#i wish shed told me that she wanted to be loved differently or something. she did everything perfectly for me but never asked anything of m

[thebigqueer]

its so funny to me that she was like 'you deserve better' because little does she even know she genuilnely was best. like no one is ever going to top her. and i know with my full heart that she will find better than me and im supposed to want that for her but i really really dont. cuz i know theres so much better than me but theres no one better than her

[fardf150]

fuck

[parfaitblogs]

fresh out the slammer ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid comes home from prison, and needs to fulfil everything he has missed about you. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut & comfort (18+ mdni) tags: post prison!reid. soft dom!spencer. teeth might rot i was cringing during some of this. established relationship. the briefest of breast play because what do i hate? the word nipple! fingering. p in v. no protection is mentioned but imagine what you will. casual nudity afterwards. spencer's got bruises from prison. i lowkey forgot about his thigh wound until the very end.  word count: 5.7k a/n: there's a completely different version of me in a world where i didn't write this. i hope she's doing well. i feel like i've been reborn. this is stupidly long LOL my apologies. pleaseee tell me if you liked this! or if you didn't! i love feedback! here's my monthly smut fic see you all in october!

Three months wasn't a long time, in the grand scheme of things. A quarter of a year usually went by too quickly for anybody's liking, the year sprinting through seasons until all twelve months were complete, and you were repeating it all over again. Usually. Three months without Spencer Reid, however, went by achingly slowly. And you hadn't originally considered just how agonising they could be. 

Each day was another painful mirror of the last, waking up and going to bed with the same sense of dread in your stomach, oftentimes swallowing you whole and leaving you unable to do just about anything at all. 

Living life without Spencer Reid was hard.

You saw him — of course you did. Despite his original efforts to keep you off the approved visitors list, Penelope Garcia had seen one glimpse of your heart shattered expression upon being told, and marched her way to the prison to slap sense into him. You weren't sure if that was metaphoric or not. 

However, seeing him once every other week and living with him were two very different situations. You hadn't realised just how much you had depended on him always being there when you woke up in the morning until you were waking up to cold bed sheets and a pillow clutched petulantly to your chest in hopes of recreating the warmth only Spencer could provide. 

And then he was free. 

From prison, that is. You hadn't heard it all — information about his time in prison had been kept from you in an attempt to protect your own peace of mind. But you knew from at least the bruises he was always sporting no matter when you went to visit him, that something awful had happened to him in there, and his own brain would keep him imprisoned for as long as it wished. 

But he was free.

And he was here, and you were staring up at his face littered with unkempt facial hair and a head of untreated curls, and regardless of everything horrific he had endured brewing behind his eyes, he was staring at you with the same softness he had before any of this happened. 

Despite the beginning of a protest when you wrapped your arms around his torso, you hugged him, and he hugged you, and even the faintest smell of grime and blood couldn't stop you from gripping onto him with so much force you thought your knuckles would break. 

"You're real," you whispered into his chest, muffled by it, and it shook beneath your face as he laughed, quietly. Beautifully.

"I am," he answered, and you could feel him crushing his own facial features into the top of your head, no doubt inhaling your shampoo. "You're real."

"Yes," you confirmed with a nod.

Maybe hours passed, perhaps only minutes. Whichever it was, you were still reluctant to pull away from him until he did, your face stained with tear streaks you don't remember shedding, his own eyes glassy as your gazes met. 

"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" you asked him, walking backwards as you led him out of the doorway you two had been finding solace in, and further into the apartment space you were ecstatic to share together again. 

"Not particularly," he answered, strides catching up to you and encasing your waist between his hands, tugging your body closer to his own. "Is that okay?"

"As long as you promise not to keep it in," you replied, teeth chewing into your lower lip in a contemplative habit. 

"I have counselling at work," he said, and you nodded, your facial features softening only a little — you knew him well enough to know he wouldn't enjoy said counselling sessions. Breath tickled your lips as he leaned in a little closer, inciting heat onto your cheeks. "Any other questions?"

"No," you replied, your own lips twitching in amusement. "That's it. Why?"

"Because I haven't kissed you in three months," he murmured, "and I want to."

"Maybe," you said with a hum, and he said your name chidingly, eliciting a laugh from you. "Yeah. Okay."

To be honest, you had spent a few too many nights allowing your thoughts to wander and end up dreaming about what it would be like to kiss him again. Whether or not either of you would have the patience to be gentle and kind to one another. In those nights, you had decided you would be. Your heart cracking every time you thought of Spencer alone in a concrete cell that it left you with a gaping hole in your chest. All you really wanted was to hold him and remind him how adored he was. 

Right now, you learned you wouldn't be. 

There was a tenderness in the way his hands found your cheeks to cup, and there was a softness in his fingertips against your skin. Yet, everything he kissed with was anything but. Feverish and quick, swallowing you whole and inspiring a spark in your chest that resulted in you kissing back just as hungry. 

Just when you thought there was nothing left to trigger within him, a squeak left your lips as the result of him tugging you impossibly closer, and he was beginning to walk you backwards, even further into the apartment, his kiss growing all consuming. 

"Spencer," you said, breathlessly, jerking your head back, staring at him, waiting for him to realise you weren't returning your lips to his, and his eyes opened. 

"What?" he asked, almost irritatedly. When he watched the slight flicker of hurt flash on your face at the tone, his own expression became gentler. "I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"

Immediately, you shook your head. "No. I just wanted to check how far you wanted to go," your hands travelled up to his hair, fingers scratching gently against his scalp. "I know there's a lot going on up here."

"Actually, right now it's just you," he said, tilting a head to the side to lean into one of your palms. "It's mostly you all the time. But right now you're consuming it."

"I make such an impact on your life," you quipped. 

"I know you're teasing, but you do," he replied, fingers tracing up and down either side of your jawline, eyes searching each small detail on your face he had no doubt already memorised. "I survived in there for you."

"Oh."

Probably not the most eloquent response for the things he had just confessed, but truly your brain had scrambled within an instant, and you weren't sure what to say.

"Sorry," he said, hands stilling on your face. "To answer your question, I don't know. I really missed you."

"I know," you said when a gaping silence followed his words. "We don't have to."

"I think I want to."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You can't think, Spence. You've gotta know."

"I've definitely said that to you before," he chided, thinking for a moment, before, "yes. I did. First time we had sex."

"Sue me for repeating important sexual advice to you, Spencer Reid," you huffed. He laughed. 

"No, I mean, I do. Want to," he finally replied. "I'm really scared of hurting you."

"Do you want to hurt me?"

"No."

"Then you won't," you reassured him, despite knowing whatever doubt he had in himself would not be resolved just like that, and it'll probably eat at his mind for a long while. "And even if you do, I won't be upset with you." When his face scrunched and his expression mirrored judgement, you stammered to clarify. "Not in a kinky way. Don't look at me like that, Spencer. Stop it. I just meant I'll understand. And I won't be mad."

"Didn't take you to be into masochism," he mumbled, and you groaned at his selective hearing, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, that shook with his laughter. "Kidding, honey. I know what you mean."

"Not funny."

"It was a little," he countered, a hand reaching up to entangle within your hair to pull your head back, gently, so he could look at you again. 

"Hi," you said when your eyes locked once more. 

"Hello," he answered, his lips pulling into a smile. "I'd like to kiss you again."

"You've used up your kiss for the day, actually," you replied, sweetly beaming up at him. 

"Quiet," he shot back, leaning forwards and allowing his lips to brush hesitantly against yours, eyes searching your own with an added hint of desperation. "Please?"

You pretended to think for a moment too long, because he was already mumbling something that sounded a little like 'brat', and pressed his mouth to yours once more. 

You couldn't complain. 

It was the same intensity as earlier, and yet there was something in it that differentiated the homesickness of the kiss from then, and the desperation now. Large hands — that you would probably allow to encase you whole — pathetically held your face lightly, hips knocking with yours as he walked you backwards and up against the back of the couch. 

"Spence," you whimpered embarrassingly, hands clawing at the sleeves of his suit jacket, trialling and failing at tugging it off his body. 

"I got you, sweet girl," he mumbled against your lips, not breaking the kiss for even a second as he helped you, shrugging the jacket off and allowing it to fall to the floor — something he will certainly chastise himself for later. 

"Bedroom," you said, in between heavy breaths and feverish kisses. A request he was more than happy to comply to, for he had nodded, and you were instantaneously tugging on one of his hands in the direction of the room, his eyes fixated on your body as he trailed behind. 

"Missed you so much," he murmured as he tugged you back towards him the second he had kicked the door shut, lips finding the corner of your mouth, then your jawline, then your neck, as he kissed down you. 

"So you've said," you breathed out, tilting your head to the side as he gently nipped at the skin. 

"Do you get off on being mean to me?" he chided, lifting his head to look at you again, and your heart stuttered. 

"No. Just that dominance act that it brings out," you murmured, attempting to keep the mood light. Successfully so, for air huffed out of his nose as his lips twitched, fingers that had dropped to your waist squeezing it gently. In unresolved doubt, you added, "I missed you too. Don't worry."

"I'm not," he replied, and the weight lifted off your shoulders. "Lie down."

"So demanding," you teased, though his tone was anything but firm.

You were met with an unimpressed look, and you merely grinned back as you climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged atop it, staring up at him expectingly.

Instead of moving over you like you had expected, he crouched at the foot of the bed, holding his hands out on the mattress in front of you. Needing no more than the simple gesture, you untangled your legs and stretched them out in front of you, and he tugged you down towards the end of the bed, breath hitting the skin of your thighs deliciously. 

"I'm supposed to be making you feel good," you argued when his fingers trailed up the sides of your legs, finding the waistband of your pyjama shorts.

"Why?" he questioned, halting his movements as he searched your face. 

"Because you're the one who just got out of prison," his face scrunched at the verbal reminder. "Sorry. But... yeah. I have thought about making you come the day you got home like daily."

"Oh have you?" his eyebrows shot up, and it was then that your brain caught up to your running mouth, and your cheeks heated up. 

"Nope. Forget I said anything."

"No," he pushed himself up from the floor, moving his body over yours on the bed, successfully forcing you to lie back. "Tell me those thoughts."

"Spencer," you moaned, shaking your head as you buried your face into your hands, that he was a little too quick to catch and pry away. 

"I'm not going to judge you," he said, amused. "In fact, I aspire to know every single thought there is up in that pretty head of yours. Especially the ones about me. Please tell me."

"I just thought about making you come. There's nothing more exciting to it."

"Yes, but how?" 

"My mouth, I guess," you mumbled, voice going impossibly quiet. "I don't know."

"You're acting like you have never given me oral," he said, catching your gaze within milliseconds of you averting it, thumb and forefinger straightening your head again. 

"Nobody says oral, Spencer. Say head," your own face now scrunched up. 

"Lots of people say oral," he defended. 

"Yeah, old people. We are not old people."

"Fine, you're acting like you have never given me head." 

Despite it being a jab at him to take the heat off of you, the phrase coming out from his lips sounded exceptionally vulgar for what it was, and it only resulted in your stomach flipping. 

Finally, you regained some control over your own thoughts, and you found it in you to reply. "That's what I want to do. Because I want to make you feel good."

"You underestimate how much I gain from making you feel good," he countered, fingers lazily caressing the skin of your jaw as his eyes studied your face with an intensity that had your stomach flipping. 

"It cannot be as good as an orgasm," you huffed, stubbornly so. 

He nipped at your nose. "It is."

"Can we compromise?" 

"So you don't want me to give you oral?" his eyebrows rose. 

In every other situation, you would not be fighting him on this. In fact, he would probably have already gotten his foreplay of teasing and teetering you on the edge out of the way by now, and you'd be well and truly content. However, the forefront of your mind was still plagued by how little time Spencer had to take care of himself, and the last thing you needed him to be was at your service. Despite his protests. 

"Head," you corrected. "And no."

He searched for remnants of a lie for a few beats longer, before he nodded his head, giving in. "What's your compromise, honey?"

"I don't think there's a sexy way to say to just put it in me," you said, and his lips curled up into an amused smile, followed by a huff of laughter. 

"No, I don't think there is," he agreed. "I do think anything you say can be sexy, though."

You pulled a face, and you shook your head. "No. Don't say that ever again either."

"I can't compliment you, I can't give you ora—head," he rattled off. "Is there anything good I get out of this?"

"You get to fuck me?" you batted your eyelashes up at him. 

"Such vulgar language," he chastised, ducking his head when a hand of yours rose to swat him. 

Despite himself, his head had dropped to the crook of your neck, and he had begun placing feather like kisses along the skin that distracted you just enough to drop your hand back to the mattress beneath you.

Any other day, and you'd probably still be bickering with him until the minute he made you come. However, three months without even the faintest of touches from him left you overwhelmed with everything he did to you, and so the gentle kisses trailing down to the collar of your shirt were enough to destroy any coherent thoughts you could have. 

Cautiously, and with a touch so delicate, Spencer lifted your — his — shirt up your abdomen, fingertips leaving behind the warmest of trails as they skimmed along your skin. One quiet whine from you was all it took for him to hurry his teasing along, and soon enough your shirt was discarded. 

A quiet, sharp inhale of air was the other sound aside from your quickened breathing, and you felt tears sting your vision as another kiss was placed just below your now exposed collarbone. 

The time without you seemed to weigh nothing in his mind as he took every inch of you in separately, lips mapping out your body like it was the first time all over again, though still knowing exactly when to pause and pay attention to for the sweetest of sounds to be ripped from your throat. 

He liked to hear you. 

Fingers found your waist as his lips kissed down your sternum, then back up and over until they reached your nipple. He spent time on each breast, ignoring your impatient whining as he neglected the rest of you for a few minutes too long (in your opinion).

"Spencer," you scolded, and it was all it took for him to accept you were not in the mood to wait, and for him to decide he wasn't either. 

"Sorry, honey," he replied, voice impossibly soft as he returned his lips to your face, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth as his fingers found your shorts again. "Can I take these off?"

"I think we're incredibly out of balance," you replied. And though there wasn't really anything wrong with the sentence — you had certainly said it before — he still pulled back, an unrecognisable grey clouding his eyes. "What?"

"I want to keep my shirt on," was his response, the words inciting confusion to your face. 

"What? Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

You wanted to scream that yes, he did. But did he? Wordlessly, you shook your head, but it didn't help the pang of worry in your chest. 

"Unless there's something like an embarrassing tattoo, I'm not going to judge you," you decided to say instead. "Did you get an embarrassing tattoo in prison?"

"No," he shook his head, and you were comforted by the amusement in his tone. "I didn't have the best time in prison."

"I know," you replied.

"And I wasn't very liked. By the men in there."

You knew that too, to an extent. You knew the bruises on his face weren't self inflicted. "You're liked by me."

"I know, sweet girl," a heart shatteringly sad smile stretched across his face as a hand lifted to your cheek. "It just isn't very pretty. And I don't want you to worry."

Well, now you were. Regardless, you nodded your head, turning your head to the side so you could kiss the palm of the hand on your face. "I won't worry, then."

"I want to keep my shirt on. Can that please be okay with you?" 

Silently, and after a debate inside your brain, you nodded your head. Gratefully, he pecked your lips once more, before his focus shifted back to you and your body. 

"Shorts. Can I take them off?" he asked, again.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

His fingers collected the fabric of your shorts' waistband, and gently pulled them down your legs, cool air washing over you despite the final leftover article of clothing on your body. You shivered, and you could hear him mumbling nearly incoherent apologies as he kissed your stomach.

"These too?" he then asked, eyes flickering between your face for confirmation, and the pair of underwear you still had residing on your body. You nodded your head, and he pulled them down too.

You do not remember a time ever fearing being naked beneath Spencer Reid's gaze, and that did not change even now, as an arguably different man drank in your entire body, the love he had for you not having wavered despite the passing of time. 

And you certainly did not fear the way one of his hands slid up your leg, seemingly soothingly, until it teetered on the edge of too far up the limb to be innocent, and he was intensely watching your face for every reaction you could possibly make. 

Achingly gently, his middle finger ran up the centre, collecting arousal you hadn't realised was there and knuckle gently bumping your clit, eliciting a quiet mewl from you. You watched him smile at the sound, dragging his finger back down, gathering more of your arousal until he was pushing the finger in.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling oh so familiar, and yet seemingly foreign all at once. Too long, you decided then. Three months is too long.

Leaning back down, his lips brushed your jawline, the otherwise odd sensation of there being something — someone — inside of you balancing out with the pleasure that came from the comfort of it being him. And of course the delicate circles his thumb had begun to draw on your clit. 

"Did you do this while I was in prison?" he asked you, lips moving against your skin. 

"Touch myself?" 

"Mhm."

"Yeah," you said, voice breathless. "Was never good, though."

"No?" he asked, curling his finger inside of you and tugging a louder moan from your throat. "Why not?"

"Just never felt as nice. Not like you."

"Oh. I'm sorry, angel," he murmured, pulling his lips away so he could look at you again. Though, your eyes were still planted shut. "I'll make up for it then, yeah?"

You feverishly nodded your head, and he laughed. Fulfilling his promise, he sped up the motions of his finger and thumb, your hands grabbing ahold of fistfuls of the sheets, in hopes that it will provide some comfort from the overwhelming feeling of Spencer touching you again. 

"Can I add another finger?" he asked, and though slightly hesitant, you nodded your head. 

He waited a beat longer before fulfilling your request, and there was something obscene about how easily another finger entered you. Though, Spencer thought it was pretty, and your back arching was pretty, and yes, he had missed this and he had missed you and he was biting his tongue from telling you that all over again. 

"Spencer," a delicately breathy whine left your lips when the heel of his palm collided with your clit — thumb long forgotten once he had gotten distracted with thrusting fingers in and out of you. 

"Hm?"

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, the kindest smile on his face reminding you just how much he adored you, and your heart sporadically beat in your chest. When you didn't say anything else, he quickened his ministrations, eliciting more whines and moans.

"Is two orgasms too much for tonight?" he asked you, the question seemingly innocent regardless of both it's undertones, and what he was currently doing to you. 

In hindsight you should've probably said yes. It most certainly would've hurried things along to something he would enjoy as much as you. However, if Spencer Reid fingering you was a religion, you were an eternally loyal follower, and you would do anything to keep him there for as long as you could. 

So you shook your head, murmuring a quiet, "No. I can do two," and allowing him to fasten his fingers once more. 

Fingers found and massaged that spot inside of you he had probably engrained into his brain, and he was leaning down to swallow the loud moan that followed from the feeling. Practiced motions tore the same sounds from your throat as he repeatedly brushed up against it, until your eyes were forced to squeeze shut once more, and hands that were once seeking solace in the sheets, found his wrist and wrapped around it. 

"I can't move if you're going to keep my arm locked up, angel," he said when your nails dug into his wrist, lips smiling against your skin. 

A few short jerks of his hand convinced you to let go of the death grip you had on him, instead returning them to the mattress.

Then he was doing that motion again, and again, and you were silently praying he would never stop. Although, if your moans were any indication to where you were at — and they were — Spencer wouldn't. 

Your hips bucking told him more than he needed to know, and the absence of his body above you when he lay down on the bed next to you was long forgotten when a splayed hand on your abdomen pushed you back down into the mattress, your heart stuttering at the feeling. 

Gentle whines of his name, and a repeated mantra of 'please, please, please' was the only thing your otherwise dismantled brain could come up with, and Spencer was relishing in the knowledge that he was doing this to you. And though it is something he knows he's done before, it had been far too long since and the reminder was always welcome. 

"I know, sweet girl," he said against you when your eyes came open and searched his desperately, walls fluttering around his fingers indicating just how close you were. 

"Please don't stop."

"I won't," he confirmed, punctuating the promise with his thumb returning to your clit. He had your best interest in mind — you knew that. He now wouldn't stop even if you begged him to. 

Overwhelming seemed too insignificant of a word to describe what you felt like when you came, nerve endings all over your body sparking, instead of just the ones he was stimulating. 

His thumb rubbing circles and his fingers thrusting in and out of you didn't falter until your shaking body had stilled and your strings of moans had diminished, slowly coming to a stop and leaving your body — seemingly — as fast as they had entered. 

The content smile on your face was interrupted with Spencer's hand lifting to your lips, and instinctively you parted them, already knowing exactly what he was after. 

His middle and ring fingers entered your mouth, and your face scrunched up despite yourself as you tasted yourself on them. He laughed at that — of course he did — and pulled them out soon after. 

"You do that every time," he murmured, hair tickling your skin as he placed open mouthed kisses over your shoulder, up towards your neck. 

"It tastes weird," you argued, and his teeth nipping your skin told you he disagreed. Though, he wasn't in the mood to argue, for he didn't say anything else on the matter. 

"Still got it in you for one more?" he asked you, pulling his head back so he could see you once again. 

"Yes."

"Good."

Your eyes watched him even as he rolled back to take his pants off, and the awkward smile he gave you provided the inkling of comfort that there was still the man from three months prior in there. 

"I really missed you, you know?" This time it was you saying it, piercing the air as his hand came down between your thighs to part them. The head of his cock nudged against you, brushing delicately through your folds and eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips. 

"I know," he answered, pressing kisses on your shoulder once more. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. I'm fine," you confirmed with a nod, confusion crossing your features all up until you learned why he was asking. 

A broken moan, choked and caught in your throat, left you when he painstakingly slowly pushed inside of you. There's not a lot going on inside your mind when he stops, your entire body aflame and equally desperate for more, as you were for him to take a moment here. 

"I love you," he breathed out, the words hurried and encouraging your heart to speed up, and your mind to melt even more. 

"I love you too," you said back, voice just as quiet, gently nudging hips ushering for him to move. 

"Impatient girl," he muttered, but you smiled nonetheless because he did (move). 

His thrusts were slow, and gentle, but you never truly minded how much time he took with you once you two were here. Even more so now, for you were on the same page as him, and you wanted to savour every single moment of this down to the second. 

A whimper left your lips, followed closely by the desperate whisper of his name, and lips that were still resting against your shoulder smiled. 

"I thought about this a lot," he said to you, his hand that was holding your thighs slightly open sliding up to find your clit. "I definitely shouldn't have."

"Why?" You knew why, but the thought of hearing him answer it aloud excited you a little. 

Unfortunately, he knew you better than that. "Don't play coy. You know why, honey."

"You're cruel," you huffed, and he laughed, rolling his hips to meet yours, earning another moan. "Maybe I don't."

"Use that wonderful imagination of yours, then," he answered, rubbing your clit at the same time as he moved his hips once more, effortlessly rendering you unable to respond to him again. 

A teenage boy probably could've lasted longer than the both of you, but you decided to blame it all on your already sensitive nerves from a prior orgasm, and the fact that Spencer Reid had not had you like this for over 2190 hours (not that he was counting).

Whimpers escaped your throat as he kept his hips thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace, while his fingers working on your clit did anything but. It was an aching juxtaposition that left you reeling for more, and Spencer was now the one shutting his eyes so he could hold onto some semblance of composure. 

"Spencer," you pleaded, and it was a quiet moan from behind you that told you he was exactly where you were. 

"I know, honey," he replied, the desperation in his voice jumpstarting your heart. "Need to come, yeah?"

"Mmhm," you nodded your head quickly, breathlessly moaning. "Please."

"You're going to. Don't worry. Don't need to beg, sweet girl."

Commingled moans and obscenely wet noises filled the air, and your hips stuttered as your stomach twisted into knots. 

Chanting his name like a prayer, you meet him wherever your two souls go in that moment, and it's a shuddering feeling as you come at the same time as him. For the first time in forever. 

His hand drops back to your thigh and he massages the muscles there gently, willing himself to stop before he crossed the line of overstimulation — not that you think you'd complain about that. 

There was an emptiness when he pulled out, but then he was kissing you again to make up for it, and you were smiling against his lips as you kissed him back. This time, without the fever. 

"How're you feeling?" he asked you, quietly. 

"Happy," you answered, forcing your heavy eyelids open when he pulled back. "How are you feeling?"

"Also happy," he agreed, and your heart soared. 

"Good."

"You need to go pee," he said, placing another kiss on your cheek, before he leaned his body away entirely. 

"Help?"

Arguably, you could do it yourself. Your limbs were tired, yes, and your mind was melting, but you were coherent enough to brave it alone. 

Thankfully, you didn't have to. 

He carried you to the bathroom, running the bath water after you had silently begged him for it with your eyes (looking between him and the empty bath with wide eyes and a jutted lip worked wonders), and leaving you to pee. 

"Are you getting in with me?" you asked him as wobbly legs akin to a fawn carried you over to the now full and steaming bathtub. 

"Do you want me to?"

Hesitantly, you nodded your head, fidgeting with your fingers in front of you. "But you'd have to take your shirt off. So you don't have to."

He studied your face for a moment longer, before he nodded, and fingers expertly worked at unbuttoning down the shirt. 

"I'm okay now. That's the important thing you have to remember, okay?" his words provided little comfort, but you nodded your head regardless. 

You had a suspicion already of what sight you were going to be met with, but it didn't stop the guilt settling into your chest when the shirt fell to the floor anyways. 

"Spence," you murmured, taking a hesitant step forwards, heart falling to your stomach. 

Bruises littered the skin, some fresh and still purple, others nearly healed and yellowing. But there were so many, and it was then that you were swallowing the rest of him in with your eyes, catching the bandage on his thigh. 

"What is that?" you nodded towards the covered wound, and when your eyes returned to his face again, he was staring at you with an unreadable expression. 

"A lot happened," he answered, quietly, before repeating, "I'm okay now."

You nodded your head, tears stinging your vision for nothing more than your ridiculous amount of empathy. "Can you tell me about it?"

"I will," he promised. "Eventually. Just not now, okay? I haven't processed it all yet."

"Okay," you replied, and his heart shattered at the sight of a tear slipping down your face. 

"Hey," he took ahold of your hand and tugged you closer to him, fingers running through your hair and resting at the base of your scalp. "I promise, honey. I'm not going to disintegrate from a few bruises."

"It isn't just a few," you answered, voice wavering. "There's so many."

"You have a heart too big for your chest," he decided to say instead, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "Most of them don't even hurt now. Please believe me when I say I'm okay."

"I'm trying," your voice is thick with a sob caught in your throat. "I think I'm just really tired."

"Yeah," he crooned, agreeing. "Your body's released a lot of prolactin, which encourages sleep. Alongside the endorphins and dopamine that you're crashing from upon seeing this."

Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose in an attempt to comfort. 

"Bath, then we can sleep, and we can talk more in the morning," he listed off, and you merely nodded your head once more, sniffling and wiping your eyes. 

"Okay."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[sunshine-theseus]

warning: heartbreak high season2 spoilers

i thought while i'm making my comeback i'll talk about a bunch of different shit like chelsea games and the way sharn freier is literally a star girl and now she's not my team's secret anymore.

BUT the 2nd season of Heartbreak High (if you are or aren't australian, please watch it. it's so good. it's on netflix) came out yesterday and i've already finished it and i have so many thoughts.

first off how the fuck did rowan manage to bag malakai and amery of all people. i'm sorry but this motherfucker rocks up in term 2, a new kid, dressed like dean winchester with the hair of sam winchester and 2 of the hottest people at Hartley, who were a couple mind you, fall in love with him. i have to congratulate the writers on actually understanding what a love triangle is though; instead of making it a love... line? also i took a complete stab in the dark about him hallucinating his brother not long into watching it and i was right :D

BI MALAKAI YOU WILL CATCH ME SOBBING IN THE CORNER I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

this may be hot take, but i can't stand the way darren can't take accountability for their actions. they absolutely came for quinni's throat when she expressed her feelings and told her that the world can't revolve around her and accommodate all her needs... the world can't always accommodate quinni... a queer, autistic woman... and then they don't even actually apologise for what they said to her? and then they seek out an old hook up to have sex when cash comes back from the last "mission" with chook. should cash have done it without telling them? no. was it the right thing to do? no. but going to hook up with someone WHEN YOU'RE STILL IN A RELATIONSHIP?? and then calling it drama?? fucking wild idk

i don't know how i feel about the spider redemption arc they tried to do, but fucking hell did voss piss me the fuck off. dude shut the fuck up, if you want to be taken seriously maybe don't wear a lycra body suit to work. i can't be mad about spider trying to be a better person but i don't like that they made him take a fucking huge jump back when missy said it wasn't going to work, or that the reason he was like that was because he had a hyper-feminist mum. she was horrendous trying to use missy to try and "fix him" and missy ate calling that artwork out for being fake. speaking of, missy is so strong minded, why the fuck did they make her fold for sasha's "people like him can't change" spiel, didn't even think, instantly agreed. sasha was so annoying

i kind of wish harper didn't drop the case, but i think it was something that took a lot of courage. the way woodsy taught her to drive and was so excited when she passed the test - tears were shed. i like harper and ant together i think? but i kind of wish they let it play out longer (this is me assuming there will be a third season)

uhh i can't think of much else, feel free to add.

[alpydk]

Gone with the Weave

Took a few days off to think. Seriously considered deleting everything, Tumblr, all of it. Realised I'd become a little lost in my writing, getting jealous over other people, insecure about my own abilities, forgot who I was writing for and why. So today I sat down and actually wrote for me again and you know what? It's helped. And because I'm hypocritical I'm going to share it with all of you.

So, here we have post-Epilogue short. Hurt/Little comfort. Gale/Tav - Tav & Astarion - Word count : 2398 -

CW - PPD / Grief / Death / Dad!Gale / Scenes of child death (Hallucinations)

It was like tar. It pulled her down and filled her lungs, thick and black. Tav tried to fight against it, tried to find the light that she knew shone above it, but her limbs were weighted down by fatigue and longing. A part of her wanted to be dragged down by it, to be lost to the depths of her depression, to disappear and no longer have the responsibility that had been thrusted upon her. To sleep and never wake; to be with him.

To everyone around her, she was a natural mother, tending to her baby’s needs, a confident smile at the life she had brought into the world. Tav was proud, strong, had been through the hells and back, figuratively and literally, and survived unscathed. But as with most, her pride was becoming her downfall. She didn’t need help, didn’t want it because weakness was not the sign of a good mother. As the days passed, as sleep turned to hallucination, still she clung onto the mask of what they all wanted to see, the last remnant of a life before life.

The child cried, but she did not react instantly, a quiet hope that someone else would come and tend to its needs whilst she pretended to sleep. But she didn’t sleep. For so long, the gods of dream and nightmare alike had ignored her pleas, and she had lain there awake, watching as the infant took all from her, leaving her with nothing but guilt and misery.

She wished he was there to help her, that his weave touched fingers that brought calm to her soul could calm the one that lay in the crib. He should have been there for this, she told herself, his strong forearms cradling the baby, a soft poem uttered under starlight bringing it to soothe. If only she had known before the final decision was made; if only things had ended differently and he had stayed, then maybe there would be fewer tears shed.

Still it cried, and no one came, the silence broken by the shrieks she had come to despise. It would be so easy to just leave, to walk out and never return, but then they would all know what she was truly like. The tar that had filled her lungs and surrounded her heart, leaving her bitter and tainted, would be exposed and they would know the truth. They would hate her as she hated the innocent child in front of her. But what if…? The thought was fleeting, cruel and unspeakable, a horror even in her own twisted mind. As night turned to the day, as cries turned to coos, she watched the baby, always watching and waiting for something to change.

---

Evening had set in and though the stars shone brightly as he had promised her, the night brought Tav little comfort knowing the long, drawn-out hours that were to come. She carried the baby to the small tub, her body weary and mind wandering, and she placed it in the water, watching as the bubbles rose quickly from its soft lips, as the arms tensed and held out towards her, as the deep brown eyes she had once loved lost their light again.

A knock at the door brought her around to her senses as she sat in front of the empty tub, the baby cooing peacefully from its bassinet. This had not been the first time she had seen such sights in the weeks since the birth. At first, it had been minor things, a shadow in the room that she had mistaken for a friend, the child crying whilst it actually slept. Soon the images became darker, the newborn lifeless in her arms when she awoke suddenly during the night, a slight misstep causing her to drop it to the floor, its body like that of a rag doll as it hit the wooden floorboards. Nothing scared her more though than herself, her lack of reaction, the quiet pleasure she saw in the freedom being granted to her. Would murder or suicide be the more publicly acceptable option? Would they forgive her? Could he forgive her, should she make that choice?

Tav rose from the floor, the image shaken away, and the mask put back in place. A deep breath was released before the door was answered with a smile and the face of Astarion greeted her. She was thankful it was him and not one of the more caring of the group; it would mean fewer questions asked, less concern over her wellbeing, and a chance that the walls would remain intact for another night.

He entered without invitation, many nights like this in the last six months that had thankfully grown less frequent since the birth. “You look like shit, darling.”

She smirked at his words, fully aware that the lack of sunlight was making her as pale as him, that the deep bags hung under her eyes. “Well, we can’t all match up to you, can we?”

Astarion made himself at home. Wine was grabbed from the cupboard and his feet put up on the coffee table. He noticed the baby but chose to ignore it, instead watching as Tav quickly sorted her hair in an attempt to look less haggard. “Resident do-gooder Wyll has asked me to come and check in on you.”

“And since when do you take orders from others?” She sat near him on the sofa, the faint stirring of the child drawing her attention. All she wanted was a moment like the old times, of two friends chatting about something that wasn’t related to birth or parenting, of wine and shameless flirting that meant nothing.

He watched her, her eyes allowing him to see the cracks that lay so visibly. “Since, 1 – it’s my turn, and 2 – it’s been a year.”

Tav scoffed. “Taking turns? Is that what you all do?” She ignored his second remark, a year since the Netherbrain, since that day when everything was supposed to change for the better.

“Quite frankly, yes. It’s one thing to be holed up alone with seven thousand spawn, it’s another to be holed up alone with that…” Astarion gestured his hand dismissively to the infant.

She knew he was right, life would be better without it, she wouldn’t be alone here, needing to be checked up on as if she there were something wrong with her. “You know you don’t have to. We’re fine.” The lie slipped out as easily as it ever did, the painted-on smile meeting her dead eyes. The small cry made her bristle, made the lie falter, and she hoped it was nothing but that one whimper.

He sipped his wine, the quickening of her heart rate deceptive as it cut through the heavy silence. “Still, we should at least share in a drink, shouldn’t we? A remembrance of sorts.”

“No, that’s not needed.” Tav was quick to cut off this suggestion. It was one thing for the wall to crumble in front of him that she was tired of sleepless nights, another for the actual truth to be pushed upon her and the dam to break.

The cry could be heard again, now with little pause between breaths. She wanted to ignore it, wanted it to die down, wanted anyone else to deal with it. But no one else would come. He would not come. She could see Astarion tensing with the building noise, and she had to react to save face. She stood, approaching the bassinet, a brief flash of annoyance in her eyes as she glanced down and picked up the baby. It was as if it knew, was manipulating her and drawing her towards ruin, as if the gods were not satisfied enough with the sacrifices she had already made.

“Aww, you just want to see uncle Astarion, don’t you?” This was what people wanted, fawning over the infant, exaggerated displays of affection that she loathed to give. She carried the baby over, its cries stopping, and she gritted her teeth, knowing the moment she put it down, the noise would commence again.

“Oh, no, darling. It’s quite alright.” He pulled his legs off the table, a clear discomfort, and with it knocked over the bottle of wine.

The scarlet liquid spread across the wood, dripping quickly onto the floor, a lazy flow as it crept between the floorboards. Tav couldn’t take her eyes from it, the baby lying amongst it, the rag doll limbs amongst its own blood, lifeless brown eyes that stared back at her. Her heart didn’t beat, she stood not in panic, only a numbness lay in her mind at the sight.

Astarion grabbed a cloth and began to clear the wine, Tav seemingly frozen with the child in her arms, her mind a million realms away, a feeling he knew too well himself. “You know, they say white wine can clear out red…”

Her heart took a beat, a recollection of where she was, of the company present, and she hoped the vision she had seen had been instantaneous so as not to draw attention. The baby was thankfully silent, and she cursed herself for not feeling upset at the sights she was seeing. Murder or suicide…It would be so easy.

She sat with the baby in her arms, Astarion cupping the glass of wine as he leaned away from her on the sofa. She could see how uncomfortable he was becoming, as if looking for a conversation that was casual enough to fulfil his objective for checking in on her.

“So, Gale-“

“Is gone.” She interrupted him off before he could even start. This was not the topic she needed. He should be there with her, holding her through sleepless nights, soothing their child as it cried through the darkened hours. He should be sharing in her tears, her smiles, consoling her as she struggled with her doubts. The baby began to stir again, as if picking up on her emotions.

“Tav, it’s been a year and you’ve not spoken with anyone about what happened.”

She ignored him, his voice and the quiet cries already beginning to overwhelm her senses. There was nothing to talk about; there was only this lonely guilt filled existence. Days and nights of tar, of emptiness, of decisions she couldn’t bring herself to make. Hoping her mask wouldn’t slip, she rocked the baby in an attempt to calm it. She was a proud, strong mother. She was a good mother.

He sighed, not knowing if he should bother to help or not, but after all Tav had done for him in the past, he knew he had to do something. “Pass it here.”

She lifted her head, a defensive hold on the baby in her arms. Was it maternal love or the pride that prevented her from handing it over so freely? “No, I can handle this.”

Astarion reached over tentatively. The baby smelt odd, like spices he could not pinpoint, and his stomach turned slightly, but he would not accept what she was saying. He gently took it into his arms, Tav’s resistance minimal, as if her body was mutinying against her mind. The child grew quiet again, a small coo as its hand reached for his shirt and small pink fingers hooked around the cotton.  

Tears built up instantly in Tav’s eyes, a guilt that she hadn’t been good enough to do this one simple thing, that she had failed in being a mother. She wanted to hide it all, wanted to run away, but she also wanted to fall apart so that people knew how deep she had fallen into the darkness and could come and save her, save her just as he had done so long ago. She wiped at her eyes, but it made little difference, the sight of her friend holding her baby, a light in his own eyes she had never seen before, a moment of innocence on the face of a seasoned killer. Why could she not feel that way? What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she love…?

Her words were quiet. Astarion wouldn't care, and she knew it wouldn’t faze him. He wouldn’t coddle her like the others would. He was what she needed now that all was lost. “I can’t handle this…”

---

The night passed in a blur. He listened as she spoke of all that had happened in the last few months, of the things she had seen, things she believed she wanted, of pride and guilt that filled her heart to bursting. She spoke of the loneliness that consumed her and the child she could not connect to, of how it reminded her of the past she wished to forget, a past she longed for desperately. One life had ended, and another had begun and all she had been left with was shadows.

The baby slept through for the first time in months, Astarion having settled it in its crib as she had managed an hour of sleep. She’d waited ages in silence, listening for the sudden interruption that never came. It was as if it knew of her confession, and she hated and loved it for what it had done.

In the early hours her friend left, the rising sun announcing his need to depart, and with it she saw the light between the grey clouds, a new day ready to start again. The child stirred, and she stepped towards the crib with hesitation. She saw the purple robes that had been draped lightly at the base where it slept, the subtle scent of the library lying amongst spices bringing calm to the bedroom, and she heard the sound of the waves on docks, brushed up with the morning gale. Picking up her baby gathered with the robes, she held them both closely, the tears building, the relief, the love for her child breaking through the walls she had built.

The guilt flowed, but it was not met with a resignation; it was met with the promise to do better, to be the mother she should’ve been, to be the woman he had once loved. The child gazed at her, bright eyed, and she saw Gale once again; for a brief moment he was with her. She was not alone. She would never be alone.

[danikamariewrites]

Yay! So happy you’ll write for them! I have an Aidas request.The reader is Bryce’s friends and meets him through her. They are immediately drawn to each other and grow really close. The war is over and he has to go back to Hel. They are trying to figure out how they can still be together. It can be angsty/fluffy/smutty. Lol just whatever you are feeling.

Honestly I’d be happy with anything to do with him. 😂

Hel is Heaven With You

Aidas x reader

A/n: Hi anon, I love this idea and I think of Aidas and his love interest as Hades and Persephone. I might do another part for this if I can think of another story for these guys.

Warnings: none

With the Asteri gone and the war won all that was left to do was send the armies of darkness and nightmarish creatures back to Hel. Once the fighting was over Aidas had given you a choice. Come to Hel with him or stay with your friends.

The first time you met the Prince of Hel was in Bryce’s apartment. His clear blue eyes had captivated you, charming and flirting with you as he danced around giving Hunt and Bryce answers. You felt drawn to the prince since then. Every night you saw him in your dreams. He seemed so real, there were times when you would wake up and swore Aidas was in a dark corner of your room.

When the attack during the spring happened Aidas had checked on you, making sure you were safe. He got into the habit of staying with you for days at a time and eventually you fell for each other. Confessing your feelings was hard. With the both of you being from different worlds you didn’t know how a relationship would work.

It’s been two days since Aidas gave you the choice to come with him. You had spent your time weighing the pros and cons of the situation. You must admit it was enticing, the thought of going with him to Hel. You would miss your friends but Aidas had promised you could see them whenever you wished. Besides them there wasn’t much keeping you on Midgard. Your brother and parents, being the snobby fae they were, cut you off when you stood by Bryce’s side after Danika’s death.

It wasn’t a hard decision after all. Trudging through the harsh snow in Nena with the army of Hel you had your bag slung over your shoulder. You hadn’t told Aidas what you decided yet, deciding to second guess yourself on the trip back to the Northern Rift. But you had said your goodbyes. A lot were tearful, especially June. You swear Fury shed a tear, though she denied it.

You had waited to say bye to Bryce at the rift, not wanting to feel the pain for two goodbyes with your best friend.

As the army filed through the rift back to Hel you said your goodbyes to her and Hunt, promising to visit. When Aidas was the only one left you finally faced him. “Well?” He asked, raising a perfectly groomed blonde brow at you. You held out your hand for his in answer.

Aidas seemed shocked as he took it, smiling down at you. As he pulled you towards your future together Bryce called out, “Wait!” You and Aidas turn to face her. “Promise me something Aidas. Promise me you’ll take care of her.” Aidas bowed his head at the fae queen. “I swear on my life, Bryce Quinlan, that y/n will never have a need or want that isn’t met.” Aidas raises your gloved hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the outline of your knuckles.

Bryce nods, the corner of her mouth tugging into a smirk as she says, “I’ll come kick your ass if I find out otherwise.” Stepping through the rift you both look at Bryce and Hunt one last time. “I’m counting on it.” The Prince replies before Bryce seals the rift.

——

Hel is not like you thought it would be. Bryce had told you what it was like after the Caves. But this was different.

Aidas’s kingdom was always in a state of dusk and darkness. His castle wasn’t what you thought either. You expected a fairytale version of a gothic castle with tall black spires, all open air windows and breezeways, floating on a ripped piece of earth among the clouds.

It was nothing like that at all. His home was more of an estate, surrounded by a tall, black wrought iron fence, the grounds covered in hedges and stone statues of his and his brother’s creations. The three story manor itself was black, gray stone moldings decorating the peaks and windows.

The interior was just as hauntingly beautiful as the exterior. Black, white, and red were the main colors decorating the house. Thick velvet curtains guarded the windows. Intricately carved wood made up the walls and bannisters, making the home feel alive. Pulling off your gloves you ran your hands across the ridges.

Aidas slipped your bag from your shoulder, waving his hand it disappeared into thin air. Aidas stepped closer to you, gazing into your eyes as he peels off your layers of winter wear. Handing over your stuff to a butler you didn’t even see approach.

“Come, my heart. I want to show you your new home.” You smile up at him, twining your fingers together again as he leads you through the house.

Aidas left you to get aquanted in your new room, which happened to be his room. You spent your time unpack what little you brought with you, finding Aidas left you plenty of room. He had a new dresser built for you along with a matching vanity. The prince also split his closet in half. When he told you that you were confused as to when you would fill it, is there even a mall on this plane of existence?

Finally curious about how much space you have to fill you pull open the ornate, wooden double doors. As the First Light comes on you gasp. You didn't need to fill the closet, it was already filled for you. Gowns and dresses on velvet hangers, shoes and slippers across racks, along with your clothes from home all neatly folded on the shelves above them.

You gape at the expensive fabrics, running your fingers across the garments in wonder. Knowing Aidas went out of his way to make sure you were clothed and well looked after had tears pricking your eyes.

No one had ever cared for you the way Aidas did. Not even your parents had paid this much attention to you.

Blinking away your impending tears, Aidas clears his throat behind you. Turning, you find the Prince of the Chasm casually draped against the door frame. “Is everything to your liking, my heart?” You smile brightly at him. “It’s perfect. And it’s more than I could ever ask for, thank you, Aidas.”

Aidas pushed off the door frame, striding over to you. The prince towers over you as he looks down at you. Bringing his pale, slender hands up to hold your face Aidas presses a kiss to your forehead. “I told you, my heart, you will never have to want again.”

[shana-silver-fox]

Le Paradis Pour Toi TBOC 2.04

Officially Caryl’s song!

I know other Carylers have already discussed the French song of the same name, but here’s the part that’s very Caryly to me

Life isn't hard at all

We're more or less fishermen

We don't have a home

We sleep here or somewhere else

I found paradise for you

This totally fits with the original nomadic theme their spinoff was supposed to have. Paradise is wherever the two of them are.

Lots of thoughts on the episode

This is my favorites of the series. It was like Consumed x1000.

The opening shot of super sad Daryl under that window, not knowing Carol was right outside! I really think he thinks he was going to die there.

Ok. Carol’s plot armor here was level 9000, but 🤷🏼��♀️

Seeing Carol and Codron go Furiosa was awesome!

I already made a post about how Izzy dies. It was so Beth coded. Right down to the stupid little weapon and bad aim.

They held onto that Tinkerbelle theme to the end. Tink drank poison and was holding her belly like Izzy. Seeing her bleeding out alone, and then being saved by Carol was so emotional. Carol was so caring 🥹

The look on Izzy’s face when Carol told her name. She knew instantly. She knew she could never compete with this bond. She probably was a little sad, but like Clemence said I think it more acceptance. She still believed in signs and God moving their lives through fate. She knew she was looking at Laurent’s new parents.

And I must point out that Daryl didn’t shed a single tear. Dude was was just bawling all over Carol, but no tears for Tink.

It appears Carol put her down since she pulled out her knife at the end of the scene. No burial? No revenge mad Daryl tearing through the castle looking for Losang? No his focus was Laurent, which I think it always was. Izzy was just part of the package. Just like Carol/zeke/henry

I did wish the Caryl reunion had some dialogue, but what could they say that would fit, but wouldn’t trigger the TOWLers to claim they were copying them?

Flew half around the world in a feeling. More Peter pannery, Daryl is Carol’s happy thought!🥰 💫✨

ABCers were all claiming how romantic d’paysant was and how that would be the Tinkyl catchphrase. I loved seeing Daryl smile and say it to Carol not 24 hours after Izzy died.

I could write a book on Didi and Theo. We got a flashforward of future Caryl.

Carol stepped right into being Isabelle in a symbolic sense for the viewers. Pretty obvious what they are saying.

I wil have to do a seperate. Thidi/caryl post. There’s just too much. But how you can’t see Caryl coming after that is crazy.

The convo while Caryl were waiting shows Daryl is still thinking of staying in France even though Izzy is dead. So it was never about her, it was about Laurent.

I think they also hinted that Daryl just wants to start a new life. When Carol says, what about the Grimes kids back home?, he said “this is different” 👀 He just threw a little shade at having to play Rick’s nanny. He’s done and he wants a family with Carol.

Daryl saying he would never be afraid of becoming Carol! ❤️ He loves her just as she is. Flaws and all

Daryl apologized for losing himself

Theo bringing up sex eggs is a foreshadowing! It will be an actual Easter 🥚 ! Mark it!

Everyone being a little jealous of the old man losing his memories. 😢

Didi: Will you stay in Paris? Daryl: we’re still working in it.

See he still didn’t want to go home.

Theo : for you my love. For us. 💔 Sounds like something Daryl would do.

Genet saying “my love-my hope” equating her romantic love with hope. And the narrative has established Carol is Daryl’s hope.

God was not on Genet’s side 🫣 Her death was a really great death befitting a great villain.

Daryl tells Carol Laurent is Henry GLUE and Carol totally understands.

Don’t tell me Daryl Dixon isn’t head over heels in love with Carol.

Ending (happy ending) with Carol and Daryl both having giant smiles when he says Laurent is coming home with us.

Us. The two of us. Look at those smiles!

[dulcewrites]

Seek and Destroy

Summary: Alicent swears she is not naturally a cruel person. Any semblances of cunning or coldness has been taught, slowly and surely. A gift bestowed to her from the age of ten and five. Something she was weened onto like a babe that suckles for milk from its mother. She has learned at the feet at the best - or maybe the worst. King’s Landing has fallen to Rhaenyra. Her children are scattered around the realm. Lives have been lost already. Alicent’s heart has finally callused. Nothing left but a shell and the venom that seeps out of it.

A/N: This is just something I have been working on. It is not finished obvi. I don’t know if I will expand on it. If I do I will probably post it to ao3

Her father’s blood had splattered into her mouth when she cried out. At first, Alicent did not want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her body shake in worry. Bones rattling together under neath sheathed of silk. Green silks. Or let them take glee in seeing fear in her eyes. She wanted to stand tall as the execution begun. Her father being first to go was for a reason.

Even in his doom, Otto Hightower managed to make his presence looming.

Alicent wanted not to shed a single tear. But then she felt ten and eight again. Just a girl with two children, and burden pressed firmly on her chest to the point where it was hard to breathe. He was unruly and fickle but without him, she would be alone… again.

Her brain settled between ‘This is all his fault. His debt comes due, as it should’ and ‘Daddy, please look me. Tell me you love me, that I made you proud despite of how it ends for us’.

But all her father told her was to look away. As if to shield her from a terror that had already came. A terror he brought. The horror was on their doorstep now. She was rutted in each night against her wishes; she bore four children - ones she could not save. They bore her grandchildren that she loved in a way she was not able to love her own children. Maybe if she could not help her own, she could do better with the littlest ones.

Jaehaerys. Oh, my poor Jaehaerys.

Everyone is gone. If not in person, in spirit.

Gwayne is gone. Her brother dragged into this mess. When he had arrived in King’s Landing, she has almost missed him amongst the other Oldtown knights. Her heart had sunk lower that she thought it could at the thought of not even recognizing her own kin. His face was one that was no longer burned in her brain.

Helaena’s mind and heart has been rotted from the inside out. On a good day, Alicent can force her to eat and drink. She bathes her daughter as if she still a babe. There is no light in Helaena’s eyes.

Alicent’s mouth feels as if a pile of sand has been dumped in her mouth if she thinks too long about how cold she was when Aemond left for the Riverlands. He gave her a kiss a cheek and muttered a pitiful sorry.

It was all he had said since coming back from Storm’s End. Different variations of the same thing. He never begged for forgiveness from the Gods but from her.

Sorry, mother. I’m so sorry mother.

If she could crush skulls with her bare hands, Alicent would. Not off strength, she’s always been a slip of a woman. But off the hatred that seemed into her bones.

She was prepared to die. She thinks she has been from the moment Viserys said he would marry her. From the moment the maester congratulated her on being pregnant with Aegon. Death had been a thing she even welcomed at times. When the lonliness felt too deep, when she could not stomach being called to Viserys chambers at night, when she had to look at her children for too long. She eyed Criston’s sword one too many times to admit. So, when Daemon leers over her with that cruel, ugly smile of his, she straightens her back and sniffs away her tears. He, of course, got the honors to kill her father; a task Alicent is sure he has wanted to do for decades.

It was Daemon who pushed her hair to the side with such gentleness it made her a bit sick. The coolness of Dark Sister pressed softly against her neck.

Alicent says a quick prayer to the Mother for her children. She knows it is to no veil; they were doomed the moment they came out of her. Mayhaps, this is her punishment for bearing them.

She does not sob over herself. Her lot in life has been well accepted. But Alicent wants to claw at her own face, peel back her own flesh so she is frayed out, when she thinks of her kids.

Let the Mother keep them safe as they do what is only imaginable in their wildest nightmares. May the horrors committed not leave them too soiled.

“Wait,” Rhaenyra’s voice calls out in the Grand Hall. It echoes so loud that Alicent flinches, the blade swiping gently against her neck. She still shivers from head to toe.

Daemon huffs, before removing the blade cautiously.

Alicent peers up at the stairs that lead to the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra gestures softly to her husband to come up the stairs. Daemon does not fully sheathe Dark Sister but complies anyway. A piece of Alicent’s hair obstructs her view, but through it, her eyes stay trained on Rhaenyra. Or whoever the person wearing the crown is.

The woman looks like the Rhaenyra. The same long silvery blonde hair styled elaborately on top of her head with the rest hanging in a braid. Her long riding dress is a deep black with red stitching and a red dragon collar. Red and purple dragons snaking their way up her sleeves. The woman has Rhaenyra’s eyes and nose, but Alicent has never felt more confused about who stands at the feet of the Iron Throne. The woman’s mouth pinches the way a young Rhaenyra’s would when she was distressed.

Rhaenyra’s look makes Alicent think of the stories of warrior queen Visenya. Rhaenyra would often laud the might and cunning of her ancestor during their girlhood. After the pain, humiliation, and anger post Aemond losing his eye, Alicent had chucked softly to herself at the thought her son riding the Conqueror Queen’s beloved dragon. Because of course it would be one of her kids to claim the old bitch.

But despite the styling callback, a warrior Rhaenyra is not.

And based on the look of disgust settling on Daemon’s face, he thinks the same of his wife.

He will never see you as an equal, she wants to call out. It does not matter how many crowns you put on your head, how many dragons you claim - you always just be his little niece… a silly woman. The means to his end.

Their conversation reaches a cacophony and Alicent desperately wants to know what it being said. Is Rhaenyra asking him to make it as gruesome as possible? Maybe they will drag her body out in front of the castle for all the small folk to see. A warning for what can happen if they defy their queen. Alicent already knows the heads of those that helped Aegon and his kids escape will be next once they catch them.

Rhaenyra reaches out to grab Daemon’s arm, but he is already down the stairs muttering expletives out his mouth. Alicent hears the word whore, and scoffs internally. She fights back a sad smile that almost forces itself on her face. Not the first time she has heard that, and surely will not be the last. Poor Daemon has never been clever with his insults. They are as simple as he is. She is the nasty deceitful, whore that seduced Viserys and ruined everything. Used her wily, womanly magic, her cunt, to lure the King of the Fucking Seven Kingdoms into submission. She always noticed how Daemon always acted like she stole Viserys from him.

The same way the maidens whose virtue Daemon stole must be whores too. The same way Queen Aemma must have been inadequate since she did not give Viserys what he wanted. Something must have been wrong with Rhea and Laena too. Maybe even Daemon’s own daughters are not enough. Surely, something is wrong with Rhaenyra. Something that makes Daemon’s stomach curdle. Such is the way with men like him.

Viserys will be remembered as a peaceful king, and a gentle man. A king who was so averse to conflict that he raped Alicent for children he then neglected once they came. He was so kind he made sure his first wife died in a pool of blood with nothing but screams of agony and pleas of mercy dying in her lips.

She wonders if Rhaenyra knows that charming story. Would she still have felt safe under the patronage of Viserys if she knew such? Imagine the horror that Alicent felt when she overheard maesters whispering of such when she was pregnant with Aegon.

Alicent is sure Daemon will die being known as a ‘true’ and ‘honest’ warrior. Apparently, there are those that think there is some sort of honor in being upfront about ones rotting heart. As if his cavalier attitude negates the atrocities on his hands. The world has taught Alicent that type of ruthlessness is only tolerated at the hands of a man.

And Alicent, in all her attempts to do right, to keep her head above water, to appease and break herself down into a small enough package that all can accept her, will be known as a whore. A seducer, a scheming bitch that stole the agency of a grown man. She will die being blamed and accused.

It only seemed right she supposed.

Viserys the Peaceful. Daemon the Honest. Alicent… the Whore.

Her confusion mounts when Daemon does not come back to her to finish the job. Instead, he continues walking, right past and leaving the hall in a fit of anger and rage. Alicent knees have begun to ache from being crouched. Rhaenyra clears her throat, and Alicent eyes slowly go back to her. Dark bags rimmed Rhaenyra’s eyes, only drawing more attention to the extremely dark limbal ring that surrounded deep amethyst. When Alicent heard about Lucerys’ death, it had shaken her to her core. Frankly more for Aemond’s sake than for Rhaenyra’s or the boy’s. The thought of peace still naively in her mind. Alicent always seemed to the last one to arrive at the right conclusions. A fatal flaw of hers unfortunately.

You were already ill-fated, you foolish boy! Why make yourself accursed as well!

But when Alicent heard of Jacaerys’ death, she knew what was to come. There are few things a parent loves more than their first born.

…. Alicent had never known what the smell of burning flesh was like till Aegon.

“I have decided to spare your life,” the few people that stood in the hall, her council, begin to whisper to each other. Rhaenyra shifts uncomfortably at the eyes on her. “For the sake of my father, who loved you once.”

Alicent blinks once, then twice, then three times. She is almost a bit disappointed. Rhaenyra has taken so much and now she has taken death off the table too.

And is that what they are calling what Viserys did to her? Love? Rhaenyra could not possibly believe that. Not now after everything. After the way Rhaenyra would so seamlessly twist the knife when she had the chance, when she was backed in a corner. Rhaenyra knew there was no love there. Not for Alicent and definitely not for her children.

The words crawl up her throat before she can stop them. She must know. “And what of my girl? What of Queen Helaena?”

The queen part slips out truly on accident, a panicked slip of the tongue, but Rhaenyra’s mouth curls a bit in a sneer.

If her Helaena is to die at the hands of one of Rhaenyra’s butchers, to meet the same evil fate Jaehaerys did, then Alicent might beg for the sword. Or a rope and one of the high ceilings of the Red Keep.

Something cold and numb flashes behind Rhaenyra’s already hallow eyes. As if she is just now remembering that she had a sister that still occupied the castle.

“The princess will be spared as well.”

Rhaenyra waves a ringed hand at the guard to have Alicent taken away. Before she can even register was has happened, she is dragged away by the arms.

“Let her be bound in a manner fitting of her new station,” Rhaenyra sits in the Irone Throne elegantly as Alicent goes.

Alicent’s frantic eyes look at her father’s limp body one last time. His blood spilled on the ground. His head separated from the rest of him. It is the first and only time Alicent has ever seen her father so… small.

If Otto was alive now, and they were alone, he would tell her that he was right. He said as much after Jaehaerys was killed. Right before Aegon snatched the hand pin off his grandsire’s jacket and screamed at him that all that cunning had gone to waste by Otto being a ‘bastard that was too thick in the head for his own good’. Otto would say they should have had mercenaries go to Dragonstone and do the deed while they had the chance. He would still be alive. As would Gwayne and Jaehaerys. Helaena would not be in a fugue state beyond repair. Alicent’s boys would be home, and well. Daeron could have come back to King’s Landing for a coronation that was not rushed nor interrupted. Aemond would not have blood on his ledger.

Aegon would be king with no one in his path.

You know it. You're no fool and yet you choose not to see it. The time is coming, Alicent. Either you prepare Aegon to rule, or you cleave to Rhaenyra and pray for her mercy.

She stumbles all the way back to the Holdfast with thoughts swirling in her head.

Alicent did not prepare Aegon, the way she should have. But she was not prepared for such things; so how did anyone expect her to know better. How can a child help a child. How does the blind lead the blind. She may not have done what she needed for Aegon, not in that moment. But she refuses to cleave now. Mercy is not a luxury she has been granted for some time.

Have you ever imagined yourself on the Iron Throne?

No, of course not. Alicent can be naive, but never stupid. Never foolish or too hot on herself. Her veins have turned ice cold. She does not have her children the way she would want to. Alicent has never had a dragon to threaten others with. The army at her disposal is elsewhere fighting a futile battle. Not even Criston is here.

She just has herself, and right now that has to be enough. It must be enough.

[spadesolace]

countdown

pairing: highschool au! minji x fem! reader

warning/s: angst, internalized homophobia

spring cleaning was a chore you hated but also enjoyed, most of the things you put away haven’t seen the light of day for years. to see some old class pictures in high school, cringy letters you’ve received and questionable literary works you’ve done (gosh, were you really that down in the dumps to write something horrific?) digging deep enough, something caught your eye, an item that you probably just threw in to clean up some space. a bracelet with your initials and someone else. who did you know that had the initials KMJ?

Kim Minji.

something feels heavy, clutching for your chest, breathing unevenly. no, you told yourself that you won’t cry because of her again. everything hurts, somehow it feels as if you can’t cry but you’re shedding tears, the room feels a bit smaller, too small for your liking, and everything is closing in on you. countdown from 10.

10.

Kim Minji…

9.

do you remember me?

8.

was our friendship a waste?

7.

what was it that made you push me away?

6.

was it the way I acted?

5.

was it my feelings?

4.

you know I can’t control it.

3.

if i could…

2.

would things be different?

1.

would things be the same?

“Y/N?”

turning around, you saw minji running to you. dazzling smile that would make heads turn and not look away, her melodic laugh, and the way her eyes shined as if they were the galaxy. letting the girl come to you as she started walking next to you, there was no need to rush, it's only a walk to the library for your english class.

“look what i made.” she showed you her bracelet, a friendship bracelet, with her initials. it had the colors of blue, black, and white. cute. 

minji started explaining how she learned it within a day, even giving you your own but did you want it? well, yes, but it was a friendship bracelet, shouldn’t minji’s initials be yours? probably not, you’re overanalyzing things again, so you took it despite having doubts.

in the middle of the day, before you could go home, minji stopped you on your tracks. exchanging bracelets because hanni told her it was supposed to be the other way (so, you were right), letting her do her thing as she took off her bracelet and wore it on you. something simple and you’re already blushing, it's not like she’s proposing despite having a few thoughts about it. such a simp.

you were self-aware of your feelings for minji and it was getting a bit harder to keep it to yourself but its not like you’re going to confess. there was no point in confessing, minji wasn’t like that, right?

maybe you were wrong, minji came running to you after hearing certain rumors of hanni liking minji in a more than friends way. she was considering it, actually thinking of giving her a chance and now… you just feel empty. there was no advice coming from you or the coldness in your tone was evident, minji wasn’t dense, she just saw right through you. did you act upon your feelings? as if.

minji wasn’t like that, right? she didn’t like hanni that way, if she did you would have known. you were in denial, jealous, a bit possessive but you didn’t have the right to feel that way. just a friend, best friend, close friend, classmates, nothing more. a relationship with minji was a fantasy that you wished for every time, from a wishing well, a shooting star, the candles on your birthday cake, and holding your breath through a tunnel (which was risky). you knew the consequences, it was made aware to you whenever your emotions get the best of you; holding her tighter, cold shoulder, passive-aggressive statements, and sometimes kissing her hand… you were deep in denial.

until she confronted you, through chat, not even in person.

the rest of the school year, you simply messaged her but to no avail, she ghosted you. sending your goodbye on graduation day, minji became a thing of the past as you finally took the bracelet off and said goodbye to that chapter. she was your first love and it brought you pain, misery, and a lot of trauma.

the second time you fell, you didn’t confess, doubting everything, she showed you the beauty of the world and how to love yourself (as cliche as it is). you would do anything for her, because you actually felt loved.

“Y/N?” now, you’re back in your closet, holding your chest, while the bracelet was now on the floor. did you fall asleep?

“its ok, take deep breaths, what happened? another panic attack?” slowly opening your eyes, finally seeing your girlfriend soothing your back as your breathing finally went back to normal.

“y-yeah… just saw this and things went to shit.” you tried laughing at it but she only looked at you concerned, finally noticing the bracelet, you heard her curse under her breath.

“its ok, haerin. i’m fine… how long was i out?”

“about 10 minutes, your mom panicked and called me immediately.”

after that, haerin helped you with spring cleaning, letting her finish the one with your high school items to avoid any more incidents. your mind wandered, does she miss you? did she regret what she did? or was everything nothing to her?

minji is the past, haerin is your present and your future. still, you wanted to send your thanks to minji for helping you grow as a person. wherever she is, you hope not to see her again.

“y/n, come on, let’s get some ice cream.” minji was right, you and haerin really had a thing going and you regret not taking it early.

[bullet-prooflove]

Choices!Series Part Two: Compromise - Vostanik Sabatino x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @novamariestark @words-and-seeds @thiashazzywriting @whateversomethingbruh @a-noni-love @reneejett4

Choices!Series

Part One: Diamonds - An undercover op makes Nik ask a question.

You’ve forgotten how good Sabatino is at playing a role. Tonight he's the rich, doting husband. Possessive over his woman, willing to give her whatever she desires. His thumb chases across your lower back, tracing over your bare skin and it sends a flush of heat chasing through your body. It’s an intimate gesture, one that makes it very clear to everyone else in the room exactly who you belong to.

You lose him in the raid, one minute he’s beside you, securing the suspect and the next both him and the painting have vanished. You wish you could have expected something different. It’s not the first time he’s pulled something like this. You guess the painting will go back into circulation; GPS tagged so they can track the next round of terrorist funding.  

When you return to the office you find the matching wedding band that he was wearing, sitting upon your desk.

You know you won’t be seeing him tonight, that he needs the space to lick his wounds.

As you study the platinum ring between your fingers you wonder if this is the choice that Sam was talking about.

“There comes a time when you just can’t bend any further, there’s no more flexibility. You and Sabatino are going to get to that point and when you do one of you will have to make a decision. It’ll be make or break.”

You’re there right now, you can feel it in your heart. Marriage is the one thing that you can’t compromise on and now he knows it.

***

Sabatino goes back to his hotel room that night, the one the CIA hire out for him whenever he’s in LA. He hasn’t told them that the two of you are living together, they don’t even know that he’s in a relationship because if they did, you’d be seen as leverage.

He lies down on the bed, still clad in his suit and he thinks about that moment, the one when he slipped the ring onto your finger. He didn’t realise how much he wanted it until then, how much it meant to him.

If he does this, if he choses a future with you then he has to be done with the CIA and that comes with stipulations, ones that he has to fulfil if he wants them to cut him loose.

“I think your job allows you to have one foot out the door.” You had told him.

He understands that’s what it must look like to you, that he’d not entirely invested, that he’s always ready to leave but the truth is he’s scared. He knows his value as an operative, that The Agency won’t want to release him. He’s terrified of what they might do if they find out that you’re the reason he’s putting in his papers.

His thumb plays over the empty space on his ring finger, the one where up until a few hours ago a platinum wedding band resided. He’d liked the feel of it, of belonging to you, of other people knowing that. You were right when you said there’s a security in being married.

The problem is the stability. He wants to be around more, to be involved in your life but his job prevents that. You can go months at a time without seeing each other, barely communicating if he’s in deep cover.

He wants to be there in your day to day, to hold your hand on the way to brunch, to get up at crazy o’clock to go running, to cuddle up on the couch scaring yourselves silly on the latest Netflix documentary. He wants a life with you, a whole one, not the one he’s been living for the past four years.

There’s only one person who knows what he’s going through, who can shed some light on his next steps and that’s Michelle Hanna. He resolves to visit her the next morning.

Maybe between the two of them they can figure something out.

Love Nik? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[elslovers]

the one - E. Williams

a/n hello my loves apologies for falling off I have just been in a writing slump but I decided the perfect way to pull myself out was with a series I had been wanting to write for awhile of on shots inspired by Taylor swift songs - as ur certified switftie tlou writer it is my duty this is angsty but no better way to start off than some Ellie folklore angst I hope you enjoy

" and if my wishes came true it would've been you"

Your hand clutches the stem of your wine glass, makeup-caked eyes, and a weaker spirit than you possessed less than twenty-four hours ago. Chaos is so intense it's almost peaceful, like when something moves so fast the human eye can't see it. That's how losing Ellie has you feeling, spinning so fast you almost think you are standing still pacing, and you know your pacing, but your mind is somewhere else. You only stop when you catch a glimpse of yourself in your vanity mirror.

" I guess the greatest loves of all time all time are over now"

Your body sinks into the memory of your meeting you'd always been a romantic dreaming up the great love affairs you would have with the cute barista because she said she liked your bangs or the pretty girl who lived down the hall from you freshmen year it wasn't uncommon for you to fall fast and hard which is what made Ellie so Wonderfully different you weren't free falling into fantasy you were content in reality with her from the moment you met you were her waitress and she and her friends who would soon become chosen family had been hogging a table all night at the shitty little diner you worked at ordering nothing but hot cocoa and fries for the table you usually would mind but from the moment you saw her you started saying a prayer that shed be there till close she would smile at you every time you brought fresh cocoa for the table finding a new aspect of you to compliment shyly each time, you saw the eyes her friends made giving her a look of stop fuckin around and make a move and when she saw you dip into the bathroom she made her move.

you remembered it all feverishly a little hazy in some parts but some moments so sharp with hurt you were washing your hands when you saw her walk in from the mirror a smile turning up on your lips - was she here for you? You recall thinking these moments were fuzzy, her mind racing too much to remember the small talk you made, but when her lips crashed onto you with hunger, you made sure to remember everything the way her calloused hands held your cheeks, the way she didn't hesitate the way she backed you against the wall and after what felt like only a second pulled back and gave you a smile that seemed to say she already knew she had you and then kissed you again just as starved as the first Ellie has a talent for kissing you every damn time as she might never kiss you again

from that moment on it was just you and Ellie

until it wasn't

"and if you wanted me you really should've showed"

The problem with loving someone like Ellie is the love being loved more than their lover, or at least that is what you had gathered after six months of loving and losing at the same time she has a wandering eye, always had, always will, but she was yours. That's what you assured yourself of when she started hiding her phone more. She was yours. It's what you told yourself when she stopped asking you to accompany her to the house parties she sold at. She was yours, but Ellie belonged to everyone and no one all at once. She was never really anyone. Her friends would say how impressed they were. She'd made it so long that she was never good at monogamy, and you would always say she was good with you.

because god was she good with you

good until she wasn't until she was good with the girl she promised was just a client turned smoke buddy you prided yourself on being cool unattached the type of girlfriend Ellie wanted the kind who didn't panic (or at least didnt let her see) you kept yourself so cool the girl she told you not to worry about found her way into the bed you shared found her way inside the girl you thought would make you never be shared again

good until it wasn't

The screaming her begging you not to leave you, throwing her shit into the hallway of your apartment, demanding she get the fuck out. The girl who Ellie could still taste on her lips, running for the hills as fast as she could, was all still fresh in your mind, an open wound bleeding out memories you try and drink away. 'How could you be meant to sound solid and angry like a proper woman scorned would sound? You try to sound like the hell these women are supposed to give, but it comes out weak and broken, followed by a sob and trembling lip as you try to preserve whatever dignity you have left - how could you be so blind? "Baby- she's nothing. I swear she's nothing." ellies pleading, but it is disregarded because, at that moment, you feel like the one who's nothing "Honestly, Ellie, if that's how you treat girls who mean nothing, then what the fuck am I- six months, and then you meet some girl and take her home." you sun onto the bed sobbing for her to leave until she shut the door of your once-shared home for the last time

"but if you never bleed your never gonna grow"

you spend the next three weeks bleeding day drunk in your bed cycling the five stages of grief one after another day in day out it hurt in a way you'd never felt pain before the betrayal the worst of it all it hurt more then losing her

but you let yourself feel it all because somewhere a part of you knows if you don't feel it now you'll be feeling it for the rest of your life

" I'm doing good i'm on some new shit"

Two months feel like a lifetime, like you've been walking around watching your whole life on a film screen with a projector that never entirely comes into focus - but after two months of grief, you want to bloom again. You want to be the version of yourself you were before Ellie broke your heart and took your light with you. The pains are still there, but it coexists alongside a fury to not let her win

so step one is to do your hair how you used to big rollers, pulling them out into perfect curls. Step two is to do your makeup in a way that makes you glow light and airy as the sun gave you her blessing to outshine her, and three, go to a party knowing there is a 50/50 chance she'll be in attendance and not caring either way

the music is loud in your chest, the bass a welcome replacement to the pounding go your heart. You always made it a rule never to go out alone, but getting over Ellie seems to require breaking some rules 

you take one shot after another, stopping when you reach the happy place of drunkenness of not being too sure you are standing on solid ground 

you dance alone, and you dance against people. You dance with people until you've settled your eyes on a girl who could make you forget who made you like this in the first place

she's pulling someone by the sleeve of their flannel, and after a moment, Ellies figure steps Into the red and blue led lights of the dance floor

god, Williams, you always did have good taste

the familiar feeling of emotions flowing out of you serves as a reminder that no amount of bleeding will heal this wound

not yet, at least

your frozen mind is willing your body to move before she has the privilege of seeing you of being in the same space as you, a privilege you swore to both her and yourself she would never have again - but you rooted to the floor, and in an instant, her eyes are on you filling with an emotion you can't place

before you know it, her strides are strong coating across the dance floor, leaving the girl who two minutes ago you were plotting to take home in the dust

she's by your side in an instant, and you want to run - you need to run, but you can't bring yourself to feel the spark you just got back draining faster than you can stop 

"Angel," her voice is loud but gentle over the music, and her words make your stomach churn Ellie and alcohol have always been a sour mix

"you don't get to call me that anymore" There's no gentleness in your words, no harshness, neither its matter of fact, which somehow hurts Ellie more than if you were to scream at her

"I fucked up. I fucked up so bad, but it's months, and your all that's on my mind. I see it; okay, you're the one. I got caught up, and I lost sight of that," her voice is begging, a sound you used to adore but now just makes you want to vomit

you were the one

but she wasn't

"your right- I was. I was the one, Ellie, and we- use, this fuckin love was something, and if I got everything I wanted, it would've been you. It would've been sweet if you could've seen it was me all along, but you couldn't, and now I'm the one that got away, not the one you get to have"

whatever force that had been holding you there let go allowing you to walk out of that party prepared to finish the bleeding and move on to the growing.

[deathvisited]

12 years of letters

9 years after leaving

it's your 9th birthday and i'm trying to imagine what you would be interested in. do you like reading? do you enjoy monsters and fairytales? do you love horses? do you like disney movies? or are you into superheroes and villains? do you like marvel and comic books? are you into riding dirt bikes or are you playing with dolls? there is so much I don't know about you my beautiful girl, and yet I like to sit here and imagine that you are doing something that you love. that your dad is making this the best day of the year, as it should be, that he is celebrating the gift of you in his life. i can't imagine anything else, you are to me a blessing, each and every day. and so today, on your ninth birthday, I wish you nothing but happiness and joy, that you smile so brightly and widely that your face hurts, that you laugh until your stomach aches, and I wish more than anything that my absence doesn't dim your day. i hope my shadow doesn't darken your brightness, I hope that you can forget about me, to run and play, whether it's with dolls or toy soldiers and that you are spoiled as much as your dad can provide.

i cannot wait until i'm able to share your birthday with you, if I ever get that gift I promise I won't take it for granted. if I was able to this day would be entirely about you, we'd go out and do whatever you wanted, you'd be able to pick out anything and there would be no such thing as 'no' for you today. i would shower you with love and kisses, i'd have woken you up with your favourite breakfast food and you'd be off school today. i'd love nothing more than to spend the day sitting and giggling with you about everything and anything, and I miss you more than words can say. i cannot wait to meet you Fia and I can only hope that you don't hate me. if you do I'll understand that, I really will, there is no explanation that will make sense for you right now, but one day it might, when you're older. but I'm doing this for you, and more than anything I wish that I could be with you.

as always you are with me every day, of every minute, of every breath, and you always will be my beautiful, beautiful girl.

10 years after abduction

do you remember that time that we snuck into the movie theatre and spent the afternoon there? we watched every movie they had on offer and no one figured us out. i felt so free then, so wild, as if we could conquer the world. i thought you were the height of cleverness, that I had never met a man that's soul sang so closely to my own. it wasn't long after that that I realized there was a difference between us. you're ... not soft, but kind, tender, you err on the side of being gentle whereas I don't think I have any gentleness in me. i think my mother burned it out right alongside my self respect and dignity. i think it was abandoned in the back of a room where I had to take my clothes off and do what I was told. i believe I shed that gentleness when I realized that fia would never be safe from my mother. that she would be hunted, and hurt, and used, like I had been.

i have many regrets nate, leaving you is not one of them.

i've spent 10 years getting everything together to eventually come back, and yet now.... well. i don't know if I have the gentleness to face my daughter if she is anything like you. what if she sees nothing but the bitter twisted corpse that I am remaining? what if you see that? i am terrified of presenting myself to the both of you, but I also know that I am too selfish to stay away. i believe you're happy, I have to. if you're not I have nothing but apologies, but I can promise you that the bitter twisted monster I have become isn't your doing, and I only hope that you benefit from it.

i hope that you are able to recognize me when I walk back into your life and don't gasp in horror and fear at the changes that I have wrought in myself.

i hope that you are able to see the girl that you lit up and turned into something so very different from the broken mirror I had been. you patched me together once without even realizing it, and although I don't expect you to do it again I have hope. then again you might just send me away when you see me and how could I fault you for that?

i am scared beyond words to face you.

11 years after abduction

i'm almost done, and that terrifies me, I have spent so long with this plan, so meticulously long, and I can't even get praise for it. no one will know, not even you, if you ever get this. i do not want to see the horror in your eyes, or the fear on your face when you realize what i can do, what i will do to protect my family. because you are my family. i refuse to think of you or fia as anything else, and i will make sure you are safe. by any means necessary. i refuse to live in a world where you may be in danger and so I'll make certain that you won't be.

i hope that you can forgive me.

i hope that i can forgive myself.

i hope that you don't hate me.

*scribbled out words* because i hate me, I hate myself every day I look at her and know that she drove me to this, but I also love her and seeing her slow decay has killed me right alongside her

i love you. i love fia. i loved our family and sooner than later I'll be with you again. please just give me a chance to explain, please forgive me at least for protecting the both of you.

@thewholecrew

[moonshadow1]

Your thoughts

This has been going on since me and my brother were 5 years old, (our mom and dad live in different homes in the same town but didn't get married) but when we would be with him on thw weekends he started leaving us alone in a shed house thing, TWO 5 YEAR OLDS ALONE FOR HOURS ALONE WITH LOTA OF ANIMALS THAT WOULD HURT THEM, lots of cats and two big dogs that would just walk around, even though we never went out when the dogs were near, just seeing them from a far, they were at least like a head taller than us and would absolutely shred us, then he (dad) would come back around 11 - 12, give us some food like Chicken Express, stay a few minutes, leave, come back like 4 hours later, only when we were 6 1/2 did we start going to a babysitter, then a few weeks after we turned 7 we were back to home alone, then at like 9 or 10 we moved to a different house in town, still left home alone for a while, he still comes into OUR room, sit on our bed with us for a hour or 2, go to his room and tell us to "relax" in his room, even though we was with us in OUR bed, (in the previous house we all shared a bed but it's still the same), and in things like trips and trying to get out attention, he would use his.. palm? Side of his hand instead of the.. back? Side of his hand, grabbing then shaking one of our thighs (the left because we are in a pickup truck like 99.99% of the time), he verbally abuses us (both.. physically?- looking at us, and on text/call), sexually (i only have done research abt it so correct me if im ever wrong, but he does things like be in our room in Our (my brother and I's) bed for a long time, doesn't stop when told, he may say he does but then like 5 mins later he does it again -_-) but we also know this isn't new at all because he's done this since we were five and he's also done it with our mother when she was with him (minus thw sexual abuse but verbal abuse was like twice as worse)- oh yeah, i almost forgot, as a FIVE YEAR OLD STILL, i would have to yell and argue with this "man" just for some food! And it's almost never home made and usually a fast food like Chicken Express- yeah it can be nice to have, but to have it for basically a whole weekend to week- no THANKS, (present time), we barely get any sleep too, so much we get hallucinations, usually hearing footsteps coming to our room from his side (our rooms are on opposite sides of rhw house) or a figure like him, or any strange figure, peaking around the corner of our door and looking at us and when we look at "it", it disappears, and we know it's tricks due to stress, lack of sleep and so on, but it still doesn't help at all, one time it was so bad for me that i stayed up for 6 days with 4 hours of sleep, some chocolates to help me stay up if i felt tired, and a phone to keep me occupied and whatnot, and we are absolutely destroyed when we get back to our mom's, just wanting sleep, a break from everything, love (like cuddles and hugs that AREN'T WEIRD) and food and everything we are missing, our mom, grandma, grandpa, older sister, and sometimes our aunts/uncles seeing us look like we're dead with our drained faces, slow movements, hungry, and tired, all of them only able to help and look at us with pity, and by the time we start feeling more better, time to visit him again, and usual both of us are like "Thursday is hell day, wish us luck. We are with him this Friday, time to die." Ect. Even though we know he's gonna do something, qe can't record it because he's close to the both of us so it's too risky to record and we aren't too sure when he would actually do it, and so on, my brother does self harm and has been caught several times while i think suicidal and destroy myself from.. the inside out, yelling at myself (if im not alone i just do it in my head) about many things like im pathetic and whatnot, even though i KNOW im not actually, i just can't help it, and after 4 nights of crying (fourth night my mother was with me) and for like 2 weeks i didn't think of anything bad

Of course this isn't all my life and whatnot, but it should give a jist of how my life is and wondering what people think abt things like this, and maybe if the questions aren't too personal (like age, place we live, ect.) then i could answer to help give some more context to things, but the longer we are stuck like this, the worse it gets for us, and sooner or later, me or my sibling risks death (not like thats always been the case 🙄) and we've tried to get my sibling to make a choice of to cut all ties with dad or keep things the same, but he doesn't say anything other than "i don't want to get him (dad) mad." And things along those lines, yeah im scared but I've faught (well argue) with this man since FIVE, and yes everyone has different reactions to things but they've haved MONTHS of thinking- no reply, he knows of the dangers and the terrible things our dad does, but he's honestly submissive to things like this so far, no matter how hard any of us try, he won't say anything

[longjiaojiao]

@penguinotaku

It's a interesting story so I'll share it in my blog :)

女湘 Nv Xiang- a girl who named Xiang

This story is from the Qing Dynasty (1794) 乐钧LeJun's collection of short stories, 耳食录 Er Shi Lu, meaning "stories told in your ears", a collection of old stories passed down by word of mouth from the folklore, which the author has adapted from the original stories to make them more educational.

The story is long in careful translation which I'm not good at, so I'll tell it briefly by intercepting the important information:

A young man, 金湘Jin Xiang, was sentimental and wished to be a woman. He fell in love with a begonia tree in his yard, every time the petals fell, he would shed tears and pray, then fall ill. It happened several times a year. His parents thought that this begonia was haunted by a flower demon, so they cut down the begonia tree. Jin Xiang cried bitterly and died from excessive grief.

In the heavenly palace, Jin Xiang's reverence for flowers touched the Flower Goddesses, who helped him to reincarnate with the once-begonia tree. The two souls came to the human world from a new life, and Jin Xiang became a begonia tree, and the once-begonia tree became a peach tree.

They were born in a big family with a very beautiful garden. Whenever the moon was bright and the wind was light, the souls of Jin Xiang and the Flower Gods left the body of the tree to play in the garden, the sisters were very happy playing and living together.

At this time Jin Xiang became infatuated with 雪燕Xue Yan, the daughter of the owner of the garden, who was very beautiful. She would come to visit the garden and break down peach blossoms to put in her hair. Upon seeing the begonias, Xueyan said, "Why haven't the begonias bloomed yet?" So Jin Xiang bloomed early against the flowering period. Xue Yan was so Surprised and happy to see the begonias blossom that she took a few of them back and put them in a bottle. Jin Xiang was also very happy, but in the days that followed, She withered as a result. The peach tree next to him also withered.

Her soul came to the Flower Goddesses again, and this time, the Flower Goddesses gave Her the chance to become a woman. The peach tree said she didn't want to wander the human world any more, and wished to end her relationship with Jin Xiang from then on. So Jin Xiang was born into the Jin family all by herself, again.

As a woman, Jin Xing love women and had no interest in men. She once said that when she was a begonia, it was very painful to be folded, like a limb being cut; but when she was folded by Xue Yan, she felt happy because she loved her so much.

As for the end of the story, Jin Xiang passed away suddenly at the age of twenty. The day before she died, a nun came to her house. No one had ever seen this nun before, but Jin Xiang felt that she was very familiar. The nun said something to Jin Xiang and she nodded her head. The next day, Jin Xiang's soul leave the human world again without any warning.

What did the nun say to her? I think this part is the point that the author wants to express. But the hidden meaning of these words is rather different from person to person, everyone has their own understanding. The original text is this:

尼曰：“露珠极明，沾之立碎。霜化至洁，触之即消。”湘曰：“究竟何如？”尼曰：“日里霞光，非空非色；镜中花影，是幻是真？”

Allusions to Buddhist can be seen in this almost quote. If you ask me to translate it, then I can only say that my translation is based on the simplest and most direct meaning of the original text, and the exact meaning needs to be considered by yourself：

The nun said:" The dewdrops are so bright, but so easily broken when you dipped. Frost is so clean, but so easily disappears when you touched."

Jin Xiang said:" How should I do?"

The nun said: " Sunshine, something that see but can not touch; flowers in the mirror, is it real or not? "

[hihimissamericanbi]

hiiii lantern, amber, & quilt please 🍂🎃🧡

Hi 🫦🫴🏼🫴🏼💦 (sorry) (🫦) (sorry)

🎃Lantern: best friend lore

Sorry babe you opened up the floodgates on this one.

I have several best friends and all their lore is remarkable. One of them I've known since I was four and we bonded over our love for spiders and playing dress up and wanting to marry each other instead of boys (ew). One of them introduced my husband and I to each other when we were all fifteen. We've all kept each other all these years and have survived a lot of shit. I quite literally wouldn't be here without her. One of them is my platonic soulmate I met as an adult and she is my James in that, there is no real word for what we are to each other but there doesn't really have to be. There's a lot of choice and intentionality in our relationship.

And this doesn't even cover the iron-clad relationships I have with several other important groups of people, who are all my family in every way that matters.

I have kind of a thing about friendships I think, about not being afraid to commit to them, to let the love in, to make all the long distance work. That's something I've learned about myself in adulthood.

And I think I also have to acknowledge my high school best friend here. We are still friends and love each other very much, but our relationship is different now from what it was fifteen years ago. Sometimes I wish I could tell her she was my first love, and I wish I had had the space and the language to have told her that back then.

😬Amber: Unpopular opinion

I really couldn't care less to debate fandom characterizations so I'll make this about something real bc it's my blog and I care about this.

TW: infertility, pregnancy, family separation, adoption, queer parenthood

I have learned a lot about the realities of the institution of adoption, things I didn't know until I started looking into it after I couldn't have biological children. After literal years of research, therapy, following and listening to the voices of adult adoptees, I largely don't support adoption, at least in the way most Americans/Westerners consider it. I am RABID about the intersectionality between children's liberation and queer liberation, not to mention all the other identities that overlap when you're discussing these topics: race, class, sex, gender, religion, etc.

*THIS POST IS NOT COMING FOR ANYONE I promise. Also, just to spell it out in case there was a shed of doubt, I do not believe a set type of person or people is better suited to raise a family than another. BEING A GOOD PARENT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOUR GENDER OR ORIENTATION. I just happen to occupy a very unique little corner of the evangelical>infertile>queer agnostic pipeline that gives me unpopular opinions on, say, a lot of adoption tropes in queer fanfic. Tropes i would have seen absolutely nothing wrong with before learning from adoptees. I am thrilled to point people to resources and activists in this space if you would like to learn more. I am also thrilled to ignore/block/delete anyone wanting to have an argument on the godforsaken internet. That's not for this page, pick another one 😊

Tldr: adoption tropes in fic and media in general---epecially baby-on-the-doorstep/infant adoption--is not a viable happily ever after ending for a queer couple to me.

Uh.... next question, I guess??

☕️Quilt: How I take my tea/coffee

Coffee. And it's oatmilk. Not picky but I do love a nespresso with oatmilk or a nitro cold brew with oatmilk. I have also been known to order a cappuccino.

Does anyone even want to play after that dumpsterfire

[baby-yaga]

i had an argument with my mom the other day. it wasnt like... life or death. she was talking about "trans regret" or something and i dont think she was intending to be hateful, but she lives with my grandparents who listen to fox news all day long and views herself primarily as a centrist, so her views were not as compassionate as i believe she thinks they are.

predictably, things got heated. she brought up when i told her "i thought i was a boy", i guess as some sort of gotcha!!

i guess she forgot what actually happened when i came out as trans. i come out as a boy. she didnt kick me out, didnt yell at me, only told me that she "wished i wasnt, because no one wants their child to have a hard life". it wasnt that bad.

so for several months, i was out to her. i was binding my chest, open about it, i thought things were gonna get better like they did when i came out as a lesbian. after some time, she got over her initial reaction and then things were fine.

but that isnt what happened. every time id correct her when she misgendered me, regardless of how patient i was, or gentle, she would snap at me. repeatedly told me how hard it was on her. that was fine, i thought it would get better.

it never did. it seemed to get worse as time went on. she seemed like shed totally stopped trying. and whenever i corrected her, shed yell at me. if i corrected her more than once a day, i was pretty much guaranteed to get the silent treatment for at least a day.

it was more trouble than it was worth. i stopped binding around her. stopped correcting her when she misgendered me. i never brought it up again until she did a couple days ago. i think it was shocking to her that that was the reality, and not what i guess shed thought all along, which was that i simply changed my mind about being transgender.

she said something like, "what about when you thought you were a boy?" implying that if id transitioned when i came out to her, i would have regretted it. i told her "i still feel that way. if i could transition tomorrow, i would." she looked shocked. and then she looked sad. i told her, "i came out to you. and you werent supportive. so i gave up on expecting that from you, but i never changed my mind. ive known i was trans since i was 16."

in the end, i dont think we really came to a deeper understanding of each other. i told her i dont expect her to view me as anything other than her daughter, but that doesnt change the reality. she nodded in understanding, i think. she knows she cant change how she views me, and genuinely, not putting on a brave face, ive accepted that. of course i would love it if she could accept this, and support me, but i know she cant. she wont. its just not something shes capable of accepting.

im not mad at her still. if im correct, that conversation happened when i was... 19 maybe? and im turning 31 next month. i really am over how she reacted then. but i couldnt make myself just accept her throwing that back in my face, and implicitly validate that view she has of me. i havent changed and i wouldntve regretted transitioning. im still transgender. ive known that for almost half of my life at this point.

i guess i just wish that she was capable of apologizing. because id actually blocked out a lot of that time, and only remembered once she brought it up again. it was a really terrible time for me, and i dont think she understands that her support wouldve made all the difference.