#i want nothing but healing for these people all they’re doing is pushing more people away and i don’t think they realise it and they put th

[formulapisces]

shamelessly vagueing here and this sounds harsh but jesus some people really need to start realising not everything is about them.

not in a stuck up, the world revolves around me, arrogant way. but in a they’re not laughing about you, they’re not gossiping about you, you’re just insecure, reading into every little thing, hurt and need help type of way.

[cherrybomb107]

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: forgiveness, or the way it’s often presented, is harmful. That’s one more gripe I have with season two. The way it frames “forgiveness”(the idea that you are obligated to forgive someone lest you be “just as bad as they are” is problematic.)

Because for one, having Jinx apologize for killing Caitlyn’s mom and vow to stop the “cycle of violence” doesn’t make any sense. One, that’s just not something Jinx would ever say. Two, the idea that Jinx killing some Councilors is anywhere near the same thing as Caitlyn becoming a dictator is laughable at best, and insulting to my intelligence at worst. Three, Caitlyn never apologizes or faces any meaningful consequences for her actions! Losing an eye was nothing! She should’ve lost a hand at least and we should’ve seen her reflect on her actions and pledge to do better for Zaun!!! Not just fuck off and ride off into the sunset after everything she did! And lastly, the “cycle of violence” literally isn’t a cycle, it’s just one city oppressing the other for centuries and the other city deciding to fight back! This “cycle” doesn’t begin and end with Jinx and her attack on the Council, so framing it like Jinx is the one who has to take sole responsibility for fixing everything is nonsense.

“But Arcane was never about heroes and villains, everything is morally gray!” You sound dumb. This is obviously a story with overt themes of oppression and revolution. I’m not here to critique morality, I’m here to critique its framing. Why are certain characters “justified” in their heinous actions but others don’t get that luxury? That’s what I’m talking about. Moving on, the problem with “forgiveness” implies that it’s necessary, and the way people conflate forgiveness with letting someone have access to you after everything they did is the problem. You don’t have to forgive someone if you don’t want to. That doesn’t make you “bitter” nor does it mean you’re “holding a grudge”. There is a difference between forgiving someone and just removing yourself from the situation and becoming detached, imo. That’s what should’ve been done with Caitlyn and Jinx. No one in Zaun should’ve been shown dying for their oppressors because “teamwork” nor should Sevika have been shoved on the Council to push this idea of “unity”. Why would Sevika, a Zaunite who has never had and never will have any love for Piltover, be forced to cozy up with the Council? Why is the onus on her, as an oppressed person, to make nice with her oppressors? Why does the institution of Piltover, and people like Caitlyn who uphold that institution and wreak havoc on the underclass of Zaun, never have to answer for their crimes?

Answer: Because they(the writers) want to convince us that Jinx and Caitlyn, and by extension, Piltover and Zaun are “just as bad” as each other, and that both sides need to work together to heal. Only problem with that is, the Piltover/Zaun conflict was not presented that way in season one. I’m sure the writers want us to think it’s one city vs another, when that’s not the case at all. In reality, it’s one city OVER the other, and now they’re trying to convince us “both sides are bad”. While it’s true that there ARE problems on both sides, the problems in Zaun literally wouldn’t be problems if Piltover wasn’t an oppressive institution. Why were the chem barons able to amass power? Because the systems Piltover set up left Zaun behind and allowed power hungry people like Finn, Margo, Chross, and Smeech seize their opportunities for control. Why is there so much crime in Zaun? Again, because of Piltover. The class disparity that Piltover set up means the economic divide between the two cities is a chasm that grows wider and wider every day. People are forced to steal to eat. They join gangs out of necessity, not because they have to. Why did Jinx kill all those enforcers?

That shouldn’t be the question. The real question is: Why does “Jinx”(as in, the persona Powder adopted to feel strong) even exist? Answer, once again, because of Piltover! Jinx is an oppressed person with severe mental health and self esteem issues that have been exacerbated as a result of the crooked system of Piltover. She saw her parents get killed by enforcers(militarized police force that carries out the will of the powers that be and is responsible for harassing, brutalizing, and over policing Zaun) right in front of her before she was even in the double digits. She was then adopted by Vander, but she had to struggle her whole life. Zaun doesn’t even have air to BREATHE unless Piltover decides they deserve it. And thanks to Caitlyn, we get to see how even THAT gets weaponized when Zaun steps out of line. So if they don’t have access to clean air, it’s safe to say that they also don’t have access to the same quality food, water, shelter, clothing, economic, educational, or medical services that Piltovans do, just by virtue of living in Zaun. So you take a severely mentally ill little girl, systematically oppress her, and then clutch your pearls when she becomes violent and lashes out? Label her a “psycho” and a “monster” for killing cops, gang members, and politicians while Caitlyn gets a happily ever after after everything she did? I thought “both sides” were “just as bad”. So why is Jinx the only one who meaningfully suffers? Why does Zaun as a whole always have to pay the price?

Lack of commitment. “Terrorist” is a loaded word that’s been weaponized against marginalized people for ages now. It’s another one to add to the list: angry, crazy, mad, belligerent, monster, savage, animal, etc. All these dehumanizing words are leveled at folks who get tired of taking shit lying down. I’ve never thought that Jinx was a “monster” for killing cops, Councilors, or politicians. Never will. But the show clearly WANTS me to, as well as simultaneously wanting to see Caitlyn’s actions a certain way. I’ve already made a post about why comparing or trying to equalize Caitlyn’s actions and Jinx’s actions is disingenuous and intellectually dishonest imo. Think of it like a bully vs bullied type of thing. There’s this kid and his asshole friends who gets to bully you for weeks, months, or even years and face no repercussions. Then, one day you get fed up, and start fighting back. Whether that be with words, feet, fists, or what have you. If you go down, you go down swinging. When the dust settles, BOTH of y’all are getting disciplined(detention, suspended, expelled, not allowed to go on trips, etc) for “fighting”. And there’s a very good chance one of you will be punished much more harshly than the other. Even though you started fighting back. BACK being the operative word. Every single time this kid pushed, hit, kicked, punched, started rumors about, and isolated you, nothing was done. The one time you start fighting BACK, both of y’all get in trouble because the school has a “zero tolerance policy”.

But you know that’s not true. It can’t be. You’ve been telling the teachers, guidance counselors, and vice principal about what’s been going on. But nothing was done about it. Or if it was, you were the one who was told to move seats. Or switch to a different classroom. Or just ignore them. Or “maybe they’re lashing out cause they have problems going on at home.” It was nothing but excuses when you were getting pushed around. Now when you fight back it’s a problem. Now take that metaphor and apply it to Caitlyn and Jinx. Caitlyn is like that fat rich asshole with parents on the PTA who make hefty donations to the school. Jinx is like the scrawny little nobody who has no one to stick up for them. Piltover is the school system. Caitlyn’s privilege isolated her from any meaningful consequences, while Jinx’s lack of privilege guaranteed she’d face hefty consequences, much more than Caitlyn ever would.

Jinx has lost: her birth parents as a result of state sanctioned violence, her adoptive brothers, her sister, her best friend, her adoptive father, Silco, her sister again, her adoptive father again, her new friend, her sense of self, her life(possibly) and she has to deal with being an oppressed person who struggles with mental health issues on top of all that. Caitlyn has lost: her mother, and her eye. That’s it. She’s never forced to give anything up. She never had to reckon with the reality of what it means to be not just a Piltie, but a Kiramman, and a dictator on top of that. We never see her be genuinely remorseful about her horrible actions in Zaun. Nor does she try to apologize to the people in Zaun or meaningfully make amends. No, Caitlyn gets to live in that big shiny house of hers with her father and girlfriend and the months she spent co-signing martial law will never be addressed. To bring it back to the bully vs bullied comparison, this means that Jinx would have been expelled for fighting back, while Caitlyn gets ISS(in school suspension). “Both sides are bad” yeah well you clearly believe one side is worse! And it’s not the correct one!

Piltover is an oppressive, classist, ableist, and brutal institution. Caitlyn was the head of this institution for months after she experienced a fraction of what Zaunites have experienced for centuries. At the end of the day, Caitlyn’s actions were brushed aside and she got her happy ending, though it wasn’t deserved whatsoever. Meanwhile Jinx, Sevika, Ekko, Isha, countless other Zaunites, and Zaun as a whole did nothing but suffer their whole lives and now they have nothing to show for it. “Both sides are bad” but the bad that the institution is responsible for is never called out, while the bad that the oppressed people did is blown out of proportion and they are severely punished for it.

And yes, I know I’m talking about a mainstream television show with white/non black people in the writers room. I knew I was never gonna get the pro revolution story I wanted to see, and I’ve made peace with that. But, if they wanted to have a “both sides” narrative so bad, then they should’ve stuck with it. BOTH SIDES should have equally suffered and had to reckon with their wrongdoings. The responsibility for doing so shouldn’t have solely been on the shoulders of the minority group. THAT’S the crux of the issue. I was always gonna think “forgiveness” was the coward’s way out. But they never show Piltover apologizing. Only Zaun does, and that’s not right.

[aemondsbabe]

From Ashes, Fire | Claimant Pt 3

summary: dragons take what they want, you and your brother are no different. but what will be left to burn in the name of happiness?

pairing: dark!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, angst, angst but happy ending, very cersei/jaime coded moment that's all i'll say, major character death, noncanonical death, very brief descriptions of injury, blood, i promise it's nothing graphic, reader turns to the dark side lol, piv sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), minor breeding kink, possessive aemond, possessive reader, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 8.3k oops

a/n: this is it, the grand finale! i had so much fun with this series and i hope y'all enjoy the last bit!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 and part 2 here!

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"Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty."

“Jaehaera, please,” Helaena’s voice is gentle and melodic even as she scolds her daughter, pointing at one of the straw-stuffed dolls in her tiny hands, “You must share with your brother; how about you let him play with the knight, hm?”

One of Maelor’s little fists wraps tightly around your pointer finger as you chuckle at the displeased frown on the toddler’s face when she shoves the doll in Jaehaerys’s direction, though her lips quickly lift into a smile at her mother’s praise. 

“Good, that’s very sweet of you,” your sister smiles, watching her eldest two children play, sitting cross-legged beside them on the plush blanket she’d had spread out on the grass. 

A cool breeze blows through the grassy field while you idly look around at the many red tents and campfires, observing the groups of people gathered around – knights sat at one of the many wooden tables, a few servants peel vegetables brought from the Keep, and various nobles, lady’s maids, and other court patrons shuffle about. 

Taking a deep breath, you turn your face toward the sun, cooler now as day turns to evening, and savor the first moment of peace you’ve had in nearly a week. The days since your marriage to Jace have been… eventful, to say the least, with each new duty feeling like another stab to your already fragile heart. Respite hadn’t even found you in the night, each one spent fending off your new husband’s advances with excuses of your menstrual flux having come early, headaches, and various other ailments. He was getting anxious, you could tell – each night he pushed back a little more, arguing the importance of consummating the marriage, reminding you of the vows you had both uttered in the Sept. 

But how can a vow mean much if the Gods know it was only ever a lie?

You had felt your mother’s eyes on you at every turn, watching you and your brother like a hawk. Though as the days progressed her fiery stare cooled to one of guilt – a penance for subjecting you to the same fate that had befallen her. You suspected that was why she and Rhaenyra had organized this little trip; a celebratory hunt they’d called it, to commemorate the rift between your two families finally being healed. 

“Dear, dear wife,” your oldest brother slurs, goblet clutched in one hand as he staggers toward you and Helaena, groaning when he flops down on the bench next to you. “Oh, you look… ravishing,” your lips quirk up into a smirk as he drapes an arm around your shoulders, giggling and making faces at Maelor. 

“What did I tell you,” your sister says through a huff of laughter, violet eyes finding yours, “They ignore you until they’re drunk.”

If only that were the case, you think as you force yourself to laugh in time with her. 

“That is quite rude,” Aegon chastises, brows furrowed in offense while he takes a messy swig of wine, a few red drops run down his chin. “Do you see how she treats me?” He pouts, leaning closer to you with a wry grin, “The deed is done though, yes? Bastard knew where to put it?”

“Aegon!” Helaena hisses, swatting at his knee. 

The two fall into a playful round of bickering, thankfully leaving you out of it. With a sigh, you let your gaze wander again, tumbling thoughts muffling your siblings voices. 

“It’s not as hard as it looks, here,” Daemon’s voice catches your attention and you watch as he points a knife at the belly of a deer he and Lucerys had hunted earlier in the day, showing the boy where to cut, “Get your knife in there – good, like that, and now just cut downwards, one clean movement…” You glance away as blood spills from the beast’s abdomen, staining the grass below it.

Looking over the treeline, you try to ignore the sick feeling building in the pit of your stomach, though you know it won’t be settled until Aemond’s back at camp. Biting at your lip, you let out an irritated huff when you can’t make out any movement in the distance, no sign of your brother or Ser Criston, even your husband. 

You’d only spoken to Aemond once since your marriage – a hushed conversation hidden away in an alcove when the two of you had a spare moment alone after supper. He’d held you while you’d cried against the crook of his neck, shushing you and running a soothing hand up and down your back. You remember the way his jaw felt, teeth clenched as he rested it atop your head, letting you tuck yourself into him while he vibrated with barely contained rage. 

“I can’t do this, I can’t,” you lamented, peering up at him with a mournful sob as your fingers clung to the dark jacket he wore, “They’re planning on going back to Dragonstone! Dragonstone, Aem!”

“Shh, little one,” his hands had cupped your cheeks, wiped away your tears with calloused thumbs, “I’m not letting them take you.”

His words had held such conviction, you’d wanted nothing more than to believe him, yet you’d shaken your head anyway. “I don’t think there’s any stopping them, this time,” your breath had hitched with each word, “You heard Rhaenyra, they’re leaving as soon as we’re back from the hunt and she would never agree to leave Jacaerys here, never.” 

You had known you were spiraling, head spinning as you’d looked up at him, and yet the words tumbled out anyway. “I hate him, I wish he’d just… just disappear!” It was a childish little jab and yet, your heart had leapt into your throat the moment you’d said it. You were expecting to feel the clawing ache of guilt gnaw at your stomach, however, a weightlessness followed. You’d never felt lighter than in that moment – tucked away in the shadows, a secret you’d harbored since childhood finally set free.

Aemond had stayed quiet, but you saw the way his violet eye sparkled, the gears turning in his head.

Your words had echoed in his head, calling out to him like a siren’s song – the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. 

Finally convinced that the three men are truly not just going to materialize at the edge of camp, your gaze shifts to where your mother and Rhaenyra sit, huddled together beside one of the many firepits. Bouncing little Maelor on your lap, you’re vaguely aware of Aegon and Helaena idly chatting beside you, something to do with how your brother believes some such thing about the Small Council is a waste of time – a frequent complaint of his since taking the throne. 

You’re hardly listening though, head cocked to the side while you watch the two women laughing and animatedly conversing; they remind you of the young girls at court – youthful and carefree, too wrapped up in one another to notice much around them. 

That’s why she let them go together, that shadowy voice in the back of your head hisses, Too distracted to know better. You clench your jaw, only halfway aware of the stinging pain at your cuticle as you dig a nail into it.

“What say you to accompanying me on a hunt, nephew?” Aemond had asked earlier in the afternoon, voice low as he slunk over to where you, Jace, and your mothers had been sitting at one of the wooden tables, picking through a light lunch the cooks at the Keep had prepared.

“Aemond,” Alicent had sighed wearily, leaning heavily on her elbows while Rhaenyra regarded your brother with a cool indifference – evidently unaware of your family’s tensions. 

“What? I merely wish to bond with my dearest sister’s new husband.”

“Uncle,” Jace had finally spoken up, pointedly grasping one of your hands that had sat on the table, “As much as I would love to accompany you, don’t you think it a bit unwise for only the two of us to go? If I remember correctly from my youth, your father used to take a whole host of men into the woods with him…” 

“Do you not think yourself man enough to take on a measly buck, nephew?”

“Aemond!”

“Don’t fret, mother. ‘Twas only a joke, a tasteless one, I admit,” your hackles had raised at that, at how quickly he had stood down, so wholly unlike your brother, “Besides, I’ve taken the liberty of asking Ser Criston to accompany us as well.”

It was then, at the mention of the knight, that Rhaenyra had leaned closer to Alicent, the two of them laughing softly and sharing knowing glances while your half-sister whispered into her ear. 

“Surely the three of us are more than capable of subduing a deer or two, don’t you think?” 

Jace had balked at that, sighing heavily as his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly. 

“I think it sounds like a wonderful idea,” you had coached your lips into a tight smile when you interjected, “Doesn’t that sound like a lovely idea, mother?”

“Hm?” She had blinked, finally parting from Rhaenyra, the ghost of a smile still on her lips. 

“For Ser Criston to accompany Jace and Aemond, to go hunting with them.”

“Well, I –”

“Surely that would be safest, yes?” You pushed, glancing at Jace before locking eyes with Aemond, “A knight with them, a Kingsguard no less.” 

“I think it sounds like a fine idea,” Rhaenyra had smiled, squeezing one of your mother’s hands, “They should take the time to bond, no? Savor it while we’re together these last few days.” 

“Yes… yes, a fine idea,” she had immediately agreed, always swaying to your half-sister. 

“Wonderful,” your brother murmured, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he clasped his arms behind his back, “I’ll have Ser Criston ready the horses.” With that, he had stalked away, giving you one final glance. 

“You truly think this a good idea?” Your husband had questioned, turning to you while your mothers got lost in yet another hushed conversation.

“Of course!” You had nodded, clasping one of his hands in both of yours, “Aemond is… odd with his affections. This is just his way of attempting to rectify things, I’m sure of it.” 

“I suppose…,” he had sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

“It’ll be fine,” you had urged, going so far as to lean over and press a kiss against his cheek, one of the scant few times you had initiated any affections. 

Those words had echoed in your head while you watched the three men sheath their swords and load various bows and arrows onto their horses, the midday sun suddenly feeling much too warm against your skin. 

It’ll be fine, you had reminded yourself for the millionth time when they set off, horses galloping along a narrow path that led into the Kingswood, He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine. 

“Oh, shit,” Aegon whispers beside you, nearly dropping his goblet. 

You quickly follow his eyeline, looking to where he stares at one of the small paths that lead into the camp – the sight wrenching a hitched gasp from your throat. 

A hush seems to fall over the entirety of the camp, only for the quickest of seconds, before chaos erupts. Aemond stands before one of the horses, a grey one you recognize as Jace’s, steadying it while Criston pulls your husband from the saddle, smearing the side of the animal with thick streaks of red. 

Daemon quickly runs over to assist while you hastily hand Maelor back to Helaena, hardly looking in her direction as you do. 

“Jace? Jacaerys?!” Rhaenyra calls, picking up her skirts as she sprints over, violet eyes wide with terror, “What is it? What’s happened?”

Every noise sounds muffled when you make your way over to the huddle of commotion, Alicent following closely behind. A strange detached sensation fills you while you watch Criston and Daemon lay Jace down on a nearby bench, blood immediately soaking into the silk fabric of the pillows. 

It feels as if everything is happening both too quickly and too slowly all at once – a few of the other knights rush forward, hastily pulling his tunic out of the way before pressing stark white medical linens to the gaping cut on his side. They bark orders over his body, yelling for the servants to bring water and more linens. 

You feel your mother and Helaena grabbing at your arms and it’s only then you realize you’re shaking, swaying in place like a leaf on a branch; you know they’re talking to you but their words are dulled by the rushing of blood in your ears.

Somewhere in your periphery, you register the sound of Daemon’s voice, thick with desperation as he shouts question after question at Criston, “What happened? When? How? How long ago? How could you, you were supposed to protect him?!” They blend together, echoing through the haze in a roaring hum. 

Distantly, you register the feel of another warm body pressing into the small pack you find yourself a part of. Helaena shushes someone next to you and your gaze tears itself away from the pools of crimson gathering on the grass just long enough to realize that it’s Luke. Your heart breaks at that, a sharp pang in your chest at the fact that the poor boy is distressed enough to seek comfort from your family, of all places. 

“No! No, no, no!” Rhaenyra’s wails slice through the fog clouding your mind in such an exacting manner that your knees buckle, “Jace, Jace, look at me, please? Sweetling, please look at me!” She sobs, leaning over her son, one hand cradling his cheek. 

Unseeing brown eyes stare, unblinking, up at the hazy orange sky while yours focus solely on a single, paralyzing flash of violet. 

He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine. 

The Sept is eerily quiet, normal for this time of night but unsettling all the same; the occasional fizzling noises of the dozens of flickering candles is the only way you’re able to discern that time hasn’t simply halted. Pale moonlight shines in through the windows, bathing the floor in a star-shaped pool of light and making the whites of the painted eyes resting atop Jace’s face glow like beacons. 

You had picked out the stones and painted the eyes on them yourself, taking them from a spot in the gardens you knew he had favored when you were children and spent hours sourcing the pigments to make just the right shade of brown – one that reminded you of the rich chocolates that had been imported from Essos for your betrothal feast. 

“A wife’s duty,” your mother had said.

Rhaenyra had glared at you the whole time; silently, you wondered if she somehow knew it wasn’t duty that drove you – only atonement. 

Atonement, your mind echoes as you sit upon the cool stone steps beneath the Seven-Pointed Star, leaning your head against the bannister as you force yourself to look at his body, still atop black silks. 

Must one feel guilt to atone? Must I atone for not feeling it? When will it end?

Those questions had plagued you in the days since Jace died, bled out like a hunter’s boon in the field by the Kingswood. They’d settled over you like a fever, an ever-present haunting ache, made only worse by the soft, sinful voice in the back of your head that whispered the truth – that you didn’t care, that you don’t even now. 

You hadn’t cared, even as blood seeped from the gash at his side, even as you forced yourself to kneel by his still warm body and press gentle kisses to his forehead – the performance of a good wife. 

You hadn’t cared in the carriage ride back to the Keep, letting your mother and your sister hold you while you cried – I’m sad, I’m sad, I’m crying because I’m sad, I’m crying because I should be sad.

And you hadn’t cared when Aemond had come to you in the dead of night, had slipped into your chambers – your chambers – through one of the many hidden passageways in the old castle. 

“How?” You had asked, tracing patterns onto the pale skin of his bare chest while the two of you laid tangled in your silk sheets. 

“A boar,” he answered plainly, speaking through a sigh while running his fingers over the thigh you had draped across his hips, “Just as I’ve told you the last four times you’ve asked.”

“Aemond,” you sighed in that same tired tone your mother so often used; your eyes had narrowed when you saw the corner of his lips just barely twitch up into a smile; were it any other time, he would’ve made a cheeky comment about the similarity. 

“I’ve told you,” his grip tightened ever so slightly on your thigh and his other hand had grasped at your chin, guiding your eyes to his, “We had been tracking a buck, had gotten close and dismounted our horses, and had, I assume, stumbled into the beast’s territory and it charged at us.”

“Brother,” you had whispered, shaking your head and cupping his cheek, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie?” 

He had stayed silent for a long while at that, jaw clenched while he stared at some point off in the distance, lips drawn into a tight line. Eventually, you had laid your head down, resting your cheek on his shoulder while you tried to accept that you wouldn’t be getting the truth that night, if ever.

It was only then that he had spoken.

“Please, let me protect you.” 

“Protect me?” You had looked up, brows furrowed as you studied his face, “From what?”

“From the law –”

“Our brother is king, if he says it was not murder, if he says it was an accident, which he already has done, then no one will question his –”

“Fine, then,” he had snapped, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, “From the damn Gods! I…” He trailed off, sighing heavily while he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“... the Gods?”

He’d finally looked at you again and your heart had pinched meanly in your chest when you saw tears gathering in his violet eye, “They will judge me harshly for what I’ve done, whenever the time comes, but… I will not subject you to the same fate.”

You had scoffed at that, had rolled your eyes when he looked away shamefully and had climbed atop him then, straddled his hips and turned his face toward yours, “I don’t give a shit about the Gods.” 

“What?”

“I don’t,” you repeated, leaning down until your forehead touched his, “If they were good Gods, if they cared, they would not have subjected me to that sham of a marriage in the first place. They would’ve guided our mother rightly, but they didn’t.”

“Sister, I –”

“And I hate that our nephew paid for that, Aemond, I truly do, but I am the one who told you to do it.”

He had shaken his head while a mournful peal of laughter clawed its way out of his throat, “You didn’t tell me to do any–”

“Perhaps not directly,” you interjected, smiling sadly while you cupped both of his cheeks in your hands, running a thumb over the scar beneath his eye, “But I did. I could’ve told you not to, could’ve said I didn’t mean it, could’ve cautioned our mother against letting him go with you, but… I didn’t.”

“No… no, I suppose you didn’t,” he sighed, swallowing thickly as he tried in vain to blink away tears.

“I didn’t,” you echoed, your words hushed and cooed, like a mother soothing an infant, “I know what you’re capable of, I knew it then, and I didn’t.”

He nodded, his breath stuttered in his throat as a single tear rolled down his cheek. 

“Because I knew you’d protect me… and you did.” 

“I did,” he mumbled, nodding up at you as his face twisted and a small sob bubbled from his lips, “I did, I did it. I did it, I did. For you, for us.” 

“I know,” you murmured sweetly, stroking a hand over his long hair while you pressed sweet kisses against his forehead. You held him as he cried, huddled together in the dark of your chambers 

And you hadn’t cared when you realized you were smiling. 

“The hour is quite late, little one,” the suddenness of his voice makes you jump, though you settle quickly. 

“So it is,” you smile and look over your shoulder, tilting your head up while he walks down the steps to join you, “The hour of ghosts, yes? Fitting.” 

He huffs as he sits beside you before regarding you with a slight smirk, “I suppose it is,” he murmurs, only sparing the red and black draped body on the altar a passing glance.

“Why are you here?”

“I was looking for you… Hel said you would probably be here.”

“Mm,” you nod, idly running a finger over the pattern on your skirts, finding a morbid sort of beauty in the way the rich black silks glimmered in the candlelight. 

“Why are you here?” Aemond asks, eye following the line of your profile. 

“Praying.”

Without looking, you can practically feel him rolling his eye beside you, huffing a little breathy laugh again, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie, sweet sister?”

Hearing your own words from the night before parroted back to you pulls a laugh from you as well, though you wince as your giggle echoes throughout the Sept. “It’s funny,” you sigh, glancing about the cavernous space before finally looking at him, “This is the only place where no one wants to be.” 

He hums next to you and nods his head, lets the two of you sit in silence for a moment before you continue. 

“I don’t have to pretend when I’m here.” 

“Pretend?” 

Biting at your bottom lip, you nod and lean into his touch when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “That I’m sad… that I feel anything, really,” you sigh, breathing the words more so than saying them, “All Rhaenyra does is cry, Daemon is ready to strangle anything that moves, Lucerys is despondent to the point of being mute. Even our own mother cries for him and I cannot muster a single tear that isn’t a farce.”

Your eyes trail back over to Jace and you regard him with a mournful stare, staying silent for a long moment as you try to will yourself to feel sad, to feel angry, to feel guilty… yet nothing comes.

“Everyone grieves differently,” Aemond mumbles beside you, though his words only serve to make you more bitter, “Perhaps, in time –”

“In time nothing will happen,” you snap, grimacing at the harshness in your voice, “I’m not sad and I am… I’m tired of pretending I am.” You murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder. 

Aemond is quiet for a long while, though you can feel the energy radiating off of him in waves – you’ve always been able to tell when he has a lot on his mind. You’re content to simply let him think, taking his silence as a cue that it’s your turn to let him sort through things. 

“You… are happy, though? Yes?” He finally asks after several long minutes, going strangely rigid next to you as if he’s afraid of your answer, “I know you say you aren’t sad but…”

“Aemond,” you sigh, sitting up and staring at him as a slow, creeping smile spreads across your face, “I have never been happier.”

“Truly?”

“Yes!” You quickly shift yourself on the stairs, turning yourself more toward him and placing a gentle hand on top of his thigh, “Big brother, you saved me.”

He opens his mouth to speak but you don’t let him get a word in edgewise before the emotions you’ve been bottling up over the last few days finally spill over and you practically throw yourself into his lap, straddling his hips. 

“Brother, I've been tethered to him since I was eight and you have freed me from that,” you say softly, voice hardly carrying in the air. Slowly, carefully you pull his eyepatch off, the only one ever allowed to do so; there is a sadness in your smile when you gently trail your fingers over the crease of his scar, “We both lost something that night and have suffered for it ever since.”

Without another word, you press your lips to his and savor the groan your kiss pulls from him. His hands grab at your hips in the same instance yours card through his hair while your lips move together in a practiced rhythm. 

Impatient, one of your hands travels down his chest and stomach, though you hardly have time to pull at the hem of his dark tunic before he grabs your wrist, stopping you. 

“Aemond,” you huff, fighting against his grip. 

“Surely you don’t mean to defile this place in such a way,” he murmurs, violet eye sparkling as if he were challenging you, even as he glances over your shoulder, “What would your dear husband think?

You grin at the lecherous smirk on his lips, heart pounding in your chest as a familiar ache settles at the apex of your thighs. You give one final glance over your shoulder before turning back to him with a dismissive shrug. “Husband in name only,” you remind him, yanking your hand out of his grasp and trailing your fingers over the growing bulge beneath his trousers, “I have only ever been devoted to you.”

A rough growl leaves his lips and he clenches his jaw, narrowing his eye. “We will burn for this, sweet sister,” he huffs, pale cheeks flushing while he stares up at you, one hand still settled on your hip as the other comes up to cup your jaw. 

“The Seven can have their say,” your cunt clenches at the way he looks at you – surprise, lust, even reverence giving such an intensity to his gaze that it nearly knocks the wind from your lungs, “The Old Valyrian Gods can as well, I don’t care. Aemond, I don’t.”

Your hand finally, blessedly, pulls free the ties at the top of his trousers and you quickly find his length. The sharp grunt that’s wrenched from his throat when your hand wraps around it echoes through the Sept, each iteration of it making the fire in your belly burn brighter and brighter. 

He doesn’t attempt to stop you when you plunge a hand beneath the fabric of your black skirts and hastily tug your smallclothes out of the way, he merely studies you in awe, as if watching a newly hatched dragon spread its wings for the first time. His gaze makes you shiver, though you dare not look away.

“What do you care about, little one?” He murmurs suddenly, unable to help himself from glancing between your bodies, licking his lips while he watches you use your fingers to prepare yourself as you rub your own slick through your folds. 

“You,” you whisper, shuddering at the way you both gasp at the same time when you rut against his already throbbing length, “You are the only god I’ve ever worshiped, big brother.”

A loud groan bursts free of his lips at that and the hunger in his eye nearly catches you alight, and yet he still grabs at your hips tightly, preventing you from sinking onto his length – so out of his element, wholly unused to being taken in such a way. “Come, let us go to my chambers,” he tries, breathing your name against your neck as he leans up, “Where I can take you properly, hm? No risk of anyone interrupting…”

Undeterred, you simply shake your head and lean forward, pressing your lips against his in an eager, near feral kiss. It’s mostly teeth and tongues and thankfully, it’s enough to shock him into loosening his grip, just enough for you to take what you want. You bite at his bottom lip when you sink down onto his length, hard enough to taste iron, making him growl into the kiss, the sound of it deepening to a low groan at the feel of your tight cunt around him. 

The feel of his cock stretching you open somehow only gets better each time and leaves you gasping in his lap, your hands grabbing at his shoulders for leverage while you begin grinding yourself against him, impatient and ravenous. “Ohh, f-fuck,” you curse, squeezing your eyes shut while your walls flutter around him. 

Aemond’s chest heaves under your hands while he stares up at you, lips parted ever so slightly as breathy groans spill, unbidden, from them. Opening your eyes, your gaze is immediately drawn to a little smear of red beside his mouth and you lean forward – licking his pale skin clean without a second thought. 

“Little minx,” he smirks, meanly grabbing at your hips again and bucking up into you. He huffs a soft laugh at the sharp moan that bursts from you, sounding louder still in the large open space of the Sept; there’s a dangerous, challenging gleam in his eye that makes you shiver. “Go on, then,” he rasps, trailing a hand up from your hip to cup the underside of your breast, his touch warm even through the bodice of your gown, “Worship your god.”

A soft, stuttered moan wrenches itself from your lips at that and you quickly obey, staking your claim over him. As you find your rhythm, rutting wildly in his lap, the only sounds echoing off the walls are that of panted breaths and the slick, wet noises from where the two of you connect. “You’re mine,” you breathe, leaning forward to bite at his throat, determined to mark him in as many ways as possible, “Y-You’ve always been mine, Aemond.” 

He nods his head, hands scrambling at the ties on your bodice, determined to free your breasts. “I’m yours?” He taunts, sighing victoriously when he finally manages to practically rip the top of your gown open; his tongue darts out, wetting his lips at the sight of them and he allows himself a few seconds to appreciate the way they bounce so enticingly with each of your determined movements, “Show me, then… show me who I belong to, sweet sister.”

Something snaps inside you then, breaking and clicking perfectly into place all in the same breath; the feeble thing that was holding the dam inside of you shut disappears. Whatever greedy darkness Aemond has always harbored within himself has been slowly seeping into you since the night of your betrothal feast and now, it seems, it has finally settled into your bones as well. It’s as if he can sense it in the same instance you do and gives a subtle nod of his head, commanding you to give in. 

With renewed vigor, you grind against him harshly, pressing your hips as far down onto him as you can manage until you can feel his cock pressing against the entrance to your womb. The thought of him there, of the possibility of his seed catching, of the possibility that it may already have, spurs you on further. 

“I would kill for you, too,” you say lowly through clenched teeth, licking up the side of his neck until you can whisper into his ear, “I’ll do anything to have you, my love, I don’t care what it is.”

A low groan reverberates from within his chest, both of you all but snarling as you move together; his hips rut up against yours, unable to hold still any longer, and he bites a path down your neck until he reaches the softness of your breasts. You gasp as he teases at one nipple, flicking at it with the tip of his tongue while his fingers toy with the other one, only to cut yourself off with a loud moan when his lips seal around it. 

“I would burn this city to the fucking ground if that’s what… what it took, brother,” the words tumble from your lips when you card your fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head and holding him against your chest. Your head tilts down, heart pounding in your chest while you watch him savor the feel of your warm flesh in his mouth; his violet eye snaps up and his gaze bores into yours, making your cunt clutch greedily at his length. 

Feeling the knot building quickly in your belly, aided by the way your sensitive pearl brushes against the small patch of hair at the base of Aemond’s cock, you only grow more needy – craving confirmation that he is yours, that no one will be able to take him from you again. Your breath catches in your throat when you recall a conversation the two of you had had a few nights ago, the night of Jace’s death.

The two of you had been cuddled in your bed together, panting in sweat-damp sheets, when he had cupped your cheek and turned your face to his. 

“What is it?” You asked, familiar with the faraway look in his eye – God’s knew where he could’ve been in that moment.

“Marry me.”

His whispered demand had knocked the air from your lungs then, the whole world may as well have come to a grinding halt on its axis. “Aemond, we must wait, you know this. I hate it as much as you do but –”

“We need to wait for a Westerosi wedding, yes,” he murmured, leaning over you and shushing you with a soft kiss, “Too soon and it looks suspicious.”

“But –”

“But… a wedding in the tradition of our house need not wait, little one,” the determination in his eye had shocked you then, had warmed you from the inside out, “Our sister and her cunt of a husband hardly waited until Laena and Laenor were cold before they married… we could do the same.”

You had stayed quiet after that, too much death and change and uncertainty clouding your mind to give him an answer, and yet you knew he was right. Rhaenyra and Daemon had married in secret, so soon after Laenor’s sudden passing that it had always seemed a bit odd to you. Yet, no one ever questioned it; your own father had accepted it without so much as a blink, writing the marriage into law with no fuss. Aegon would do the same for you, you felt certain. 

Nothing was stopping you, nothing that mattered, anyway. 

That thought fuels you now as you rock on Aemond’s lap, both of you barreling toward your eventual ends. Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging him away from your breast despite his growl of displeasure. Just as he had with you, you cup his cheeks, focusing his attention on you. 

“Marry me.”

The rhythm of his hips hitches at your words and he fucks up into you harshly, moving you more desperately against him as another loud, guttural moan echoes through the chamber. 

“Tonight,” you continue, brows furrowing as you stare at him, greedily drinking him in, “I cannot wait any longer, brother, tonight, please…” 

A vicious, conquering smirk grows on his lips, white teeth gleaming in the low candlelight like a snarling dog. “You wish to be mine, is that it?” He teases, reaching between your two writhing bodies to rub hungrily at your pearl, savoring the pretty breathy moans he earns. 

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish speaking as an unrelenting, all consuming possessive ache starts spreading out from your heart, flowing through your blood vessels like fire. “I don’t wish it,” you pant, forehead resting against his while the wildfire burning in your belly threatens to burn you whole, “I told you, I would kill for you and… and, fuck, I swear it. A-Aemond, no one will have you ever again, never, none except me…”

Your words descend into a barely intelligible murmur as you finally let go, pushed suddenly over the edge at the thought of being so tightly bound together that no one would be able to tear the two of you apart again. Your brother growls again at the feel of your cunt pulsing around him, the movements spurring him toward his own end. 

He grabs at you when he follows you into oblivion, holding you against him as if you’d disappear otherwise. The feel of his spend spilling into you, filling you, nearly sends you over the edge again and you cling to him just as harshly, holding him while he trembles beneath you. 

“You are a vicious little thing,” he says softly after some minutes, holding you against his chest while the two of you catch your breaths.

“I learned from the best.”

He only sighs at that but you don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling. “I would do it again for you,” he mumbles, eye fixed on Jace, “I would do it a thousand times over.”

He speaks in a reverent whisper, promises of death and destruction as sweet as a prayer on his lips. 

Aemond’s hand is warm in yours as he leads you through the winding corridors below the Red Keep, the flickering light from the torches lining the walls making the various statues and reliefs dance in your periphery. 

“I’ve always hated that he’s down here, stowed away,” he murmurs, yet his voice still carries some among the stone hallways.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, glancing into each shadowy alcove you come across while you try to ignore the wild beating in your chest – the way your heart clenches at the thought of finally being so close to what you’ve always wanted. “Yes, he should be out in the sun, somewhere he can be celebrated.”

The old cellars under the Keep have always seemed so haunting to you, so cold and empty. The thought of the walls down here being lined with the ashen remains of generations upon generations of your ancestors had never failed to send a shiver down your spine. Yet, they unfold before you now like paradise; even the still, musty air begins to smell as sweet as honeyed wine. 

For the briefest of seconds, guilt joins you – walks alongside you, invisible like the Stranger. A stuttered heartbeat, that’s all and then it’s gone, at the thought that Jace would join them tomorrow, still warm from Vermax’s fire. 

How ironic, you think, glancing up at your brother and admiring the way the light gleams on his sapphire eye, That a place that holds so much death would be where our lives finally begin.

“I don’t want to wait any longer,” you’d said again, retying your bodice while Aemond tucked himself back into his trousers and searched for his eyepatch.

“Nor do I,” he agreed, stuffing the small scrap of fabric into a pocket – the streets of King’s Landing would be deserted enough at this time of night that he could get away without wearing it. “Tensions are bound to rise after tomorrow, after everything is said and done; I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

You had nodded and followed him out of the Sept, through one of the many old, forgotten tunnels that only a scant few knew existed, the list of which definitely didn’t include the guards stationed at the front of the building who had escorted your carriage earlier that evening. 

While he had helped you onto the back of his horse, the two of you shared a knowing look, each of you already thinking the same thing. 

Turning down one final corridor, your heart thuds in your chest as you’re finally met with Balerion’s petrifying gaze and, just like every other time you’d been in his presence, a little huff of reverence leaves you. Your eyes dance over the rows of his razor sharp teeth, gleaming in the glow of dozens of candles, and you can’t help but imagine the horrors those jaws have inflicted, the pain they wrought while subduing the continent – all in your family’s name. 

“Targaryens have always taken what we’ve wanted,” Aemond murmurs beside you, staring up at the gargantuan skull with just as much respect as you are, “Tamed our desires in fields of fire.”

“And rivers of blood,” you turn your heads at the same time, soft smiles on your lips when your eyes meet, like you’re sharing sweet words of love rather than painting pictures of horrors. 

Perhaps that is what wrath is for us, you wonder, your eyes flicking between violet and sapphire when you turn toward your brother, What is death if not the sweetest of devotions?

He takes your hands in his, glancing down when your fingers intertwine before looking back up at you; you can feel yourself blushing under his intense gaze, heart squeezing in your chest as he looks at you like that in and of itself is an honor. There’s such softness in his eye, you would think him incapable of violence if you didn’t know better. 

“You truly wish for this?” He questions one last time, needing to be sure. 

“I’ve told you, I do not wish,” your hands squeeze his, “I need this, Aemond… I would kill for you, for this – for us. Anything, just as you did.” 

Your voice trembles when you speak, the intensity of your hushed promises making your head spin because you would. The want you feel, that you have always felt, is not some soft yearning thing. It’s not so simple as some mere whisper uttered in the dead of night at a holy altar while your skin is awash with the glow of candlelight, no. 

No, your want is something far more insidious – something deep-seated. An oppressive, clinging thing that has always coaxed you further and further down into that shadowy part of yourself; the part that has always reminded you too much of him. 

The demon, lurking in your periphery, that has always begged you to look, has tempted you since childhood with the sweetest of promises, finally rejoices. 

Aemond nods, a satisfied smile pulling at the corner of his lips, and you watch as he lets go of one of your hands to unsheath his dagger. The sight of the worn leather handle makes you smile bashfully, though your core clenches all the same, and you gasp when you feel another drop of his seed soak into your smallclothes. 

“You know the words?”

Again, he nods and your head cocks to the side curiously when a wash of pink grows on his pale cheeks; he smiles again and fixes you with that same intense stare. “I used to spend hours reading them, over and over, when we were children,” he whispers, leaning closer to you like he’s revealing some deep, dark secret, “I always wanted to get them perfect for you.” 

A little peal of laughter echoes through the cellars before you swallow thickly, trying to tamper the tightness at the back of your throat as the backs of your eyes sting, tears pooling in your waterline. He cups your cheek and you smile when he brushes one away, a pleased hum leaves his lips when you nod. 

Aemond raises the dagger, glancing between its shining blade and your lips while you ready yourself, one hand clenching at the black silk of your skirts. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises. 

You hold stock-still, gasping when he presses the cool edge of it against your lower lip, yet your eyes don’t leave his when he finally cuts – nicking your delicate flesh just enough to draw blood before offering you the dagger. Grasping it, you mirror his steps exactly, just as careful with him. 

Setting the dagger to the side, you both reach up at the same time, swiping a thumb over your own lip before reaching out. Your arms intertwine when you brush each other’s foreheads, leaving behind two crimson lines. 

His gaze never breaks from yours as he takes the blade again and carefully cuts his palm, holding it out to you again and waiting while you do the same, gasping at the sharp sting. Finally, the two of you join hands, blood mingling together as a few drops of it splatter on the stone floor as Balerion bears witness to your union. 

“Hen lantoti ānogar, va syndroti vāedroma, mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr,” he recites, murmuring the words with care, making sure to enunciate each syllable, to make the vows unmistakeable to whichever ghosts may be listening, “Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteksi, hen jeny māzīlarion,” (Blood of two, joined as one, ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires, a future promised in glass.)

Aemond pauses, taking a breath as he squeezes your hand with his, echoing your smile.

“Qēlossa ozūndesi, syndroro ōñō jēdo, ry kīvia mazvestraksi,” he finishes, all but breathing the last few words as his eye grows misty. (The stars stand witness, the vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.)

The two of you stand still for a moment like you’re waiting for the world to crash down around you and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours as your palms press together, both of you seemingly in shock at finally, finally having everything you’ve ever wanted. 

You can’t tell who moves first but suddenly you’re crashing against him, dagger clanging as it hits the floor, while the two of you clutch at one another desperately, uncaring of the blood smearing on your clothes. 

Your lips press against his like they’re a lifeline and you moan at the touch, swiping your tongue over his while you grab at the lapels of his jacket. His hands cup your cheeks, staining one with red, before carding through your hair. 

“Gods,” he groans, resting his forehead against yours while the two of you pant, breathing out soft laughs. “My little wife…” He says the word slowly, lets it drag over his tongue. 

“Husband,” you reply between soft kisses to his cheek, head spinning at how a word that once had to be dragged from you, that had scraped against your skin like thorns, now felt like silk slipping cooly over you. 

Your brother growls deep in his chest and his eye flutters shut for a second before his hands are at your waist again and he’s walking you backwards, only a few paces, until you’re pressed against one of the stone columns surrounding the great dragon’s skull. Though your landing is soft, it wrenches a gasp from you all the same but you don’t have time to question his intent before his lips are on yours again.

You moan into the kiss, matching each of his deep groans with one of your own as your tongues tangle together. “Aemond,” you pant when he begins trailing kisses down across your jaw and neck, “What –”

He nips at your cleavage then and you can feel him smirking at the loud whine he pulls from you, soothing the skin after with a sweet kiss before sinking to his knees before you. The sight is enough to make you weak – the man that loves you more than eternity itself, who loves you enough to do terrible, monstrous things, kneeling at your feet and staring up at you like you are his salvation. 

Your hands tangle in his soft hair while he pulls at your skirts, pushing them up and out of the way, kissing your thighs as he goes. “You had the chance to worship at your altar, sweetest little wife,” he pants, groaning when he pushes your smallclothes to the side and licking his lips at the sight of your cunt, still wet with your combined spend, “Now let me worship at mine.”

That’s the only warning you get before he dives in, lapping at your center with a loud, satiated growl. Your head thuds back against the column while your eyes are fixed, half-lidded, on Balerion, on the fire that surrounds him. 

You understand, then – the curtains of fire that blanketed the continent were necessary to conquer it, just as blood was necessary to bind the two of you. Perhaps one day you’ll be called to answer for that, but even then you would do it a thousand times over; even if the dark, shadowy parts of yourself, of him, lead to the deepest pits of the Seven Hells. You would do it, again and again, for him. 

You were always meant to burn together.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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[dixons-sunshine]

Heal | Daryl Dixon x Mutant!Fem!Reader

A/N: Requested by @tempobaekh. I hope you like it!

Your supernatural powers were no secret to the members in your group. Your ability to move things with your mind had not been something anyone in your group feared. In fact, when you had used it to save everyone back at the quarry, that knowledge made you more valuable to the group. You could help better protect everyone than essentially anybody else, and that had secured your place in the ragtag group of survivors.

However, there was one thing you had yet to tell everyone about; your ability to heal faster than anyone else, but that secret was about to be revealed.

“What the fuck?”

“I was hoping you would have an explanation for me, Rick.”

“I have no idea, Hershel. This is—I don’t know what this is.”

“Perhaps Daryl would know? The two of them appear to be rather close.”

“Yeah, they’re together. If there’s anyone that would know, it has to be him.”

With a groggy, exhausted groan, you lolled your head to the side. Slowly, you opened your eyes, and as your eyes adjusted, you saw the concerned yet bewildered faces of Rick Grimes and Hershel Greene. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, trying to push yourself up, but Hershel stopped you.

“Don’t,” he advised you with a stern gentleness. “Don’t move just yet.” When you complied with his request, he continued. “What do you remember, Y/N?”

It was as if his words were the key that was needed to open the metaphorical gate in your mind. In an instant, all the memories flooded into your mind, making realization dawn on you. The run. Getting shot by one of the Governer’s men. The bullet grazing your temple. And then nothing.

“Getting shot,” you replied, your voice hoarse from the lack of hydration. “And then nothing. I think I passed out.”

“You did,” Rick confirmed. He stepped forward and peered down at you, a thoughtful expression on his face. “We saw that bullet graze your head. We thought we had lost you.”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him. You pushed yourself up again, this time without protest from the doctor. “I’m fine, really. Fit as a fiddle.”

“That’s the thing, though,” Hershel chimed in. “You weren’t when you were brought in a few minutes ago. You were on the verge of death, but now there’s no wound in sight. If I hadn’t seen the blood pool from your head myself, I would have assumed the bullet hadn’t touched you at all.”

Oh. You forgot that you did not tell anyone—well, except for Daryl—about your regenerative ability. It was not that you did not want anyone to know, it was just that it had slipped your mind. You had been lucky enough over the past year to not have sustained an injury big enough to be a cause for concern, so there had been no reason to alert anyone to that. The only reason Daryl even knew in the first place was because he had witnessed a scrape heal within minutes up close and personal a few months prior, and you had explained to him why.

Well, you thought to yourself, guess the cat’s out of the bag now.

“I heal super fast. It’s part of my powers.” That was the most basic explanation you could come up with. If you had to explain it to them on a scientific level, in the way the people who experimented on you explained it to you, you all would be there for days.

“How? How’s that even possible?” Rick inquired, his brows furrowed together.

“I don’t know. It just is.”

“Alright, m’pretty sure y’all have a lot’a questions, but save ‘em for later, yeah? Healin’ abilities or not, s’still the safest bet to let her rest for now. Right, Doc?”

Involuntarily, you found yourself smiling at the sound of Daryl’s voice. The archer’s ocean-coloured eyes locked with your eyes, and he sent you a small, lopsided smile in return. He knew how overwhelmed you could get when talking about your powers and how you got them, acutely aware of the fact that it was a time in your life you were not particularly fond of, so he knew it was better if you had the time to gather your thoughts and prepare yourself before you got bombarded with questions.

“He’s right,” Hershel agreed. He placed a gentle hand on Rick’s shoulder, urging him back, before shifting his attention back to you. “Get some rest, Y/N. That’s about the only thing I’m certain you need.”

“Thanks, Hershel,” you replied. You watched as Rick and Hershel pushed past Daryl, who had been leaning against the doorframe of your cell. When you were certain the two of you were alone, you spoke up again. “Thank you.”

Daryl nodded, before pushing himself away from the door. He walked over to you and sat on the chair next to your bed, and leaned forward to take your hand in his, a rare show of affection for the archer. He brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your knuckles.

“M’real glad yer alright, Sweetheart,” he murmured. “If it weren’t for yer weird as shit healin’ thing, ya could’a died. Hell, if that asshole had better aim, he could’a shot ya clean in the brain. Pretty sure ya can’t heal from that.”

“No, I can’t,” you confirmed with a sad smile. “But I’m fine, Dar. I promise.” When Daryl simply sighed and ducked his gaze to the floor, you took it upon yourself to lighten the mood a bit. Using your telekinesis, you brought his chair closer to the bed, laughing lightly when he flailed to grip the chair to stop from falling. “Sorry. I should have warned you I was gonna do that.”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah, s’fine. M’guessin’ that’s somethin’ m’gon’ have to get used to.”

“Yeah,” you giggled. You shared a smile with Daryl, and the look he sent you had you all warm on the inside. “What?” you questioned, suddenly feeling shy under his intense gaze.

“Nothin’.”

“Just admiring the view?”

“Yeah,” Daryl said, smiling softly, before sighing. “M’glad yer okay. Ya really have no idea.”

“Me too. I’m glad, too.”

[solemnvelvetangel]

"One kiss is all it takes" - Where BSD men like to be kissed

Notes:

July 3rd, 2024

Characters included: Osamu Dazai, Chuya Nakahara, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol, Tecchou Suehiro, Sigma

Word Count: 578

GN! Reader

Content Warning: Body insecurity in Dazai's part, minor haphephobia (fear of being touched) in Fyodor's part, Tecchou and Nikolai being horrifically down bad.

Self-indulgent. May do a part two?

___

Osamu Dazai: Neck

Good lord-

His neck is long and thin, the skin is often red and irritated because of the bandages rubbing on them.

However, his neck is also very sensitive.

He feels shivers run down his spine if you kiss there.

Growing up, one of his insecurities was his body being very skinny, especially his neck.

So, feeling someone kissing him there is… Oddly healing to him.

Kissing on his neck is something that he craves on a daily basis.

Chuya Nakahara: Lips

Chuya is a simple man who likes to be kissed on the lips.

One kiss to the lips by his partner will have him down for the count.

If you bite his lip, his brain will explode.

He has no issue kissing you in front of people, they can stare if they want.

His lips are very soft, he always has chapstick on hand.

If you run your fingers through his hair and give it a slight tug while kissing him, his heart might give out right then and there.

Fyodor Dostoevsky: Back of the hand

I often pictured Fyodor having very large hands, as well as him having very long fingers.

They’re so pretty, how can anyone not kiss them?

When you first kissed his hand, he got chills and his heart started racing.

He genuinely thought he was sick or dying.

Typically, He doesn’t like to be touched because it disgusts him, but… he can make a few exceptions.

The feeling of your lips on his skin makes him weak.

He’ll melt if you kiss the back of his hand and slowly make a trail of kisses to the tips of his fingers.

Nikolai Gogol: Forehead

You would figure a mischievous person like himself would always be down to steal a kiss on the lips or on the neck, but… he actually likes to be kissed on the forehead.

He himself is not really sure why he prefers it over anywhere else to be kissed.

If you slowly push back his bangs before you do it, he’s gone.

If he’s sitting down and you tilt his chin upwards to get a better reach to give him a kiss on the forehead, he’s gone.

Call him a “pretty boy” or a “good boy” and kiss him on the forehead after? Gone.

To be honest, he’s gone if you kiss him anywhere in general.

Tecchou Suehiro: Lips

Tecchou is nothing more than a simple man who loves to be kissed on the lips.

He’s subtle about it, but he’ll always find an excuse to get a kiss from you.

He could kiss you all day, if you’d let him.

This man will kiss you on the lips like he is starved.

A hand pulling you in by the waist, the other on your cheek as he deepens the kiss...

His lips are so unbelievably soft.

If you tease him by acting like you're going to kiss his lips and then swerving to kiss his cheek or forehead or literally anywhere else, he gets mad.

Sigma: Cheek

Sigma loves being kissed on the cheek.

To best explain: it feels like praise in the form of physical affection to him.

Giving him a couple rapid kisses in a row on his cheeks will have him flustered.

When you kiss him on the cheek, he will always give one back.

If he’s sitting in a chair and you come up behind him, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and give him a kiss on the cheek from behind, it will have his heart racing.

[soodoonimin]

Logan Howlett and animal instincts (or in other words my long winded analysis of a comic book character)

So before I start, just know that I have read a lot of comics but I don't know everything. I can take notes all day long but I have a bad memory and comics are confusing so please be nice and enjoy, this took a lot of effort to put together, it’s mostly my thoughts on the character as I read the the comic books. The movie character is a lot different and I will also probably do something like this for movie Logan as well (though it will be significantly shorter).

Also there are some pictures that have blood and body horror so beware.

What does it mean to be human? Well that's a question we as humans have been trying to answer since we could think to ask it and ever since then we've never been able to give a fully conclusive answer. Why? you may ask, well because think about it like this, the traits we most often associate with humanity (higher thinking, creativity, empathy, and love) may not and some times do not always exists solely within us when applied to fiction, we write whole stories about how robots can be human too, how aliens can be human etc etc as long as they have these traits (more or less) AND LOOK I'm not going to get into a whole philosophical discussion about the nature of humanity on Tumblr.com but I do want to take a second to talk about how those traits are applied to Logan and how he has to fight to prove his humanity.

So mutants are an oppressed people but being a mutant isn't always the same for everyone. You can be a mutant like Rouge who can kill people with a single touch or mutant like Storm who can bend the weather to your will (the most obvious example). You can be a mutant like Jean with no obvious physical signs of your mutation or you can be a mutant like Kurt, where 9/10 people think you’re a demon of some kind.

But what happens when you're a mutant like Logan Howlett? I mean you look human enough, sure you're a little more hairy than most people, you have fangs, you smell, and oh yeah the claws but those are retractable so overall....you're just a normal person right? Nothing you can’t hide, right? Yeah, for the most part, yeah. But there are a couple of other things about you that someone might not know from looking at you, you have an extraordinary healing factor, you have almost animal like senses and when you are pushed to your absolute brink you go into a monstrous like a rage and kill everything in sight.

For every gift Logan was born with theres a very real curse attached to each one.

Healing Factor: Logan still feels pain, the healing factor isn’t just limited to his body but it also messes with his memories, and more importantly he’s lived a very long life. In The End comic and Old Man Logan comic etc, when he’s out lived most of the world, he’s miserable.

Keen senses: Seems great, until they’re exploited, imagine what being able to smell and see and hear that well all the time without relief must be like. Imagine not being able to tell when someone is going to die? Or when they’re lying or when they haven’t showered etc. sure you might get used to it like you might get used to pain but that doesn’t make it pleasant.

Claws: Need to really touch on this one? Aside from the obvious please remember that Logan’s claws aren’t in his knuckles but in his fucking forearms so when using them he needs to make an effort to direct them or….

Berserker rage: great to get you out of a pinch but you can’t control it. (We’ll talk more about this later)

Most people don’t see these very real downsides of Logan’s mutation, they just see a small, angry guy, who’s good at fighting and can take a hit better than almost anyone.

Here’s what worse, a lot of people (X-men included) don't see, they don't all the ways Logan hates himself (and those who do don’t see the depths of that hate he has for himself). They don't see the scared little boy whose father was killed in front of him. They don't see that little boy who killed his father's murderer and was abandoned by all but one person for one person (Rose). They don't see the young man who accidentally killed his first love while trying to protect her from his brother. They don't see the man who lived a relatively miserable life being plucked up by a group of people who only saw him as something to be experimented on. They don’t see the man who believes that if he loves someone he's destine to hurt them in one way or another because he has multiple times over (even if it wasn’t always his fault). They don’t see that for all the times that they call Logan an animal, he already believes them and he’s called himself worse many times over.

(Deep down he truly believes he deserves be to alone, especially in death. That would be his “deserved” hell. Eternal loneliness.)

Which is funny because I think Logan goes back and forth in deciding on whether or not he has any humanity in him in the first place. See in the Black, White and Blood comic, the FIRST story told in this series, is an account of Logan’s time at Weapon X and we get this…interaction:

Pourquoi tu me fais ça?///Why are you doing this to me? This "monster" asks him this on the cusp of death....

(Moments during the Weapon X program, be they real memories or not, when Logan’s humanity shone through)

And THIS almost immediately snaps him out of mind control he's under going. I don't know if he understood the words per say but I think even if he didn't, he still understood the plea on a human level. Because it wasn’t Weapon X who responded, it wasn’t the berserker, or Wolverine. It was Logan Howlett. It was a moment of humanity that broke the conditioning he’d been put through that answered that plea and stopped him. Because if you think about it, if these two memories actually are real, that means that Logan recognized this plea as the same one gave to the scientists. Now determining what did or didn't happen during the Weapon X program is difficult to parse out because they implanted false memories. BUT regardless of that there was always a part of him that held onto his humanity. But I think that just adds to the horror of it all. Imagine not being able to know what memories are yours and which ones are not? So let me ask, even if those memories are “false” does that make them any less real? Does that mean that Logan suffered any less under their stewardship? He was still kidnapped, he was still experimented on, still tortured. He still had the adimantium grafted onto his bones, he was still made into a living puppet and was still seen as nothing more than a weapon, an animal, a monster by the very people who were doing all of this to him and in some respects they are the reason he is seen as a monster by others.

At the end of that comic (where he was momentarily snapped out of his conditioning) he states that no his humanity wasn’t stolen from him but he still lives with that guilt of everything he can’t remember and the things he can remember are unreliable.

I know a lot of people haven’t read the comics so I’m not trying to do annoying about it BUT if you get the opportunity to PLEASE go read The Weapon X comic (by Berry Windsor-Smith) & Wolverine’s first limited series run (by Chris Claremont).

I specifically say that second one because I think the story that’s told is probably one of the more interesting told for Logan because of the relationship he has with Yukio and Mariko. I’m not going to get too deep into it because I really think you should read it for yourself but the basic outline of it is that where Mariko loves the man, Yukio loves the “monster”. And when he’s initially trying to court Mariko it’s his attempts to in a sense to court humanity but he fails and when he turns to Yukio. And for her part it’s not just as simple as her loving the “monster” but more than she goads it out of him, for thematic reasons and plot reasons. But needless to say, they both love Logan but they both love an incomplete version of him. (It’s a really good story and it’s literally what sold me on the idea of reading through any of the older comics.)

Anyway, (in the comics and movies especially) some people solely see him as a man with an uncontrollable side that they’d run from at the first sign of aggression and others only want that animalistic side and don’t love the man that Logan is. The thing is, he is both of those things. Think about it like this. As humans we like to think ourselves above the food chain, we like to think of ourselves as *more* than animals. And sure we’re definitely one of the most successful species of animals on Earth and we definitely don’t act on instincts in the same way most animals do, we’ve created society and rules and we do things a lot different than other animals but we are still animals.

So Logan isn’t both a man and an animal anymore than you or me. But he is a man that is more in touch with those animal instincts than the rest of us (bc of his mutation). Which I think is why when he does act on those instincts, people see him as less, because we (yes even comic book characters for this argument) only seem associate those traits with animals, with something lesser than ourselves.

The thing is, being “an animal” doesn’t need to be an insult or a condemnation of any kind. Humans are still animals but humans are still kind, and caring, humans have still created beautiful art and music and food and architecture and have got to the stars will probably go beyond the stars all while still being an “animal”.

So I think where most people get hung up on word “animal” is because it has such a negative connotation when applied to humans. And thus that negative connotation basically perpetuates itself so the only time we call other humans animals is when we mean to attack their humanity.

So back to Logan. Imo, there is no better example of this than the way people, Logan included, treat his (and subsequently him) berserker rage. Logan describes it as a monster that shares his soul, something else inside him, the real thing that makes him a monster, something that he doesn’t like, something he’s scared of, something he can’t always control but that he does everything in his power to keep away from the people he loves. Because Logan doesn’t like to kill, he doesn’t like hurting people. He might be good at it, he might be known for it but that doesn’t mean he likes it. Even when he thinks death is a deserved punishment, he isn't ever happy about having to kill. And he even says as much at one point in the comics.

And as a real quick aside, but this is almost exactly what sets him apart from Victor Creed. They're both men whose mutation gives them heightened animal like traits. The only difference is that Logan is ashamed of those parts of himself especially when they pertain to violence where Victor likes it, enjoys it; he goes out of his way for violence.

(If there is more to Victor Creed than meets the eye please tell me bc I gotta say I don’t actually know too much about him except that any time I see him in any Wolverine media I immediately laugh bc I know the two around to brawl. And I’m almost never wrong lmao)

And mind you there are times when Logan is also a hammer in the sense that he tends to punch his way through most of his problems. But he doesn't go out of his way for it in the same way Victor does despite having every reason to.

Logan has killed people but unlike Victor he isn't a killer. Even if that's what he's "the best at".

So when he goes into this specific rage that labels him a monster (an animal) it’s almost always in front of someone he loves and it’s almost always in a moment when he’s trying to prove his humanity (when it’s being used thematically and not for plot convenience). Like if you go read the comics 9 times out 10 when Logan is being called a monster or animal by some scientist or an enemy looking to humiliate him. But it’s almost always in the mitts of a life or death situation. A situation that anyone would fight light hell to get out of even with an amazing healing factor like Logan’s.

Because he still feels pain.

He still wants to survive.

He still feels.

And at the end of it all, he feels ashamed and horrified with himself and he'll always have to live with that guilt and shame. There's a point in one of the comics when he describes his heart as being slower to heal than the rest of his body and I think its interesting because although that story he's talking more from a "heart broken" sense. I also think that can apply just as equally to idea that it also harder for him to heal from not just heart break but also from shame and guilt. In certain situations, it takes longer for him to forgive himself emotionally because he suffers physically in the short term. He’ll never have a physical scar of his wrong doing and so he carries the emotional weight of it with him.

But also because he isn't just dealing with himself. In those moments when he comes out of that rage, the people he loves are in shock and are scared because they saw the “monster” and some people do reject it and in so they reject him and although rejection is something Logan thinks he deserves, it doesn’t make that pain hurt any less. it doesn't make it any easier to heal just because you agree with them, and in a way I think that's what slows down that healing process. Logan's inability to forgive himself.

Because that's the thing, Logan, would rather be scared of himself than forgive himself, be it because of his past trauma or because of the Weapon X program (which in the Weapon X comic it’s implied if not outright stated that the scientist at Weapon X are the reason he feels the fear he does about himself). Logan is scared of no one on Earth more than the man he sees in the mirror. And that’s because in his lowest moments when he looks in the mirror he doesn't see a man, instead he sees an animal, a monster. He doesn’t need the rest of the world to tell him what he already thinks of himself, it just doesn’t help that he has a choir of voices that are sometimes louder than his own telling him his worst fear is real. He is the monster that hides under his own bed but the problem is, while the monster is 'real' is a physical sense, it does not share a soul with him anymore than the boogeyman does. He wrestles with himself. Somedays he believes he's a man like anyone else and other days he can't drown out the voices telling him he's nothing more than a monster.

And as my last touch on the beserker rage, I want to posit my own theory about it. Personally believe to some extent that it isn’t part of his natural mutation and that instead it’s something that was “given” to him by the Weapon X program. The reason I say this is because I think it would make a lot of sense that like the adimantium claws and false memories it would make sense to give you “weapon” this uncontrollable rage (that mostly comes out in times of great duress). Not just because it would be one more thing Weapon X has taken from him (control over his own emotions/body) but also because wouldn’t that just make sense on the side of the people who ran the project? That your living puppet have a fail safe of sorts in case it ran into something bigger than itself? During the Weapon X comic, the scientist are constantly surprised by how resilient he is and even though some of this surprise happens in a false memory, they really do believe they can kill him at one points so if they thought they could kill him, why not something else? Why not give their investment insurance? And what better insurance for an animal than monstrous rage. 

But of course none of this is even to talk about the kind of person Logan really is. The thing that I think most people (in the comics) tend to ignore about Logan, in favor of focusing on his rough exterior (and some of his more questionable characteristics) is that he really does have a heart of gold. Now do not get me wrong, he can do some pretty fucked up shit (I will not talk about the Jean and Scott love triangle bc it gives me a migraine) but he does regularly do things that show how much empathy he has. That show that despite what he (or the rest of the world) might think, he isn’t a monster. The best examples of this are his relationships and more specifically the relationships where he’s a father/mentor. Like his relationship with Kitty Pryde and Jubilee, two kids that he basically adopts/takes under his wing and constantly goes out of his way for. Some of you might remember this post and the reason Logan does eventually fuck Wade’s shit up is because Wade literally punches the ever living shit out of Kitty in front of Logan. In another comic issue (after this), Logan beats the shit out of Wade again for punching Kitty, it’s funny but it also just goes to show that he does take protection of his family seriously. And mind you he doesn’t hunt Deadpool down, he find him by sheer plot coincidence when he’s getting a book signed for Kitty and the author just so happened to be Deadpool’s mark.

And mind you, Logan does have love for his own kids (Laura and Daken) despite the troubled nature of both this relationships but again those are a little more complicated. That’s partially for plot reasons but also because they play into just how much Logan hates himself that he struggles active show the same love for his adopted family to his “blood” family (again with Daken it’s a lot more complicated) but I also think that not only are his relationships with them fraught because of how much he hates himself but because both Laura and Daken were experimented on just and manipulated like he was (and in Daken’s case by a major player of Weapon X) so while he does love them past his own self hatred, they are also a reminder of his deepest traumas. It’s not their fault and it’s not necessarily Logan’s fault either, it’s just the cards their characters were dealt. (I haven’t read any comics with them yet so once I do I will most likely write my thoughts on his relationship with them each individually)

Regardless, Logan, depsite what he’d like you to think, is a deeply loving, empathetic and loyal person and this doesn’t just extend to people who considers family:

(Logan says this a man who not only a few issues ago was trying to kill him and his partner/friends. He saved Roughouse (the character he went berserk on a few pictures ago) because he was being experimented on in a way not too dissimilar to the way he had been by Weapon X. And if I remember correctly this is before he even knows how he got the adimantium in his bones)

He is James 'Logan' Howlett. He is a man whose life was stolen from him so many times over. He is a man who believes that the worse parts of him are all that matter and fails (or refuses) to see the good he has done in the lives of the people he cares about and believes that only death will truly bring him peace. He is someone who despite his flaws can’t help but to be kind. He is someone who fights like hell for what he believes is right. And even if he believes he’s a monster, even if the world believes he’s a monster, he will try to do the right thing because although he knows his soul is damned that doesn’t mean that exempts him from doing what good he can. He is someone who gives and good as he gets and then some. He’s the best at what he does but for him, that isn’t alway what he thinks it is.

And I think that’s the beauty of Logan as a character. Someone whose life is so wrought with tragedy and yet he is someone who can’t help but to be kind, someone who can’t help but love and care and find the humanity in the world despite the world seeming to be hellbent on taking his humanity away. Even though he (and many people in universe) might disagree with me, he is not only a one of the best humanity has to offer but he is also a shining example of the tenacity of the human spirit.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Me, Us, and You

Synopsis: You've been used one too many times, and find comfort in the arms of those you love.

Foul Legacy x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Comfort Warnings: Mentions of being used as an emotional outlet

~ * ~

“Hey… why do people like using me?” Foul Legacy looks up from the chunk of crystal he was batting around, tilting his head curiously. You catch his gaze, inquisitive and concerned, and sigh. “…Sorry. It’s nothing.” He frowns with a quiet trill. Not good- he’s seen this habit before, your way of pushing down your emotions, never speaking a word. Legacy shakes out his fur, rising to his feet and crossing the room before plopping down beside you, chittering in worry. His claws knead against the carpet, nudging and pushing up against you gingerly until you finally huff out a laugh and weakly shove him back. “…You get what I mean." He does. Far too well. He’s seen it happen, from behind a corner as Childe; idly twirling a coin between his fingers, walking up to meet you at your favorite restaurant, or merely happening to pass by on the street.

One, two, three. Then more. The number of times that you’ve been treated as a mere outlet. You’re too kind for your own good, too patient, too understanding. Why can’t you get angry? Why don’t you tell off the people who start using you as an object to vent their emotions to- or at least tell them no? Instead you just smile and nod, offer your advice even when you don’t know what to say since you don’t even know your own feelings and what they mean, but you try so, so hard to lift them up, help them feel strong, better, braver. And they do. They smile again, nod, laugh. Sometimes they take your advice, sometimes they just want someone to agree with them. Whatever the case, they leave lighter, and you leave with a new burden in your arms. It’s fine. You don’t mind carrying it for them, as long as they’re happier- you insist that it makes you happy if they are, too. But inside it still hurts, knowing you only exist when someone needs you to listen. When you need to fulfil a certain role or do something for someone.

They started getting used to it, too. Pulling you into conversations as innocently as a lamb only to pour forth a tidal sea of issues and frustration. They cry and rant and yell and scream and then pat you on the back with a smile with a see you soon and talk to you later. One even paused, looking at your tapping fingers, your focused expression, and told you to write things down. So you could remember them for later, if more things came up- we wouldn’t want you to forget, now would we? A pause, a strained smile, as you fished a notebook and pencil from your bag. It made dread coil in your chest, a heavy weight over your heart. That’s right. You only matter as long as you have use.

There’s a croon, and you blink, shaken from your daze. Foul Legacy stares down at you, crystalline eye wide and anguished. No. No, no, no- he hates that you think of yourself like that, as someone, something to be used. He crawls towards you, cupping your face in his claws and letting out a soft, saddened warble. His wings twitch and flutter, curling in your direction as if he wants nothing more than to cuddle you close and shield you from all the dreadful things in the world, because he does, his instincts scratching at his skull and hissing, biting, gnashing the source of your hurt, trying to vanquish it in battle and make it disappear. Protect. Heal. Love.

Legacy squeezes you a bit tighter, pressing your head against his lavender fluff, grown soft with how much you brush and fawn over it. You think he’s beautiful- you’ve told him before, time and time again. Beautiful, lovely, wonderful- why can’t you see how amazing you are, too? How much you help, how much you matter? Even if anyone else can’t see past their own nose, he knows how much you deserve to be showered with gratitude and affection. His gentle nuzzles shift and crackle lightly, turning to soft skin, scarred hands massaging your arms. Childe presses his forehead to yours, his despair on par with Foul Legacy’s, murmuring frantic words of reassurance filled with tears. Nothing, nothing, nothing. That’s all you ever call your feelings, your wants and needs. You’ve spent so long supporting others that you can’t even remember anything you desire, truly, nothing at all. He caresses your cheek, looking deep into your eyes with an oceanic gaze. Please, tell him something you want. Anything. Please. You shudder, and desperately reach your arms to him. Childe meets you halfway, wrapping you in a firm, tight hug and pressing his face against your shoulder.

He wants to give you everything, yet he knows what you need most is someone you can just exist with, not to help, not to complete a task for them, but just to be in their- his- presence. If you listen to his woes, ever, not even the Archons would be able to stop him from listening to yours, because you deserve it. Friendships go both ways, the world seems to have forgotten. Childe was your friend first, and he’s your friend now, and your love, your Harbinger, your sweet, monstrous Foul Legacy, and he adores you with every fiber of his being. Childe peppers kisses over your face, one hand human, the other armored talons, both him and his Abyssal half comforting you. Yes, they get what you mean. They get what you mean all too well, aching and weeping and watching you suffer again and again, wringing yourself dry for people who toss you away once their problems are solved.

But not with them. Never again with Childe and Legacy, forever by your side. You have no tears left to cry, but they still hush you, gently. Shh, shh… it’s alright. Everything will be okay. Childe sighs as he pulls away, tracing your features with a finger and holding back his own sobs, steadying his voice against his resentment towards the world for your treatment. “Talk to me. Talk to us. Please.” For us, we love you so.

[achilles-rage]

thirteen crows: chapter six

summary: your bar regulars come visit you at your house, begging you to let them in. then, you're visited by the masked men again.

word count: 2.6k

previous chapter

series masterlist

a/n: one again, you can choose who is who during the last part of the story, but i wrote it with the idea that buck is more eager to please, while eddie is sadistic hehe. and i'm so sorry, this was supposed to be longer (the smut was lol) but i sprained my wrist a couple years ago and it never fully healed, so typing is really painful sometimes, and lately it's been really bad. i'll try to make the next chapter longer if my wrist feels better though. enjoy<33

warnings: hints of smut, stalking, slight non-con (but reader likes it??? idk), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

It’s been almost a week since you watched Isaac die in the alleyway. You’ve called in sick to work the entire week; you can hardly even get out of bed. While you hope and pray that you aren’t in danger as long as you play along with this fucked up game, the people around you are dying now. 

You went to take the trash out the day after Isaac died, it was late at night, and you almost bumped into a man in the dark back entryway of your building. The next day, he was found dead in his car. Stabbed to death. And you recognized him immediately when you saw the news.

You hadn’t noticed when he turned, thinking for a moment about following you, but choosing against it. But they did. They had been parked outside of your house for most of the day, just making sure their sweet girl was okay, when they saw the man. They knew what they had to do; they couldn’t risk anything happening to you. 

In reality, the man had stopped and turned because he thought he forgot his wallet in his girlfriend’s apartment, but then realized it was in his pocket, and turned back around and left the building. They weren’t aware of that, though. Clearly.

They start to get worried for you when you still haven’t left your apartment a week later. They’re almost sure you’re running out of food by now, and all you do is move from your bed, to your couch, and back to bed. 

You’re ignoring their messages and calls, too. You didn’t even laugh when you listened to Buck’s voicemail about a fight almost breaking out at the Thirteen Crows on football night. You usually love to hear drama like that. 

That’s why, eight days after they killed Isaac, Eddie shows up to your house with a smile and a box of donuts. Something to cheer you up, he says.

“Eddie, you have to go.” He’s only just able to see your face; your body completely behind the door as you open your door just far enough for you to stick your head out. His smile falters; this donut shop is your favourite.

“I heard about Isaac, and Tara says you’ve called in to work every day this week. Figure you could use some company.” he tries to reason, fighting the urge to push the door open and bully his way in. He can’t, though. He knows that.

“Thank you, but you really have to go.” you tell him. You try to be stern, but your voice comes out just above a whisper, and Eddie picks up on the edge in your voice. 

You can’t see him being killed too. You’re not sure why these men have attached themselves to you, or how the people around you are managing to piss them off, but you really don’t want to test them. And Eddie has a son, for god’s sake, you can’t risk anything happening to either of them.

“Why? Is everything okay?” he asks, feigning concern as he looks at you with his big brown eyes. You sigh, tears forming in your eyes as you tear your gaze from his and tilt your face to the floor. He’s so kind, and you want nothing more than to have his large arms wrapped around you right now, letting him calm you down, but you know you can’t.

“I don’t want you to die.” is all you say before you close the door abruptly. He hears the lock click, and he listens hard to hear your movements behind the door. When he doesn’t, he pulls out his phone, seeing that you’re still standing with your back pressed to the door, tears streaming down your cheeks and dripping off your chin. 

He huffs as he opens the phone app and hits Buck’s contact. He needs him here now. Their poor thing; they’ve scared you too much, and now they have to do something to get you back. To make you believe they can protect you.

He walks down the hall, just enough that you won’t be able to hear him before he explains what’s just happened to Buck, although he’s sure Buck had already heard most of the conversation from the camera.

Not even ten minutes later, Buck is walking into your building with food from your favourite takeout place. They both walk back to your door together, waiting impatiently for you to let them in. 

When Buck sees your tired face, riddled with sorrow, it’s hard for him to fight the urge to barge into your apartment and wrap his arms around you, but he restrains himself. He knows you have to let them in willingly.

“Please.” is all you say when you look between them, and they give you sheepish smiles.

“You’re not gonna get rid of us, sweetheart. We know you need someone. Please let us in.” Buck says, and Eddie’s brows raise just slightly, proud of the sincerity in his voice.

You hesitate as you look between them, their eyes big and hopeful. You know you shouldn’t; you’re half sure that they’re already on the masked men’s hit list already just by being here. But you feel like you’re going fucking insane. You want nothing more than to be close to someone right now, so after a few moments, you sigh and open the door further. 

They’re quick to move past you and into your apartment before you change your mind. They make themselves right at home in your kitchen, getting the food they brought ready, while you sit back down on your couch, too exhausted to follow them.

They sit the food in front of you when they come back in, then sandwich you between them on the couch. Their bodies are pressed up beside yours, but you hardly care right now, you’re just glad that someone is here. Finally.

“Now, you’re gonna eat, and then you’re gonna tell us why you think we’ll die because we’re here.” Eddie tells you sternly, although there’s a hint of softness in his voice that you cling to. 

You look down at the food and sigh. You don’t remember the last time you’ve eaten, so you take the food that Eddie holds out for you, feeling a little awkward as they watch you eat.

Buck picks up on your expression and grabs the remote to your tv, turning it on and letting the noise drown out the silence of your apartment. With one quick look to Eddie, both of them turn to watch the tv while you finish eating, continuing to steal glances at you every now and then.

When you’re finally finished, Buck takes your empty plate from you and sets it on your coffee table, then both men angle their bodies to face you once again.

You look straight ahead of you as they wait for you to start speaking, and then you let out a sob, closing your eyes as you lurch forward, holding your head in your hands.

They’re both quick to comfort you. Buck puts an arm around your shoulders and shushes you quietly, while Eddie’s hand goes to your thigh, rubbing a thumb across the skin not covered by your sleep shorts.

After ten or so minutes, you finally inhale a shaky breath, whispering a quick “okay” as you straighten up.

“Everyone around me is dying.” you say, unsure of what else you even can say. They furrow their brows in feigned confusion, both keeping their hands on you as they urge you to continue speaking.

“I just- I don’t want anything to happen to you. You shouldn’t be here.” They shake their heads adamantly, and Eddie is the first to speak.

“Hey, nothing is gonna happen to us. We can take care of ourselves.” he says sternly, and you turn to look up at him, chewing on your lip nervously. 

The rest of the story is on the tip of your tongue; threatening to spill now that your friends, your very large, very handsome friends, are beside you. You don’t though. You know the masked men will find out somehow.

“That’s what Isaac said. And look at him now.” you speak in a quiet voice. Tears are forming in your eyes again as you think of the sight of him, bloody and gasping in the alleyway, and nothing for you to do for him.

“We’re not Isaac. Nothing is going to happen to you. That’s a promise.” Buck says, and you want to believe him so bad. Your mind is so jumbled that you don’t realize the “what the fuck?” look Eddie gives Buck. You know that they can’t really promise that, but you can’t help but believe Buck’s words. You’re sure it’s just because you’re desperate for his words to be true, but either way, you can’t help but let out a big breath, feeling your shoulders deflate slightly.

“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you.” Both men raise a brow at your words. They both feel you’re about to tell them about everything, and they’re not sure if that’s good or bad. 

“If people around you are dying, why aren’t you worried about yourself?” Eddie asks, a slight edge in his voice that flies right over your head. 

You shake your head as you think about everything that’s happened to you the past couple weeks. Why couldn’t they have just killed you; gotten it over with, you think.

“I don’t know. I just- I don’t want to lose anyone else.” You whisper the last sentence, crossing your arms over your torso in a desperate attempt to calm your racing heart. Both men smirk at each other for a split second before their eyes are back on you. Their good girl; they knew you’d listen to them.

“We’re not going anywhere. We’re gonna help you through this, alright?” Buck speaks, and you nod slowly. You look up at him with the smallest hint of a smile, and he lets out a breath, elated to finally see that pretty smile he’s been so desperate to see for the last eight days.

“Yeah, who’s gonna kill us? We’re firefighters, and we wouldn’t go down easy.” Eddie tries to joke, and your smile widens. Buck almost moans at the sound of your soft laugh, a grin breaking onto his face as he makes eye contact with Eddie over your head. They’ve won.

You finally go back to work for your next shift two days later, a small smile on your face as you greet Tara. She explains the new people your boss has hired as you begin to work, and you almost feel normal for an hour or two as she tells you that the new guy is an absolute idiot, and the girl is super nice. You’re excited to meet them, although you’re sure the man will make you want to punch him, but you hope that he’s at least nice. 

You’re extremely happy when your regulars walk into the bar. It means that they haven’t been brutally murdered by two masked men, and you feel yourself becoming a little less anxious. Maybe the masked men have found a new target, you think, because the killings haven’t stopped, but the man that the police had found yesterday wasn’t anyone you knew.

Both men walk you home at the end of the night, vowing that they’ll protect you and themselves the whole way, and you let them. You know that if the masked men want to kill them, they’ll kill them regardless of if you let them walk you home, so you quickly agree to them coming with you.

It’s still dark when you wake up from a deep sleep, a hand clasped over your mouth and the familiar feeling of a cold blade at your neck. You stare up at the masks with wide eyes, trying to blink away the darkness as they shush your soft whimpers in low tones. 

“Hey, sweet girl. You miss us?” one purrs, both of them tilting their heads to the side as they take in your fearful expression.

“It’s okay, honey. You’ve been so good for us; haven’t told a soul, have you?” the smaller one speaks, and you nod quickly. They hear your muffled “no, no” under the firm hand over your mouth, and chuckle darkly.

“And nothing’s going to happen to you, sweet girl. As long as you don’t say a word to anyone about us. You got that, baby?” the larger one says, and you nod quickly when the knife is removed from your neck. 

You try not to think about the pool between your legs as they stare down your body. You know you shouldn’t feel this way about these men; they’ve killed two people you knew, and countless others, but you can’t stop staring at their broad shoulders and muscular arms. 

With one swift motion, the smaller man hands the knife to the other man and then yanks your panties down your legs, the smirk evident in his voice when he speaks.

“You like being our little toy, don’t you, sweet girl? You’re fucking soaked.” You hesitate, and when the larger man takes his hand off your mouth and leans down to inhale the scent of your skin, you nod once.

“Yes. yes.” you whimper, closing your eyes and shivering as the smaller man’s glove-covered fingers ghost up your inner thigh.

“Then, you know the drill, baby.” is the last thing you hear before your eyes are covered by what you’re sure is the same blindfold they used last time. 

They do the exact same thing as the last time they broke into your apartment; one man playing with your tits while the other licks and nips at your dripping cunt. 

You realize almost immediately, though, that the way they touch you is extremely different. While the man whose mouth attached itself to your clit last time was desperate and eager, the other laps at your cunt in a way that’s almost sadistic. His teeth ghost over your clit before he bites lightly, and if it wasn’t for the knife firmly placed between the valley of your breasts, you’re sure you’d be screaming and writhing away from him.

Similarly, the man whose mouth and hand are attached to your sensitive breasts seems to be relishing in your pleasure. As you fight back whimpers and moans, all you can hear is the man’s voice continuously asking “you like that, sweet girl? You want more?” 

When they finally leave, you’re once again left in complete darkness. Your legs are weak, and you can still feel the cold remnants of spit around your nipples, which is now making you shiver as it dries in the cool air.

As you drift off to sleep, all you can think about is how fucking good they just made you feel, and why they haven’t made you do anything for them. You want to believe their words; you want to believe that they won’t continue killing if you continue with their arrangement, so you find yourself doing so as your eyes flutter shut. 

You can’t help but think that this arrangement isn’t half bad. You feel extremely guilty as the miniscule thought trumps the stampede of fearful ones in your mind, but you can’t help it. If all they want is this, you sort of don’t mind giving it to them, even if it makes your heart race and your hands shake in fear.

next chapter

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[ornii]

Tara Carpenter x Male Reader?

Funny enough, I was never a big Horror Fan so the Scream series went under my radar. Conveniently enough I decided to watch the latest one and I gotta say not too bad.

Trust

Takes years to form, can be broken in one moment.

After a short but memorable service in the Army, you were able to take an honorable discharge after barely a year, after searching a Home you saved your squad from a makeshift IED. It Left a few scars, but that was the last of the physical damage, mental damage can never truly be measured and heal fully, but you’re managing. Hearing the Murders of Woodsboro, and Tara surviving thankfully.

You and Tara had been friends since moving to Woodsboro years ago, just kids at the time but there was something really different about her, you couldn’t put your finger on it but she always lit up the room, and specifically took your breath away. Leaving for Basic Training, you never got a chance to admit it, but you knew once you returned it was the first thing to do on your bucket list.

So when you were discharged, Blackmore University was a nobrainer to attend. But it was only downhill after that, the Killings return, and it seemed to return just as you did.

It was all too much of a coincidence for anyone else to ignore. So they did the only sensible thing.

You were standing in the middle of the apartment, unsure of what to do. You were essentially surrounded by Tara, Sam, Chad, and Ethan. “I don’t understand..” you said, your eyes tracing along the eyes staring at you. “You think.. it’s me?” You ask. And Chad stepped up first.

“We heard what happened at Woodsboro, it just, takes someone pretty skilled to do that stuff..” he said, Chad had an attitude that he didn’t want to believe it, but a capable man with a knife is pretty tough. You looked over to everyone else, Quinn seems indifferent, Sam was reluctant to speak and Tara couldn’t look you in the eye.

“Tara, Tara look at me…” you pleaded, Teary eyed she slowly looks up to meet your gaze.

“You really think I could do this? I came back here for you, why would I…” you slowly trail off, silent as you truly were at a loss.

“I don’t want to believe it..” she said, “but.. it just all looks bad..” She admits, and that truly broke your heart, the one person you wanted to believe you, before you could say anything, Ethan walks over putting his arm around Tara to try to soothe her. Ethan always had a slimy attitude, and you never really felt, safe around him. But seeing him do that to Tara made your skin crawl. Something about this, about all of this, was way off.

“(Y/n), Quinn’s dead, we have to stop this before more people die; if it isn’t you then the police are gonna release you.” Sam explains, and they wheel an office chair with arms over for you to sit. Seeing how distressed Tara was, you very reluctantly sat down on it, and allowed them to bind your arms to the chair. Tapping your foot restlessly, you eyed Ethan. “Feel safer now?” You said obviously with sarcasm, and Ethan give this look. Of disappointment.

“Look I know service does a lot to the brain.” He started, and you realized just what he’s about to do.

“No you fucking don’t..” you cut him off sternly and harshly, knowing his plan to blame your PTSD and use it to label someone as unstable. Ethan gives you another look, as if he’s hiding a smile.

“Let’s give him some fresh air at least, would be better for him.” Ethan walks over and calmly pushes you to the balcony, “it’s for your own good.” He mutters a bit abruptly, and walks back to the others, you can’t hear what they’re saying but Tara eyes you a few times. You wanted to plead and beg for her to listen to you, but it would have been for nothing, she’s already convinced it was you. Your train of thought was cut off by footsteps around you, mostly above, you hear them and look up to see someone heading down, it was too dark to make out who it was, but once you saw the flash of steel with their knife you instantly knew.

“Guys! Guys!” You shook and kicked to get their attention, they all looked over as you fought to break free. You screamed for help, It was too late, heading down the fire escape, Ghostface made their appearance, grabbing your legs they lifted you up and over the balcony, you felt the instant dizzying sensation of being tossed and your head slammed hard against the lower balcony rail, it all went dark after that but you tumbled against more rails and slammed on a hard sheet metal roof and slid off onto the ground.

Somehow, you still lived. Opening your eyes slowly you see the hard New York ground and the wheels of a dumpster, using what strength you had you were able to stand up, seems the chair broke most of your fall, but still causing cuts and bruises and probably a cracked rib or two. Using the dumpster you prop yourself up and reach into your pocket with your bloody hands to your cracked IPhone, it was near impossible to make any calls, but one app did catch your eye. Find my IPhone. Tapping on Tara’s name you spot her location, a old theatre. Tearing off the tape on your wrists you look around for anything to defend yourself, all you see is a sharp end of plastic from the fallen chair. Snatching it you make you plan.

You stand up, feeling a hot burning pain in your leg, specifically your ankle which probably has a torn ligament or shattered bone. You push the pain down and limp your way to the theatre. Pushing the door open with your bloody palms you limped in, to a sight you least expected. You watched Ethan terrorize Tara, who looks ready to fall off a ledge, Sam barely holding on as Quinn, who never was dead approaches, and Detective Bailey, aiming a gun at them all. It was all a ploy to kill you and lessen the numbers. Ethan’s words “for your own good” kept running in your head, he set you up to get killed. All that military training began to pay off, you crouched with a bad limp and had to crawl to avoid making too much noise, you crept up behind Bailey and didn’t hesitate. You took the sharp plastic and rammed it into the side of his neck with force. Using his other hand he tries to hold his neck to keep the blood loss. You reached and gripped his hand hard, forcing him to Aim at Quinn and crushing his tigger finger. A bullet flies and almost hits Quinn, Sam looks up to see you and you continue to force him to pull the trigger until one bullet gets lodged right in the head of Quinn. She drops dead and so does Bailey. You stood there, silent as Ethan turns to see you. You didn’t care why he did it, you didn’t care to even ask.

“Get Tara up.” You gave Sam her order and she took the change to yank her sister up while you handled Eathan. He danced the knife around his hands, waiting for you make a move but you knew better. You kept calm and locked in. Ethan thrashed at you to land a hit but you kept calm, keeping your distance and avoiding close cuts. You watch in go for a stab, you open your arm, he goes past it and you lock his arm under yours, with one swift jerk up you snapped his arm, you cocked back and began to hammer his face in, punch after punch. Ethan stumbles around and with one judo throw you slammed him into a table, exhausted from the ass beating you promptly put on him, he lies there, laughing.

“You don’t deserve her, I always wanted to stick something in her… and she picks you, a fuckin freak who cries when fireworks go off..” Ethan spoke with venom though his bloody teeth. You looked at him, disgusted.

“Cry me a river.. and fuckin drown in it.” You grabbed him, dragged his head to the edge of the table and lifted up your arm and slammed your elbow right into his eyesocket, his neck snaps back with a crunch, as he lays there, dead. (Y/n) slumps down, exhausted. After dispatching three serial killers like John Wick he finally breathes as the nightmare is over.

The FBI and Police arrive, taking statements and doing some investigating and body clean up. You were getting the cuts and bruises patched up, and the ankle looked at.

“Hairline fracture. Gonna need some time for it to heal but you’ll be walking again.” The EMT gave a warm smile to you and went to tend to Sam. You leaned your head back to finally rest, you felt a presence approach, he could immediately tell it was Tara.

“…What do you want?” You said, you tilt your heard back forward and look at her. She looked good, even if she was getting murdered half an hour ago, still so.. beautiful. “Can We.. can we talk?” She said, almost in a whisper. You scoot over the ambulance seat to let her sit down.

“I’m… so sorry I didn’t believe you. And you almost got killed for it..” she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying, as angry as you were, she got baited into it, you put your arm around her.

“I wish you trusted me but I understand why you didn’t, let’s just, relax first.” You felt her lean into your arm, content with how things are finally.

“Yeah.” She closes her eyes to take in the moment, and you finally let this nightmare end.

[emmcfrxst]

I can also imagine mom!reader ‘subtly’ pushing Laura and Logan closer 🤭 Like those are her two favorite people and she knows that they love each other (in their own traumatized way) but she wants nothing more than to see them heal themselves through their relationship because nobody understands them better than each other—even if they argue and bicker all the time. So she’ll set up situations where they’re sort of forced to bond and spend time with each other and they’re just like 👫🏻

i’m gonna have to say i strongly disagree with that actually! having been with logan for a long time, she definitely understands how his mind works— he’s deeply traumatized; he’s volatile and unpredictable when it comes to letting new people in, heavily guarded from nearly two centuries of seeing the worst in humanity, and although laura isn’t a direct threat to him, it’s still incredibly hard for him to let anyone in because he’s just so fucking scared of losing more people. the walls he’s built around his heart are sky high, and he doesn’t react well to being forced into situations he’s uncomfortable with— it’s a matter of trust, and i strongly believe that if mom!reader were to try and force him to do something he’s not quite ready for yet, it would backfire pretty badly. he’s long since lost that bite with her, softened by years of tenderness and love, but he would definitely retract back into himself and push her away if she were to force things. i also believe that she wouldn’t even think of it anyway, because she would never want to break that precious trust, and she understands how logan’s trauma has affected pretty much every single thing about his way of thinking. she would never put him in an uncomfortable position without giving him an out, so i really don’t think she would plot/scheme to push logan and laura into situations that could affect not only their relationship, but hers too. i think that she would suggest for logan to take laura out one-on-one, either to the grocery store or on little adventures, but i believe she would make sure that he knows he doesn’t have to do it if he’s not ready— i.e “logan, could you get the groceries and bring laura?” and if she sees him hesitate, she would probably add “or i can do it if you do [whatever it is reader was doing]”, i do think you’re right about laura being the person who could understand logan the most and vice versa, but i think mom!reader shouldn’t be discredited either because she’s been with logan for several years at this point, so she knows him better than he knows himself and therefore wouldn’t do something that could make him regress. hope that makes sense <3

[omnium-gatherums]

Hmm do u think there’s any like signs of a good did therapist? things that stick out so u know they’re good and credible. any ways to tell u think

I thought I remembered making a post about this ages ago, but I can't find it, so.

(CDD = complex dissociative disorders, which includes DID, some people with OSDD, Partial DID, and some people diagnosed with unspecified dissociative disorders who may just be people with one of the other three diagnoses instead)

🟢 Good:

Understands that DID is most often subtle and difficult to notice; that most people with DID do not present with obvious, drastic personality changes

Treats each alter equally, doesn't treat any one alter as "The" "actual/real/true/main" "person"; doesn't try to force one alter/"The Host" to be the only alter to present in therapy/etc.

Understands that functional multiplicity is a completely real and valid way to heal and recover with DID; that you do not need to fuse all alters into "one" in order to recover and heal along with having DID

Adapts/adjusts to the unique language that you use for yourself/your system/alters/etc.

Doesn't make treating you as a system (if that's how you want to be treated) contingent on having a CDD diagnosis. By this I mean that regardless of if you have a CDD or not, regardless of any kind of syscourse, is this the way you exist? Is this how you live your life - how you and other parts/alters/headmates/etc. in your system live your lives? A good therapist should treat y'all the ways you want to be treated and not deny you the rights to exist the ways you do on the basis of whether or not you have a CDD

Do you feel safe around them? Comfortable? Of course having a new therapist at first is difficult and it will take time to build trust and being comfortable around your therapist, but there is difference between the beginning stages of getting to know someone and not really trusting them yet versus feeling actively uncomfortable around them/unsafe. If you actively feel unsafe/uncomfortable with your therapist, this might be a sign that they might not be a good one.

Would you feel sad if you no longer had them as a therapist?

Is willing to admit when they're wrong/willing to admit when they've made mistakes

🔴 Bad:

Won't diagnose DID because they "didn't see you switch" (seeing somebody switch is not a requirement for a DID diagnosis)

Won't diagnose DID because "trauma wasn't bad/wasn't that bad/wasn't bad enough"

Won't diagnose DID because they expect extremely drastic personality changes

Doesn't "believe" in "repressed memories"/that you can have amnesia for trauma and later remember that trauma

Dismisses memories that you claim you had amnesia before; even if there is true reason to believe that your suspicions aren't correct, a good therapist would not immediately be dismissive and minimize your concerns. There are ways to navigate trying to tell someone if you truly feel their memories aren't adding up, and dismissing them and minimizing their concerns/suspicions is not one of them

Treats "the host" (if you have one) as "the actual/real/true/main person"

Tries to force final fusion; thinks that final fusion is the only way to heal/that it's the "real/true" way to heal

Tries to force certain language onto you/your system/etc. (such as forcing you to call your alters parts when you don't personally feel comfortable with that)

Are you afraid of them? Do you feel unsafe around them?

Do you dread going to therapy - not because therapy itself can be draining due to talking about heavy things, but because of seeing them/speaking to them/because you dread seeing your therapist/etc.?

If you had access to a different therapist, would you change therapists in a heartbeat? In this hypothetical, they won't cost any more or less money and nothing else will be a problem and nothing is preventing you from seeing the new therapist.

Tries to push medication

The most important rule is to trust yourself.

If a therapist doesn't feel like a good fit for you, if you have your doubts, if something feels off, DO NOT HESITATE to seek out a different therapist. You don't have to find a reason to "justify" finding a new therapist - you can seek out a different therapist for ANY reason. Any reason is a valid reason. Yes, any reason, even if it truly is a "stupid" and "unreasonable" reason.

For us personally, we know that our therapist is good because:

We feel safe and comfortable around her. Enough to have opened up about things we otherwise tell NO-ONE

We feel seen. We feel like she truly "sees" "us"

We feel safe and comfortable to open up to her and talk to her about when she's said something that upset us, and we do talk about it! We talk it out in a healthy and safe and productive way and we come to an understanding and we feel better when we do

We actively look forward to therapy and seeing her and talking about things with her

We truly have improved, our denial as truly gotten so much better and overall we really have been improving ever so slowly

Sometimes you're in a position where sometimes you have no choice but to "settle" for a therapist even if they aren't perfect. That's okay too. However, sometimes having no therapist is better than having a therapist that actively makes your mental health worse. Never, ever, ever settle for a therapist who makes your mental health worse. It's better to have no therapist than to have a therapist who is actively making your life/mental health/etc. worse.

There are definitely way more red flags and green flags, but this is what I've got for now.

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

I’M STUCK ON THIS FUCKING PLANET. I’M STUCK ON THIS GODDAMN EARTH.

Tap photo for better quality

That’s right!! I’m talking even more about sinner bodies because I’m CRAZY!!! RAAHHH!! 🤪 SHES SO CRAZY WE CANT TAKE HER ANYWHERE!! 😝 it’s 3 in the morning and I can’t stop thinking about this goddamn TV.

I think Vox is genuinely the most fucked up character in this rewrite currently. Not really morally fucked up, there’s definitely worse people, but physical alterations in hell out of the main cast he definitely has it the worst. In my last post I talked about how Angel formed in hell and I want to go back to this because Vox did not form in hell as a TV or even a robot at all. He got formed on the road after dying in a car crash and was literally just this fucked up clump of wires and metal panels and had gross little robot hands and he had to make everything else himself and wait for his body to adjust to it, so he literally cannot regenerate normally. He didn’t even have a face yet or screen of any kind, just a little camera to see out of. If his screen shatters he needs to get a new one or if his body breaks he needs to get it repaired, thats why he’s able to upgrade his body and stuff.

And like yeah some tech sinners do just form as robots but Vox just is a fucking mess and I think about it all the time and thats why his demon form is all fucked up like that and I think thats partially another reason he hates Alastor’s ideals so much sometimes because hes like “technology bad!” even though he literally is also partially a tech sinner and hes just stupid but like without technological advancements Vox literally would have nothing like they wouldn’t’ve met, Vox would not have a company, etc, etc and thatd probably help a lot of people yeah like the Vees would not fucking exist but ignoring that, just on a personal relationship scale I imagine your “friend” being like “man I really hate the thing that gives you life and allows you to live a somewhat normal existence” hurts a bit.

Technological regeneration is a bit more confusing and hard to explain than biological regeneration since machinery can’t really “heal” in real life. The concept sounds almost bewildering, like you can’t cut a wire and have it slowly heal like skin would, you’d need a whole new wire. But Vox internally, the things that allow him to move and live how he does now, it’s the only part of him that he can heal, and to him, it’s still “defective”.

Vox is disabled mentally and physically; he has Autism, ADHD, and epilepsy, all of which he is unable to be medicated for due to his new body. These are all things that he hates to acknowledge and will become irrationally upset by if they are mentioned to the point he will actively to deny certain aspects of disability. Being a man from the 1900’s-1950’s his views on mental disabilities and mental illnesses are… less than uh.. “acceptable” for today’s standards. He often disregards slurs towards this being called slurs and insists that “They used to just be words” or “It’s a medical diagnosis.” yet still gets incredibly upset when he is ever called a slur that actually could apply to him. In a way he tries to come off as purposely ableist so that he doesn’t have to confront this aspect of himself that he doesn’t understand. His knowledge in technology or sharks or economics aren’t “special interests” to him, they’re just “regular things a man likes”. He can’t process what a hyperfixation is. He doesn’t know that it’s normal for him to be unable to speak on occasion or that certain textures make him severely uncomfortable. These are either seen as weaknesses or “average people things”. Aside from how terribly disabled people were treated back around the 50’s, he views the neurodiverse aspect of his mind as something that only serves to further push him from grasping the feeling of regular humanity again.

For physical disabilities, he doesn’t lie or deny that he has epilepsy, yes he has an intense disdain for mentioning it, but for very few people he is close with he will disclose this information to them privately. There are a very select few people that are aware of this and two of those people are Velvette and Alastor. This post isn’t really about diving into Vox’s epilepsy so I’m keeping this concise because I have another post to put all of that in. Hope you all enjoy the wacky art :)

The binary says “Trust us” for anyone curious

[val-cansalute]

PICKING UP THE ———- PIECES -———

ch.4

a/n - took ages cuz school is kicking my ass. somewhat sensitive content in terms of mental health but nothing that bad, nothing big really happens this chapter, creds to cafekitsune for dividers.

ch. 1

ch. 2

ch. 3

ch. 5

ch. 6

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your body, mind and soul are pulsating, a nauseating wave of dread overcoming you with each heartbeat.

“Come on, just fucking do it!”

“I can’t! Shit!”

“Please! Fuck!”

“I can’t…”

“Bug… Listen to me… I know it’s cruel… But you have to do this-”

“No… No, I can’t, Soren. I can’t.”

“Please, Bug… Please… I’m so sorry…”

You can still close your eyes and picture the way back to the home you shared with him. It could be a million miles far out but you’d still find the way. You’ll go back soon, trace your fingertips over the walls you scrubbed clean - place fresh flowers where he lays, if you’re able to bring yourself to.

So, just breathe in, breathe out.

Clad in the rugged clothes you are now shakily fidgeting with the ends of, you walk through the open door and merge with the scattering of people across the bar’s floor.

First time going to one of these things.

Why did you come here? What, in god’s name, were you thinking?

It was supposed to be a farewell of sorts. A final look over the people of Jackson.

They are the ones you never felt compelled to get to know. The half-healed-wounds, cuts incessantly reopened by the fragments of all that was lost in the turmoil, beared deep within. None of you will ever stop carrying those shards with you, though they cut you up from the inside-out.

The one thing that keeps you all entwined, like the roots of an aspen tree, is love and loss, heart-wrenchingly deep. But these people were capable of letting themselves be free.

You do not want to forget. You do not want to stay here, where the edges become blunt with time and comfort; you’ve become a drunkard on the pain. To be without it leaves you with deafening guilt, and thoughts so dense that they consume your mind wholly, flooding out all else.

They buzz, faces livened by the gentle orange glow of the lighting. You watch from outside the harmony and stop your eyes when they discover, among the many clusters of people, three familiar faces.

Ellie, Dina and Jesse sat at a table on rusted foldable chairs, carrying glasses of alcohol and a rhythmic laughter. She looked undeniably breathtaking, Ellie.

Your recollection of her would present the least cracks. She is the one you spent the most time with, got to know the best - in more ways than one.

But she made your chest ache. You joked and giggled, but within the depths of the interludes, you felt the sinking dread that takes over when you let yourself forget the ache. And watching her from a distance, when she was so blissfully unaware of the effect she had on you, made you feel both empty and consumed with regret, because you should not be wasting your emotions and time on such an insignificant infatuation.

She could up and leave without a second thought only minutes after making you breathless. She gently lifted you out of your thoughts and then plunged you back into their murky waters like it was nothing.

You can sit there and pretend your eyes don’t sting as you chew at the flesh of your bottom lip, but they’re bloodshot, and you’re blinking erratically.

Fuck it. Might as well go over, right? It’s not like you’re gonna get the chance to again.

So, with hesitant steps, you exit the comfort of the shadowy corner and venture out into the open, making your way through the labyrinth of bodies to get to Ellie. Her face gradually comes into focus and you notice the endearing pink tinge in the freckle-spattered apples of her cheeks as she grins. She's tipsy. Maybe that will make this easier to push through.

Shaky hands - you focus on seizing back control over them before tapping her shoulder gently. And maybe it's the sentiment of this being your final goodbye, but the warmth that radiates through her hoodie, the soft wisps of baby hairs at the base of her neck, and the dazed look in her eyes when they meet yours, woven with fine forest green threads and dilated pupils, all make your stomach churn with longing.

"Hey," her voice is barely above a whisper against the deep sound of Jesse's laughter, gentle and inviting.

"Hey."

She pulls a chair closer and nods to it, so you sit quietly, pretending to ignore the glances Ellie sends your way. She clears her throat.

"Uh... Sorry, I left in such a hurry. I mean, I would've, you know, stayed, but- if that's what you would've wanted-"

"It's good. You're good."

God, her obvious nervousness gives you some sick sort of satisfaction.

Her lips part, and you know she wants to ask you something more, but the words die in her throat and she turns to face her laughing friends with a scratch of her neck.

“Would you have… Fuck, never mind,” she mutters, leaning forward, avoiding your gaze, but it’s okay because you’re avoiding hers too.

You hesitate, “… Wanted you to stay?”

And she finally looks at you, the quiet between you hanging heavy. She’s desperately trying to gauge your reaction.

“… Yeah… Would you?”

“… Sure.”

You wish you could talk to her about it, but talking about it is so fucking tiring - with no idea where to start or where to stop, and so much you know you’ll regret saying to the point of nausea.

She nods, a small smile playing on her lips, and you can tell she's trying to feign thoughtfulness despite her clouded mind finally being offered relief. That's a definite green light.

Between the lulls in conversation and bouts of laughter, a whole other world of unspoken affection builds between the two of you. Ellie's hand finds the hem of your sleeve and fidgets with it, fingertips grazing your skin too often to be dismissed as accidental before she eventually gives in and interlocks your fingers with hers.

Your stomach feels warm and your heart feels full, digging up the confidence to trace small, gentle circles into the roughened skin of her hand with your thumb. Maybe the blush that's deepening behind the mottle of freckles shows that the genuineness of this made it's way through your touch and to her.

You're going to miss her; you cannot deny that.

And, god, you wish that you could stay stagnant in this moment forever, but conversations drag on and the clock ticks tirelessly.

The thought of becoming attached to anyone again claws cruelly at your skull; it skews up your insides and churns up the acid in your stomach.

The thought of getting too close is terrifying; you can’t risk it, you cannot bear the loss. Never wanna go through it again. Never wanna feel this pain.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Soren.”

“I don’t- I can’t turn into them, Bug, please… Please don’t let me…”

You’re already panicking.

Staggered, you rise to your feet, and Ellie's widened, bewildered eyes shoot to yours when you rip your hand out of her hold. Maybe they remain on you as you rush haphazardly out of Joel's place and back to yours, but you'll never know because you don't spare her a glance over your shoulder.

Ellie’s nails are jagged and short, the skin behind them red and angry. It hurts, but she keeps biting, trying desperately to exert some of her fear.

She hopes others don’t notice her change in demeanour following your sudden departure, since even that went unnoticed amidst the festivities of the evening, and judging by the slack-jawed, barely-present faces surrounding her, she had no reason to fret.

The look on your face was deeper than discomfort, beyond the realm of any possible effects of her touch. It was pained. It was worrisome.

So worrisome, that she’s still sat in the same spot half an hour later, hunched over and chewing up her non-existent nails, in deep concentration. Maybe you felt overwhelmed. Maybe she was coming on too strong.

And she can’t bear it. So, she gets up almost as abruptly as you did and pats her jacket pockets in search of apology weed, in case she pushed a boundary earlier (it will make a piece of her die, but she’ll suggest staying friends), before she makes her way out in spite of the slurred sound of her friends calling out to her.

Ellie powers through the harsh cruelty of Jackson’s winter to get to your dingy little home. The sight of her warm breath whirling as it wafted up from her lips looks like a ribbon dance, but her mind is racing so intensely that she can’t admire it.

Eventually, she arrives at your doorstep. It’s always an unnerving sight - not a single sign of life escapes your home; from outside, it looks abandoned. Even more so than usual.

Three timid knocks to reflect her hesitation, and on the last thump, the door swings open upon contact with her knuckles.

Fuck. Still gotta fix that lock, huh.

The room is pooled with darkness that is tinged blue by the moon’s glow seeping in. But even amid the darkness, Ellie’s heart has dropped to the pit out of her stomach, because she can tell it’s sparse; all the trinkets and belongings once scattered around are replaced by designs imitating their shapes within the fine layer of dust clinging to each surface. It’s clean, too clean, and most of all, you aren’t here.

You are not here.

“Hey!”

She steps in, eyes darting around the room, hoping desperately to find you laying somewhere.

“I brought weed!”

An eternal whirring interlaces with the silence; the quiet rhythmic hum of your absence, and it’s jarring.

Then, she notices it, sitting crumpled, corner beneath the base of a book, upon your desk. A rough sheet of paper.

“ To whoever finds this,

sorry bout Star? Joey

Blossom Shimmer? the horse. ”

Fuck. You left Jackson.

And you still don’t know any of the damn horse’s names.

[cottoncandybitchfuck]

Unsleeping City Quotes I Like

“Magic is Real and you get to see it. Isn’t that great?” -Misty Moore

“Sometimes you gotta do the nice thing, not the right thing” -Kingston Brown

“You know, just kind of when you’re already in a shame spiral and then people are good to you, it almost stings a little bit worse.” -Pete Conlan

“Things are not always what you want them to be, and they’re not always what you dream they are. Things are what they are.” -Jackson Wei 

“It does not diminish a soul to give worship or adoration”-Nod

“Being the founder is not the same as being a leader” -Nod

“You’re not done yet kid. Come on. We got work to do” -Kingston Brown

“You’d have to be a real asshole not to recognize when someone is trying to not be a piece of shit in general. And I don’t know that we’re good, but that doesn’t mean that you’re not good. And… I guess you’re worth helping.” -David Kugrich

“Because honestly if you don’t show up now, there might not be anyone to fuckin’ choose ever again. So then you’ll have had this little gift you could have given to someone, this little ‘choosing’ you could have done, and you will never do it to anyone. It’s like letting food go bad, I hate when people let food go bad.” -Sofia Lee

“The true spirit of this place is to meet dreams with concrete. To hustle in the muck and the grime, and to grind away to make something miraculous happen, and that the spirit of this place is that these people make it happen for themselves.”-Brennan Lee Mulligan about NYC

“There is nothing more in the spirit of this place than to rely on nobody but yourself to decide that you will be chosen.” -Brennan Lee Mulligan about Sofia Lee

“You want to be someone’s everything, and you’re everybody’s everything. Made it real hard to feel special.” -Liz Herrera 

“I can’t visit everybody. That’s also because not everybody is worth visiting.” -Kingston Brown

“Just because I have to be something for everybody doesn’t mean I can’t be something more for you.” -Kingston Brown

“If somebody would fuckin’ teach me how to do magic, I’d come help you whoop ass. I’m from the fuckin’ Bronx” -Liz Hererra

“I can’t have what you’re offering me, and that’s my fault. But American Dreams change.” -Kugrash

“My Love. For you are my love. My one true love. You don’t need to enter, for you’re already there. And you don’t need to be real because you already are real.” -Rowan Berry to the American Dream

“Dreams changing with the minds of their dreamers, is the most beautiful aspect of dreams. When you look to see the true form of this, what you see is that a dream this important and this large needs to be able to change. And its true form, is any and every form that people want from it. And if it is pushed back through the golden door, into the realm where it can have any form that people give to it, that is where it will have its true form. So the answer to your Nat 20 is that the only good form for a dream is formless.” -Brennan Lee Mulligan about the American Dream

“It is what it is”-Dale “And what it is, is anything”-Nod

“Greed is good, for rat motherfuckers like Robert Moses. But not in our town, not in our fucking city!” -Kugrash

“Pain is a part of healing. And the things we’ve lost should hurt. But it does not mean that we are defeated or they will hurt forever.” -Em from Bethesda Fountain

“These sacrifices are never made in vain. All these people, their lives are our lives, and ours are theirs. All intertwined together. I think that’s kinda beautiful.” -Em

“It’s not really what happens, but it’s your reaction to it and how you feel, that’s what you should pay attention to.” -Pete Conlan

[sunfyresrider]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

Widow!Alicent Hightower x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ever since Alicent Hightower’s husband died her life had changed exponentially. It’s a hard thing, knowing what to do with freedom you’ve never had. In her attempt to expand her horizons she reaches many bumps in the road she didn’t realize existed, until she met you. Tags: mentions of death, sexuality crisis, struggling to accept change, heavy anxiety, eventual smut and a lot of self-healing. Author’s Note: @ilikeitbetterangsty THIS IS FOR YOU BABES💕 I really hope I did your request justice . Thank you so much for being an amazing mutual and beautiful person. Ps I’ve never been on a date, let alone a first date so I’m sorry if that scene was a little awkward. ALSO dividers are made by @saradika !!!!

His death was expected, anticipated even, yet the day she woke up next to a cold corpse seared itself inside her brain forever. She should be mourning. She should have been more upset, shed more tears for her husband of nearly twenty years. Instead, all Alicent could feel was an odd relief, a weight being lifted from her shoulders. She was finally free.

However, what does someone do with freedom when they’ve never had it? She could do anything in the world, she had more than enough money for it. But what do free people do? Alicent had to read up on what widows were into. They travel, indulge in hobbies, and go out for brunch and gossip. The main factor in all of these is they’re never alone. 

Twenty years of marriage and four children and Alicent couldn’t remember a time where she wasn’t alone. She had no friends, too busy caring for a sick old man, children, and running a company. Alicent didn’t want to be alone, she didn’t want to die knowing she had never truly loved. There was nothing holding her back, no father pushing religious guilt, no husband taking her time, and no children to judge.

At first, she made no moves for change. She continued staying at home and running her life as she always did. Although now she spent more time fussing over her only child at home rather than Viserys. Unfortunately, Aegon, her eldest and most troubled child finally declared he was moving out. He also said she needed to get a life in the exact same sentence. 

It was time to take a real look in the mirror at the woman Alicent Hightower had become. It was not the best feeling in the world. In the past she was happy, determined, and beautiful in some eyes. Now she was tired, a bit of a pushover and unbearably lonely. All she had done her whole life was serve other people, her father, her husband, her children and never herself. Alicent needed to change that before she died old and miserable. 

There was another thing she needed to come to terms with. She never loved Viserys, she never loved any man for that matter. Marriage wasn’t something she enjoyed but endured. Alicent wanted to love someone, which was something she never truly had. Except for once when she was young until she married her friend’s father. Maybe she didn’t hate sex just who it was with. Maybe she was capable of love just not for men. Maybe it was time she started attempting to live her truth.

That was the final push she needed to do something. So, Alicent took a leap of faith after reading a pop news article and downloading HER. It’s an app for lgbt dating, specifically lesbians… It still sounded like a dirty word even if she only said it in her head. There was still a twinge of guilt when she made her first match. It’ll pass, the article on women struggling being their true selves said so. 

Twenty years of marriage and Alicent didn’t even know how to flirt, let alone with a woman. The first woman she matched with was only slightly younger yet had no children. She called Alicent a milf, which is a compliment nowadays. It didn’t go much farther, the lack of knowledge on slang really did not bode well with people. 

Anyone younger than her wouldn’t do, so she changed the settings. The second match was one that made her excited. From the outside they seemed to share the same values and she was a mother too. They went on a singular date that might not have been the greatest. Alicent was a little awkward, still too insecure about herself to initiate anything, and avoided the goodnight kiss that was offered. It didn’t seem to bother the woman, which made her believe this could be the one. They could grow together, maybe even build a new life together. Alicent genuinely thought she found the perfect one. Until they ghosted her. 

The app was deleted that same night. Maybe dating wasn’t in the cards for her. It stung, surprisingly worse than when Viserys died. For a few days she sat in her house and sulked. She strictly ordered takeaway, and binge watched the housewives of Orange County. Braunwyn was without a doubt closeted, it was like looking in a mirror, a very fucked up mirror. 

Alicent did a quick deep dive only to find out her suspicions were correct. Right now, Braunwyn was happily outed and living with her girlfriend… It was a mix of jealousy and hope. Someone just like her was living her dream life, which was unfair, but maybe it meant she could manage to live her dream too. 

She finally decided to get off her ass and do something. She was a free woman, she could do whatever she wanted, she told herself as she did a rather intense spa routine. All of her expensive skincare products and fancy tools were being put to use today.  Alicent actually changed out of her pajamas and into a nice dress she hadn’t worn in ages. It was a black bodycon dress, the only one she owned. Very out of character for her but she was a free woman, she could wear whatever she wanted.

She was going to take herself on a date, to a fancy restaurant. Alicent arrived at the venue feeling nervous but excited at the same time. It was the first time she had gone here alone; the servers were quite surprised to say the least. As she was led to her table, she noticed the looks she was getting from some of the other diners. Maybe it was the dress, or maybe it was the fact she was alone for once.

It didn’t matter, she told herself. “Hey, is this seat taken?” Her head whipped to the side, “N-oh! No.” You let out a small laugh, “I'm only joking, I have my parents waiting for me. How’ve you been Ali?” The last person she expected to meet was Aegon’s old tutor. You hadn’t seen each other in several years maybe. It wasn’t a bad surprise, actually it was amazing to see you again. “I’ve been great, better than ever! How are you?” 

“Oh, I’ve been thriving! After quitting I went on a self-healing journey and haven’t gone back.” Your smile reached from ear to ear, you were absolutely glowing in every sense of the word. Alicent was captivated, maybe a little nervous trying to find the right words to say. She hasn’t felt this way since she was what? Fourteen and heavily in the closet. So, she did something way out of her comfort zone, a first step of sorts. 

“If you’re free, I’d love for you to come over for dinner sometime and hear more about how you’ve been.” You seemed shocked, cocking an eyebrow at her question. “Is the Alicent Hightower asking me on a date?” She froze, it didn’t even cross her mind what she was actually asking. 

So, she blurted out the first thing on her mind. "I...um…if you want it to be." You flashed a smile that was different from the one from earlier. You picked up a napkin, scribbling something on it. “Let me know the time and I’ll be there.”  She let out a sigh of relief when you walked away, feeling as if she was going to burst any moment now. Her head was spinning, her heart was racing. She actually asked someone out, on a date no less.

She was nervous, it had been so long since anyone besides her immediate family came into her home. At least it was clean now that Aegon wasn’t here to make messes everywhere he went. In her opinion the modern green color scheme looks great but maybe you hated green. Or maybe she was overthinking this. 

Alicent hadn’t ever really cooked besides a select few times the personal chef got sick. In her mind it would be more meaningful for her to cook something for the both of you. However, making homemade penne vodka was a lot harder than she thought. 

She wanted it to be perfect, she wanted to impress you in every way. The dining table was set with a vase of roses, her best silverware, and very expensive wine she was saving for a special occasion. She even bought a new dress for this evening, a form-fitting silk one with flowing sleeves.

It was a few hours into her cooking when you rang the doorbell. Alicent took a deep breath, telling herself to remain calm and not make a fool of herself. It didn't stop her from tripping over the edge of the rug on the way to the front door. She jumped up, dusting off herself.

You were there, just as beautiful as you were earlier. "Hey!" Your smile was contagious, making her grin in return. You looked absolutely gorgeous, dressed in a white button-down shirt and black jeans. You pulled her into a hug, you smelled like strawberries, and a scent she could only describe as happiness.

"It’s so good to see you!" She ushered you in, letting you take a seat while she went back to finish cooking. You looked around, taking everything in. “It's still as big as I remember, though you definitely changed the decor.” She snickered, "Well it was in desperate need of a facelift, I just couldn't stand the red and black anymore."

Ali returned with a big bowl, carefully plating both of yours. "I didn’t know you knew how to cook! I thought you had personal chefs for this kind of stuff.” She grinned proudly, "Well, I wanted to do something special for you tonight." 

"Aren’t you romantic," You smiled at her. You took a bite, letting out a pleasured sigh. "So good!" Her smile was practically radiant at your praise. You made small talk during dinner, talking about anything and everything. Catching up on what’s happened in the few years you hadn’t seen each other. 

She told you about how Aegon is doing, how he has a girlfriend now. You told her about how he was the reason you inevitably quit teaching and decided to travel. You talked about your life, how you took the time to really get to know yourself, and how that was the best decision of your life. She vaguely talked about hers, only giving you bits and pieces. 

What you did learn was that she was fucking hilarious, and so much more welcoming than other rich housewives you’ve met. You didn’t ask about the dead husband; it was pretty clear by the lack of a ring and her finally smiling. 

Alicent listened to every word intently, her big brown eyes staring into yours. She used to always have a sad look inside them but now she was practically beaming. It might have been the wine flushing her cheeks, but you chose to believe it was because of you.

At some point you ended up on the couch watching housewives, at least pretending to. You were both still talking over the noise, slowly leaning into each other each time you laughed. 

You leaned forward, brushing a stray hair from Alicent’s face. Your lips brushed together, “you’re beautiful, you know.” Alicent let out a laugh, "You're too much." Her eyes closed, taking the lead and kissing you first.

 When your lips met her, it felt as if fireworks had gone off. Your lips were soft like peaches but tasted sweet like cherries. Your hands touched her face gently, leaving trails of electricity where your fingers were touching. 

Her own hands gently tracing down your neck, shoulder, and side to rest on your hips. Alicent’s body sunk down on the mattress, letting you move on top of her to do as you pleased. When she broke the kiss to take a deep breath, you kissed down to her neck and jawline, sending vibrations throughout her. She made a sickly-sweet sound that made your ears tingle. 

Her hands moved slowly, almost cautiously as she moved your shirt up to feel your bare skin. She delicately traced lines up and down the curves of your waist. Your sweet kisses trailed down her neck, chest, and slowly you lifted up the dress she was wearing. Moving to suckle at the skin around her core, worshiping her thighs. 

Alicent let out a soft moan, curling her fingers into your hair. Her soft noises only encouraged you. Your fingers traced her folds, moving their way around the fabric. You looked up, watching her cheeks flush red in embarrassment. A simple nod was the encouragement you needed to continue.

Your lips kissed over the fabric, hearing her breathe become labored. Her fingers tugged lightly at your hair. You pulled down her underwear, moving it down to the end of her legs. It was your turn to blush, seeing how wet she was already.

Her hips twitched when you dragged a finger through her slit, your finger coming back glistening. You eased it inside of her, quickly finding the sweet spongy spot. Her back arched as you moved your finger, soon another one joining. Your tongue sucked at her clit, moving in circles.

Alicent bucked her hips into your hand, her moans filling the air. Her eyes were shut as you made her legs shake. Your tongue moved faster, hearing her sweet cries. She pulled your hair, pressing your mouth harder against her. Her walls tighten around your fingers, letting you know she was close.

Alicent shuddered, gripping your hair harder as she came. Her back arched off the couch, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. Her body finally relaxed, laying on the couch. Her eyes closed, a blissful smile on her lips.

You crawled up, leaning over her. You brushed her hair behind her ear, gazing into her brown eyes. They were still sparkling, like two polished stones. Alicent slowly moved her hands down your back, lifting your shirt over your head. She sat up, kissing you softly. 

Her hand slowly moved down, grasping your thighs and opening them. Her kisses trailed down your neck, breasts, and stomach. You let out a small noise as she rubbed you through your pants. Her kisses got hungrier as she undid your belt and pulled down everything that covered you.

You let out a squeal of surprise, feeling her pull you on top. Your cheeks flushed red, as she angled your cunt above her mouth. Alicent was precise, her mouth sucking at you gently. Her hands pressed against your hips, keeping you in place.

Your fingers threaded into her hair, holding her face to your cunt. She flicked her tongue against you, moving it in circles. Her hands moved up to squeeze your ass. You grinded against her face, your juices coating her chin and the couch. Alicent hummed against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you.

Her fingers pressed into you, curling up to prod at your sweet spot. She let out a purring noise, making you move your hips faster. Your breath hitched as she moved her fingers faster, sucking at you with a new intensity. Her tongue moved quickly, lapping up all the juices coming from you.

Your thighs quivered as you came, your voice shaking as you did. Alicent kept going, eating you out until she was satisfied. Your legs gave out, dropping you in a pile on top of her. You laid there, letting her wrap her arms around you as you caught your breath. 

"Did I do good?" You laughed, leaning forward to kiss her. "You were amazing,” you peppered kisses on her face, eliciting the cutest giggles you’ve ever heard. You rested your head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat. Her fingers played with your hair as you both laid there, tangled in each other's arms.

Last night had been one of the most out of character nights of Alicent’s life. She never invited someone over, let alone hooked up with someone. It was new, it was exciting, it was also borderline terrifying. Now that she was alone again her thoughts could once again consume her. 

You texted her back, at the very least you weren’t ghosting her. That eased the part of her that was afraid the sex was so bad you would never speak to her again. But now there were other things that bothered her. Your question, to be more specific. “Would you want to be my girlfriend?” 

It was too soon to do anything drastic, like a real relationship. Did she want that? The idea of being in a relationship with you was something that sounded nice in her head, But would it be good in reality. Not only was she freshly widowed as well as struggling to come to terms with her sexuality. By now, she should be over caring about what other people thought… She wasn’t over it in the slightest. 

There was still this guilt and overwhelming anxiety that was holding her back, the same things that held her back her entire life.  Alicent laid in her bed, trying to figure out how to answer your text... “I’m not sure if I’m ready, yet.” She wanted to say more, but her thoughts were quickly turning into a jumbled mess. 

“I used to tutor Aegon in mathematics… I’m very patient;)” Alicent rolled her eyes at the winky face, feeling the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile. “But…  I bought two tickets to the Bahamas last week… and my mom canceled so there’s an opening.” Her fingers hovered over the screen, she had never been to the Bahamas before. 

To be fair, she had never been anywhere but home. Alicent wasn’t one to drop everything and go on vacation… 

You made her want to.

Her thumb hovered over the send button for a moment.

Why was this so difficult?

She was free now; she could leave anytime she wanted.

So why did she keep waiting?

She could just let her phone fall out of her hand and pretend she didn’t see the text.

It took everything in her power to hit send, “I’d love too:)” 

You had been talking to each other every day for weeks. You’ve gone on several more ‘dates,’ which all ended in someone’s bedroom. She hadn’t ever felt this happy, but right now she was freaking the f out. She might have under-packed or maybe over packed her suitcase. What if the swimsuit didn’t fit like it did in the store? Should she have brought snacks? What if she forgot to lock the house? 

The airport was crowded to the point it made everything feel excruciatingly hot. Maybe it was her anxiety that was making her hot. Alicent glanced around at everyone, a million scenarios running through her head. There was no reason for her to be this nervous. Except there were a thousand reasons, she’s never left the country, the plane could crash, and maybe you wouldn’t show up. 

The last one wasn’t realistic. You promised to be waiting at the terminal. You always kept your promises, so she had no reason to worry. But what if you changed your mind? What if the flight was canceled? Or you got sick and didn't feel up to flying.

Was her mind just coming up with different scenarios so she wouldn’t get on the plane? Maybe she should turn around and go home. No, she was free now, she was finally over all the bad that happened. So, there was no reason to not get on the plane.

She had been so caught up in her own thoughts she didn't realize they called her boarding group. She slowly made her way to the gate, getting in the very back of the line. Alicent glanced around the terminal, no sign of you anywhere. She started picking at her fingers, a bad habit. When she was younger, she used to dig at them until they bled. 

The line moved at an excruciatingly slow pace. Every second felt like an hour and every step felt like a mile. However, she had made it to her seat on the plane in one piece.  She was able to get a window seat, something she was thankful for. At least if something bad happened Alicent could watch the plane crash into the waves.

You still hadn’t shown up and her heart rate showed no signs of going down. She could turn back right now, walk off this plane like nothing happened. She could go back to her old life, tucked away safely in her home. She could stop taking risks, what was she even trying to prove? There were thousands of excuses to turn back, and she was using them all. 

By letting this plane take off it meant a new beginning, a real one. The real first step, proof she was living differently and for herself. That scared her, did she even deserve to live for herself? What was her worth if she wasn’t serving someone else? Her fingers dug deeper into the bed of her nails; this was a stupid fucking idea. 

Alicent heard the flight attendant preparing to close the doors, She glanced down at her leg, preparing to jump out of this seat and run out the door. 

Back home.

Back to safety.

Back to what she was used to. 

“Hey! Sorry I took so long I was sat in the wrong seat,” your voice was soft and sweet like honey. Alicent turned around, staring into your eyes. You were gorgeous, to the point it made her temporarily forget what was going on in her head. "You made it," she spoke breathlessly, realizing she had been holding her breath the entire time. 

“I wouldn’t miss going on a trip with you for the world.” You smiled at her, intertwining your fingers with her own. A sense of calm washed over her, like the waves hitting the sand in the early morning. She finally let herself settle back into the seat, letting her eyes flutter close.

This was okay.

She could do this.

This is freedom. 

Alicent Hightower was finally living, 

For herself.

[nicxl333]

SEPARATE WAYS— GETO SUGURU X FEM!READER

summary: why should he stay with you if you don’t see his way of thinking?

content: fluff, angst, teen!geto, teen!gojo

i won’t lie to you, i didn’t proof read this so mistakes are probably imminent

life used to be so good. specifically when geto asked you out during second year at jujutsu high.

“suguru just do it you pussy. too afraid she’ll say no?”

“stop pestering me satoru. i don’t want to hear shit from someone who can’t keep a girlfriend for more than a week.”

“at least i get girls. can you say the same, loner?”

“you know, i’d insult you, but i’d have to explain it to you after, so forget it.”

gojo held his hands up in defeat, knowing arguing would get him nowhere.

“i’m just saying, she won’t stay on the market forever. who knows, maybe i’ll sweep her off her feet one day.”

and he walked off.

it had been months of geto having a never ending crush on you. the more he saw you the worse it got. not to mention the times you’d be partnered up on missions together. the care you held for his wellbeing especially when he was injured made his heart swell, healed his wounds ten times better than your RCT could ever hope to.

he swore to himself day by day that he’d eventually grow a pair and ask you out. maybe to a movie or a picnic. something romantic where he could truly show you the best version of himself. but when the time would come he would freeze, the common fear of rejection weighing over his body, holding his tongue down.

until he saw gojo actually making a move on you by the classroom door one day, his hand positioned above your head while your back was stood against the wall.

fuck no. fat chance in hell he’d let you be taken from him by the likes of gojo. of all people.

4 long strides was all it took for him to be standing adjacent to you. you turned from gojo to look at his agitated face, staring down gojo. if looks could kill, consider gojo in the morgue.

“oh, suguru, did you need me for something? guess you can give me those class notes some other time then y/n.”

fucking gojo, of course he’d pull some stunt like this.

although geto guessed that did give him the push he needed. actually seeing the possibility of you being taken scared him into actually doing something for once.

“not you dimwit, i need to talk to y/n.”

your eyes widened at this. what could he possibly need you for? little did he know you also had a devastatingly abnormal crush on him too, and you didn’t know if you could handle the proximity as it was, with him towering over you like that.

gojo held out his arms in faux devastation.

“alas, let me go venture for someone who truly cares.” he then winked at you.

trust gojo to be fucking obvious.

it was then brought to geto’s attention it was just him and you.

shit. he’d actually have to say something.

“so. y/n, i was… well i wanted to know if-”

fucking hell was this going well.

you tilted your head at him stumbling over his words. what happened to the confident, headstrong guy you knew and loved relatively liked?

“suguru, are you okay?”

fuuuck. he could’ve actually melted at you saying his name. your voice was so soft and soothing. he had to have you now.

“y/n. i need you to know something. i like you. like really badly. you’re constantly on my mind all day and i wouldn’t want anyone else if they’re not you. i understand if you don’t feel the same and we could just continue as before…”

while he was rambling you stood there shocked at his confession. you couldn’t believe he liked you back this whole time. it almost felt too easy.

“suguru.”

nothing. he was still rambling on. it seemed he was lost at this point. so you did what seemed right.

he paused heavily after feeling a pair of soft, cushioned lips against his own.

you were kissing him? did this mean you felt the same way?

he paused mid sentence and kissed you back, hands gently gripping your waist. you pulled his hair out of its bun and tangled your fingers in his strands, deepening the kiss.

sadly, breathing is a mandatory thing so the both of you eventually pulled back for air.

“does that answer your question?”

“wow. um…yeah definitely.” he placed his hand behind his head before continuing;

“i want to ask you right though, would you do me the honour of going on a date with me?”

you smiled at him brightly, bringing him into a tight hug.

“of course i would.”

—

soon enough one date turned into 3, and that evening, on top of a random skyscraper turned picnic setting, you became geto’s official girlfriend.

everything ran smooth, both parties were happy, and life was good.

until it wasn’t.

when the star plasma vessel riko died, geto’s persona changed. you noticed throughout the year you were dating how he changed, becoming more and more distant by the day, until the geto you once knew and loved was once again no more, only this time in a much more sour light.

nevertheless you stuck by him. 2 long years, hoping that he’d one day wake up and things would return back to normal.

that worked, right up until he grew tired of you. endless arguments and neglect on his part was bound to reach it’s breaking point.

“suguru please, i can’t keep doing this with you anymore. have you just forgotten about everyone who’s ever cared about you. what about satoru? what about me?”

he spared you one glance before turning his head back towards the end of the room.

“tell me this y/n, do you follow my beliefs? do you believe just as much as i do that humanity is scum and deserves to cease to exist?”

“suguru you know just as well as i do that you’re alone in that belief.”

he came closer, lifting your chin up with two fingers so he could look directly into your eyes, his own cold and devoid of emotion.

“so why am i wasting my time with you then?”

your eyes widened. as much as he had turned into a national dickhead, up till now he had never made it seem like your relationship was pointless.

he smirked at you and dropped his fingers from your chin, your head falling forward with them.

“let’s be clear y/n, until you can see it in yourself to take up my values, consider us done. don’t come looking for me. it won’t be friendly as it is now.”

you couldn’t do anything but stand there, confused how things came to be. one thing was evident though. geto wouldn’t change his mind. and with how he just disrespected you, you were reluctant to stay in his presence any longer.

and so, with a heavy heart and desolate mood, you walked away.

away from him and your crumbling relationship.