he has to reassure himself Eddie is there , is alright. Not that he says anything; neither of them have ever talked about their feelings much, especially to each other, it’s why they work so well together. Eddie just gets used to leaving sticky-notes on the fridge when he goes out, to telling Wayne his recovery is going so great, actually, he’s practically back to his old strength, and those scars are wicked cool, y’know? And when he’s too tired to lie he locks himself in his room and turns the volume up on his favorite metallica cassette, because “Music Time” is holier than Christmas in their house. (Not that Wayne listens to a lot of music. The radio is usually on in the kitchen, that doesn’t mean anything, but Eddie knows that when Wayne puts his country records on and his hands get too shaky to hold a cigarette, it’s time to get the fuck out for a few hours, because Wayne deserves to think about Vietnam in solitude.)

“Yeah! Yeah? It’s nothing, I’m good. Great even, peachy,” Eddie says, smiling too brightly, and pushes past Wayne in the narrow hallway. “Just need to. Check something.”

He tries not to rush to the living room. It looks untouched, clean; no tear in the ceiling, no mangled body on the floor. Absurdly enough, it makes Eddie feel worse, unease increasing because if Steve isn’t here, how can Eddie be sure he’s alright?

“You sure, Eddie?” Wayne says, following him, and fuck him, he’s using Eddie’s name, not kid or bud or sport - he never uses Eddie’s name unless he’s really serious. “You’ve been all tense since yesterday.”

Eddie isn’t even sure what day it is, how long he slept after spending the rest of Christmas with Wayne. Time has a different meaning when you work night shift, anyways, and Eddie’s always been shit at keeping track. “Yeah, I’m - look, relax, I just. I just.” Shit at keeping track of guests too, shit at keeping track of friends, that’s why Vecna got her in the first place -

Eddie inhales hard, breathes out sharply, can’t feel the oxygen. He needs to find Steve.

“Gotta go,” Eddie presses out, and bolts out the door. 

Read Ch.5 of "It don't bite (Yes it do) on ao3

[nullvoidface]

break and desire for the not-so-nice asks :3

This got way sadder than I intended ngl—

(CW: Suicidal ideation, starvation, and the stuff inbetween + mentioned character death(s))

Basically don’t read if your mental health isn’t a-ok. It’s not the most descriptive as I didn’t wanna somehow romanticise it, but like idk might be triggering to some. If you can’t read it: fuck yeah self care, go listen to Break It Down by Tally Hall it is fun.

Also a general spoiler warning for Living World Season 4

With the desire to break

“Any news on the commander?” Caithe’s voice was hollow. Thunderhead Keep was silent. Much like it had been before the Pact reached it.

Taimi looked away from Aurene, voice hoarse from crying. “He’s gone AWOL.” Taimi sighed. She understood it, in a way.

That broken, and defeated ‘I don’t know…’ clung in the air like the smell of smoke onto fabric.

He couldn’t stay, he always needed to move. Most of Dragon’s Watch were the same way. Though, a lot of them stayed behind. Waiting for the inevitable end.

“I see.”

—

Corvus couldn’t stand being there. Gawking at her c- at her. The same little dragon he had known since before she had hatched. With large and curious eyes and enough energy to tire out even the exalted at times.

The same Aurene who had faced her fears, the certainty of death- the death Corvus had blindly lead her to.

His Aurene.

He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He didn’t have anyone to return to. Couldn’t face the remaining warband and tell them ‘I failed, again.’

So he went to the brand scar. Maybe in time he would be just another unnamed branded. His name long forgotten, as the world ceased to be.

It should have been him, really. The world would function without him. The world wouldn’t turn without Aurene.

His world had stopped the second before he saw her on those crystals. Piercing her body like some twisted and macabre trophy.

Why not him?

What kind of a champion- no, parent, allows their child to sacrifice themselves for them.

Corvus swung his greatsword once more, crushing through the crystallised skull of another branded hyena with a satisfying splinter and crunch.

Joko was right.

Corvus knew that much the second the lich began his rant.

The scourge of Tyria. A blight on the world.

Soon the news would spread across Tyria. The world was going to end, and the Commander couldn’t even show his face. Would people think of his failure in their final moments? About how this could all have been prevented?

Corvus planted the tip of his sword in the abdomen of an ogre about twice his height.

He wasn’t counting days anymore. Wasn’t counting anything. Wasn’t eating anywhere near enough.

What was the point? It’d be over soon. Why prolong it.

So instead he fought.

At least he could drown out the thoughts with alcohol and adrenaline.

At least he didn’t have to feel if he just had enough.

For a moment he would forget about Aurene. About Dragon’s Watch. About Elder Dragon’s and Balthazar. About Commander Corvus Blightstep.

He let out a scream when crystal as sharp as obsidian cut through the thin fabric of his shirt and into his flesh.

Every movement stung and ached as he managed to kill off the ogre that had landed the hit on his shoulder.

He looked at his shoulder, it was difficult to see with just the moonlight and lightning in the area.

A deep cut right across his old scar.

Malia.

About a year after he had gained that scar, Malia was lost when the mountain moved.

He never learned if she was branded, or if she was just another one of the casualties too badly beaten to be identified.

He took a sharp breath and went back to his makeshift camp.

He sat down in the grass in front of the thin tent.

“Good thing I didn’t like that shirt.” He mumbled to himself as he ripped off the sleeve so he could pull the rest of the shirt over his head with less pain.

But maybe he deserved it.

Normally Corvus would brush those thoughts aside, he didn’t have the time to think of it. But there was nothing to distract him. No friends gathered around dinner.

It was cold.

Maybe if he didn’t clean his wound he’d be gone before the end.

Maybe he wanted that.

He did, didn’t he?

—

After a few days he cleaned it, the pain was getting too much. Couldn’t even handle that.

The hunger pangs had ceased. Now just a dull, hollow feeling in his stomach.

It wasn’t dissimilar to the way he felt.

The anger was back. The same anger he used to feel so often when he was young. He used to point it at the Legions, at the world.

Now it was directed at himself.

Maybe if he tugged hard enough at his mane he would forget about the world. He wanted so badly to cry, he felt so heavy. He felt SO much and yet nothing at all.

So he screamed.

He screamed at himself, at the world, at Kralkatorrik, until his voice gave out.

He didn’t want to be.

—

Days passed, he had allowed himself some food and rest. Just to tank up on enough energy to keep fighting the branded.

“Commander?” A familiar voice sounded from his communicator. He forgot he had brought it.

“Caithe.”

[noblechaton]

now that I've more definitively finished series 5 I can comfortably say that it was probably my least favorite run of the revival to this point lmao. at the very best it's on part with series 3 - the weakest of the RTD era - while at its worst it's genuinely unwatchable

there's definitely some merit here though. it's very entertaining if you stop expecting character beats to be sprinkled in while in a general sense it performs its role of entertainment really well. it's flashy and snappy and loud from the first minute of The Eleventh Hour and rarely slows down from there. there was a clear desire to continue the more Epic nature of the show that had started bubbling up during series 4 where it was, yanno, kind of earned

but that bombastic nature is kind of the biggest positive about it. gone are the deeper meanings and narratives, character introspection is often relegated to jokes or just kind of unearned. any depth the RTD era might have carried did not get passed on here, with 11 being a huge asshole for like 9 out of 13 episodes while you could remove Amy from every episode and I doubt I'd notice

Moffat clearly leaned more towards a fairy tale interpretation of the Doctor and the world around them, but it largely falls flat because characters are rarely humanized. everyone seems to be carrying the punchline to someone else's joke and little else. there's a magic to certain things, sure, and it does start to trend upwards near the end of the series, but it's bogged down by this weirdly incessant need for quips and jokes regardless of the situation. imagine if at the end of the Library two parter, the Doctor and Donna had a fuckin laugh in the TARDIS. like c'mon

generally speaking too I found 11 to be more annoying than I remembered. he constantly talks about not having a plan and constantly makes these weird little aside jokes during his ramblings but we don't really see him ever be genuine or nice to anyone for a long while - certainly not towards Amy, either, who he at times seems to fucking hate lmao. multiple times I wondered why she kept on with him, but she never once really seems to want to go home because of how she's treated and only does after some harrowing adventure seems to wake her up - until it doesn't! like idk if she just wanted to fuck the guy that badly - the scene where she both jumps him and spreads out for him is so sincerely embarrassing I cannot believe it got filmed - or if she was just. stubborn? stupid? we don't get much from Amy, not enough to know her at least, to the point that fucking Rory, a guy in like five episodes, is a better character than her. what the fuck!

there's also more of a reliance on CGI this series than before and while I don't tend to fault TV CGI all that much it really starts to get difficult to brush off or otherwise ignore when a lot of elements are CGI'd in and that CGI just. doesn't hold up. the CGI during RTD's era wasn't great, but it was often more skillfully utilized and so it was at least more charming than it is here. similarly, I noticed the ADR was way fucking worse this time around than I'd ever noticed before. entire exchanges come through that were clearly recorded in a booth somewhere and it's really funny honestly

ultimately I think series 5 does play to Moffat's strengths to good effect at times - the opening of Eleventh Hour with 11 and Amelia is still really solid, a lot of the timey whimey fucky wucky stuff is done with consistency enough that you can sorta easily follow it - but all too often you can kinda see his stories straining now that they aren't just one offs in someone else's narrative. a lot of the other writers similarly seemed to struggle, given just how bad some stories get. the Silurian two parter was genuinely so bad I wondered why they brought them back, while the Angel two parter feels as if it was made to sabotage the angels as a concept lmao

it's not all bad, and it's certainly entertaining enough all the same. Vincent and the Doctor still holds up, the Lodger was more fun than you might expect, Amy's Choice is largely fun while I even enjoyed the finale stuff to a point, and Christmas Carol is a genuine standout among the holiday specials (mostly because it's. actually focused on Christmas this time around. lmao), and there's solid moments spread throughout even the worst of the episodes, with the best of them being obviously focused on humanity and relatable traits - a thing the RTD era unabashedly leaned into

but it's such a step down from the peak that was series 4. all the character work is just gone, everything feels so much less thoughtful and the characters themselves tend to range from annoying to boring and little else. there are always gonna be growing pains when crews behind the scenes change like they did here, but some of series 5 is worse beyond that excuse. I can see why it stayed hot, why it caught on even more so and why so many fell in love with this series - it's entertaining if you don't look too deep, the characters enjoyable if you don't expect much from them, Matt and Karen have obvious chemistry as leads despite the best efforts to stamp that out - but as I feel right now, it's super overrated and largely just sort of okay at best with a few great highlights and some drastic lowlights all the same. far from a classic, but still not the dirt worst I guess

at least series 6 is. Moffat at his Moffiest!

[literature-alchemist]

silence that kills

(i am a lit-role-player from quotev and keep getting bapped bc i have spicy writing stuff in my journals so i will just post here and hope to save my lil blurbs)

Far too quiet.

Night time had fallen like a shroud of death upon them. All around the sounds of marching soldiers, shouted commands and doors opening and closing echoed like a broken symphony. Her heart thundered as she watched from the upper levels the young maiden she had once cradled so close, so carefully. Sending prayers to the heavens, to the hellfires, to anyone that would listen and guide her safe passage, she cradled hands that had just started showing signs of age close to her chest. But in her mind, there was only preternatural silence. It was the silence of death, the silence of losing everything and nothing at all. It was crushing in comparison to what had just transcurred.

“You set him free,” hissed in a dark alcove, she had grabbed her daughter by the arm. Her daughter who she loved more than life itself, more than perhaps even her youngest child. It was a sin, it was her doom but Gods knew that in her was everything that had been ripped from her.

Atarah’s gaze was full of defiance and a raging fire that seemed to melt their surroundings.

“He is innocent, mother, and your King is a monster!”

And there it was.

The truth lay between them like a rotting corpse.

Queen Alma only took a deep breath, letting her lids fall shut. Even in that quick moment she could feel the piercing gaze of her eldest, scrutinising every single gesture. Slowly, her hand loosened its vice on the woman’s arm.

“I know.” the Queen whispered, defeated .

“What?” she spat with disdain at her mere acknowledgement of the truth. The judgement was as scalding as she had intended and would forever brand the Queen.

Good.

“I will explain, but first,” meeting once more that gaze, she dared to raise her hand. Such a simple gesture made Atarah flinch and just when her mother thought she couldn’t be broken further, her heart caved completely. Still, she rested her palm against the unmarred skin of her face, a thumb gently brushing a bead of sweat. “Atarah, my beloved, my first born. . . My warrior, you must go. Go far away from this land and never return. Never turn back, not even for a glance, for he will find you and he will make your eternity Helm on Earth, do you hear me?”

Her fear tasted bitter in her tongue and she knew the shock her daughter must have felt. Once, twice, she attempted to formulate words but found none.

How could she reply when never in her days had Atarah witnessed her mother full of such hatred, such fear, such life?

“But—I need to stop him,” she said weakly, suddenly seeing and not seeing the mother she had known all those years. This woman before her was a viper, poised to strike, ready to protect. A slow smile full of cunning tugged on those perfectly crimson lips.

“And you will, but not now. Not for a long time. Now, do as I say, my child.”

Gods damn her mortal soul but Atarah followed suit behind the billowing skirts of her mother who now moved without a single ounce of the delicate maneuvers she had practiced and exerted at. No, the Queen was running through the halls, the long hair she kept neatly braided now falling off its intricate  knots.

Blinking as quickly as she could, she vowed to memorise this image. . . Whoever that woman that ran through the maze-like corridors, a wraith stealing into night, was one Atarah admired and desired to learn more from. It was one that Atarah also wished to call to in times of fear, or simply to talk about a normal occurrence. Or to be able to simply turn to her for silent comfort and call her ‘mom’.

She wanted to.

Badly.

“Stop!” a booming voice sounded behind  him and Atarah felt vile rise in her throat. “In the name of the Crown, I command you to stop!” her mother let out a colourful curse that had Atarah nearly toppling over the woman who merely pinned her with a stern gaze before straightening to look at the guard catching up to them.

The moment she slipped on the mask was one of pure art. Brows raised in a regal motion, gaze void of emotions, lips set, hands gently placed together as they floated above the skirts of the royal gown that fit her tall frame.

“Is that the tone in which you address your Queen, guard?” The voice was venom coating the mild halls of brickstones with icy command.

The man before her seemed to cringe back with a murmured curse—or a prayer.

“Apologies, your Majesty,” the title rolled off his tongue in a mocking manner that had Atarah gearing to gut him in the spot. Queen Alma simply nodded for him to state his business. “The princess and every other member of the Court is needed in the War Room. It seems there was a breach-”

“Is that why you shouted at the head of state as if dealing with mere scoundrels, is it, Colonel Rupert?”

Underneath his silver helmet Atarah could make out the wince and twinge of hatred at being recognised. Truth be told, she too was surprised her mother was able to recognise a man of her father’s troops.

“I simply abided order, your Majesty, pardon my offence and-”

“Very well,” it took monumental strength to not sputter as the Colonel grew crimson by being cut off not once, but twice during the short exchange. “Bring us to my husband, then. Make haste now.”

Panic seized her as she grabbed the Queen’s arm once the man turned around, grumbling under his breath. She knew she shouldn’t have trusted her, knew better than to-

Another stern look that had her pouting through reflex and all complaints fell silent. . .

But not before she saw the thin needle her mother produced from the hidden pockets amidst the folds of her skirts. Once, twice, thrice, she blinked at it, then up as her mother made her walk next to her, quiet, concentrated and-

And between the lightning cleaving the dry horizon with a thunderous entrance and the next moment, her mother had plunged that same needle into the man’s exposed neck, her other hand pressed firmly over his mouth as he screamed and howled but too late. Within seconds he lay unconscious on the floor, his face red.

“You. . . You killed-”

“Poison, my beloved, is not only meant to kill,” the Queen explained, as she hid the needle once more and darted back to their initial path. “It can stop a heart for a time, make one slumber deeply, even,” she said, throwing a mischievous smile that made all lines disappear from the once fair and youthful face over her shoulder. “Make anyone become irrevocably enamoured with you.”

Part of her didn’t even want to fathom how that became something she was willing to discuss so openly. Another part of her yearned to ask a thousand questions.

But down, down they went through a set of spiral stairs that began to change the lower they went. Moss and roots now cracked through the large bricks as if enraged that to find their natural passage obstructed. Moisture now clung to the walls, dripping and moulding the ceilings and walls as it saw fit.

To Atarah, this passage was new and unknown, which hindered her pace. Yet, her mother who had dashed further without looking back, torch in hand, seemed to have each pebble, each twist and turn engraved in her mind. The longer she spent behind her, the more a fear so life-altering choked her. Just what exactly had she been brought up by to realise that she didn’t even know the woman that gave her life? To witness the horrors her father was willing to impose on both mortals and not in order to gain power beyond measure? To realise that. . .

A dungeon.

They were deep within the castle, in a part long-forgotten and disposed of. Cauldrons of different sizes were thrown against the walls, as if a blast had sent them flying to dent the foundations with a rage. A dark, oily liquid poured from some, looking for all the world like a breathing organism. The cells that surrounded the cavernous space were the worst. Vats of moonlight streamed from a ceiling that she could not quite make out, but allowed one to see gears and chains that seemed to have held up numerous things on wicked hooks and the rust on them. . .

Blood.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

A moan from her far right nearly sent her screaming when her mother peered from the end of the space through a door opening, hushing her.

“Quiet, now.”

There was. . . there was a person down here alive?

No, she realised, as her feet reluctantly dragged her forth to the cell of polished. . .

Stone? She didn’t recognise what sort of stone shone black as the night but upon a closer look its core shone with a deep red. Curious to a fault, she reached forward, her hand a ghostly white as she touched it and immediately hissed pulling back.

It burned her.

The stone still hissed, as though annoyed it couldn’t simply reach for her and kill her.

“Alma,” that voice again came from within and Atarah frowned, her skin standing on end at the name it seemed to plead to. Her mother’s name was now being repeated in the most pain filled manner as chains rattled over the uneven surface. The sound echoed off the walls in each chamber, like nails on metal, and for once Atarah couldn’t help but step back. Maybe it was her imagination, or the fact that her nerves were neurotic with the promise of death shall she fail that night, but the darkness stirred within that cell, and seemed to come nearer. Closer, closer, and closer until a hunched figure dragged itself near enough the cell’s gate to be bathed by the torches her mother lit around the room before going to do Gods knows what.

It was a faerie.

A winged faerie whose bulking size could not be mistaken even when there was not an ounce of strength in those bones to lift him up. His hair hung in long mats against his oil slick skin. There were numerous warts, and from them oozed a pale sheen that reeked of putrid flesh and—

His wings were torn to shreds.

She didn’t know when she started heaving right in front of that cell, her efforts to stand, to put distance between herself and the tortured creature failing miserably as her stomach begged to rid them of the taste it left by scent alone.

The creature seemed to take a breath that sounded far too close to a sob. Its body raked with the effort, muscles tensing under too tight skin. Atarah’s hair was a curtain between her and the atrocity her father had created and she willed it to stay that way, to give herself a moment, an opportunity to bare the weight of this guilt, this pain. . .

“My Alma, you came,” the voice spoke again, broken and raspy however full of longing and a deep yearning that had tears welling up in Atarah’s icy blue eyes. A hand had slipped between the bars of polished stone, disregarding the scorching pain that it must be causing him completely in order to push back the mess of curls from the girl’s pale face. Once again, vile rose to her throat but she couldn’t move, couldn’t look away from the creature that spoke her mother’s name with a tenderness that shattered her. “You came, you came, you came, you came. . .”

Gods.

He didn’t have eyes.

Or at least, she thought he didn’t, for there was a strip of gauze wrapped around his head, covering the spots from where old blood had once poured freely from. It wasn’t a new dressing as it was stained with age, and worn, but she didn’t think behind it fared any better.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, not realising she was leaning towards the hand that now stroked her hair, wanting, needing to help, to protect, “I am so, so sorry.”

“Alma,” he whimpered and she could see the outlines of what once must have been a handsome face now marred forever with the years of torture and pain.

Opening her mouth to beg him to stop calling her mother’s name, to force the gates open, to do something, anything, she was wrenched away by steel hands.

“Atarah, do not touch anything here.” a hiss so terrifying spoke into her ear but she could feel the same tremors running through her mother’s body as it did hers.

“He needs our help, he needs new dressings. We need to get him out, to help him-” she was hyperventilating, she could feel it. The crushing inside of her chest, the darkness around the other cells. Souls slowly clawing their hands against the floors, the walls, clanking chains against one another. Whips falling on tender flesh, tearing and bleeding, bleeding, bleeding.

Forcibly, she was turned around and slammed into warmth and rocked with a force that made her cling like a mere babe only discovering possessing a body. Her sobs slowly drowned out the sounds of the dead, of the living, of everything that once was.

Alma’s russet coloured eyes locked with the dark spots where her soulmate’s hid behind. The prisoner trembled, having somehow regained a grip on reality that years in imprisonment had long ago stolen from him. And he saw her, saw them as one held the other in an embrace that anchored sanity before the tempest ended them all and he recognised them. Both of them claimed to him in two different but vital ways. He knew she was watching her too, because when his brow furrowed and he shakingly brought himself to his knees, he saw the Queen mass of onyx hair move as she gave him the smallest of nods.

She is.

Somewhere inside his mind, Eleazar roared for all he had lost.