#its just....just the slaughtering alone is bad enough

[baekuras]

i love how with everything further about palistine coming out it's always like 'oh btw we are doing exactly what the nazis full holocaus style' (: truly amazing how for years we have been taught to feel ashamed and responsible of our history and to be aware of it as to never repeat it again and now those in power, those who supposedly renounced all that are just going "woops, sprinkled some nazism in here haha anyhow you now have no rights and we can all legally hunt you for sport, you are the worst for simply being and we'll be cheering for your downfall from afar-but no we are not xenophobic!!!!!!"

amazing to see makes me wanna take direct action and by direct action i mean hit them over the head. repeatedly. can't loose any more braincells anyway

[widowlyy]

im such a sucker for mob boss!nat because like, badass woman who can kill someone quickly, but i've been thinking of serialkiller!nat with innocent!bestfriend!reader. Like hear me out real quick? You're completely oblivious to who the woman beside you is, she works alone, and word has spread that there's a killer on the loose and whats more odd? Its people you all know that went missing to be found dead in the city. Your poor neighbor is gone; you found out she was killed when the police came by to interview you and you were shaken and in tears because not only was your neighbor the sweetest, she brought treats like cookies and pie over because you struggled to cook sweet treats. After the police were gone Natasha shows up afterwards everytime to soothe you. Imagine Natasha asking you frequently weird questions like, "What would you feel if I slaughtered you right now?" And you do nothing but try to laugh it off, anxious enough to go "Funny joke," and you don't even know she's joking. But she always affirms at the end, "Don't worry princess, I'd never kill you," And you totally believe her because Natasha has grown to be the woman in your circle, the first person to go to when a situation rises at work, the person to go to when your friends ghost you (after they get terrifying messages from a blocked number with threats about interacting with you) and its always her that you end up cuddling with at the end of movie nights and refuse to let her go because this? This is all she wants. Just you. It also isn't the fact that she is always there when you aren't in the right mindset, you feel shitty and wanna end it all? Natasha randomly shows up and does stupid activities with you. And she shows up with your favorite snacks And the only time you find out is when she takes advantage of your drunk mind, and shes lazily thrusting her fingers up into your cunt and all you hear is, "Mmm, I wonder how your friends would've felt if they were in my position right now. But it's too bad they can't, I had to forcibly get rid of those who was in my way, blood in my hands or not," and you're too even cumdrunk to even recognize what she said, too focused on the pleasure that she openly admitted to killing all of those close to you. ugh, i might write this, might not.

[emilys-bangs]

if your cascade ocean wave blues come | e.p

Tags: established relationship, vague details of a case gone wrong, hurt/comfort, fluff, non-sexual nudity, taking a bath, use of petnames, no use of yn, reader feeling guilty

Summary: After a bad case, Emily suggests a bath to get your mind off it. Requested here.

Word count: 2.4k

The unsub is in cuffs, but that doesn’t make you feel any better.

In the jet, you walk past Emily as she sits on the couch—where you usually join her—and make a beeline for the lone seat in the back. It’s nothing against her, but right now you’re desperately craving comfort—her comfort—and you know that if you sat with her you’d cling to her like honey, curling into her lap so she can somewhat ease the tightness in your chest. The case ripped you raw, leaving your emotions splayed out for anyone to see, let alone profilers, and the thought of them seeing you collapse into her makes you shirk away and head to the single seat with steady steps.

Her eyes follow you; you ignore them as you sit down, sure if you looked into the endless depths of them you’d crumble right to the floor. Instead you turn to rest your head against the window and close your eyes.

Even though you do it just to avoid her gaze, sleep takes you quickly. Exhaustion had steadily seeped into your bones throughout this past week, day after day spent trying to catch the unsub who left dozens of bodies in his wake. Now it catches up to you.

Your brief sleep isn’t dreamless. The unsub’s remorseless face swims in your head, his smile slowly creeping over his lips at the sight of your clenched jaw in the interrogation room. He’s smug, boasting the deaths of the slaughtered women whose names you’ve memorized, your shoulders rising up to your ears as you try in vain to get him to reveal your kidnapped victim’s location. Her cold corpse comes next.

Emily wakes you with a silent hand on your shoulder. You startle awake, looking up to find her eyes concerned when you blink up at her sluggishly. The clenched fists in your lap don’t escape either of your attention. You blink the sleep from your eyes as you uncurl your fingers, stifling a wince at the tender imprints of your nails on the heels of your hands.

“Let’s go,” Emily whispers. Your bag is slung over her shoulder, its strap laying on top of the handle of her own bag. 

Ridiculously, it makes you want to cry. She holds her hand out for you and her love is so quiet but so, so loud; steady and patient even when you ignore her hand and stand up, tears burning the back of your eyes as you walk past her and out of the empty jet.

No one’s here, but you still can’t accept her touch. It would break you, and the pieces of you would shatter on the asphalt, glinting under the fluorescent lights of the parking lot. So you hold yourself stiffly and walk to the car without looking back to see if Emily follows.

Her heels click resignedly against the floor, sounding far enough away that you know she’s keeping her distance. The lump in your throat only grows as you pull open the car door and get into the passenger seat, hearing her throw both of your bags in the backseat. When she opens her own door your eyes are closed, tears dampening your lashes as you turn your head away.

She doesn’t deserve this. She was working the case same as you, losing sleep over it and pouring herself into finding the unsub. You know that, but you fear any apology would soon be followed by your sobs, the force of them shattering your body into pieces.

So you stay quiet, let the lump in your throat grow as Emily drives you both home in silence.

She quietly picks up the bags again when you arrive, her eyes briefly flitting over you as she fits the key in the lock. You see her brows draw together, her lips pressing into a thin line as she unlocks the door and swings it open.

It barely clicks shut before you barrel into her. Her chest caves as she huffs in surprise, the breath knocked out of her, but in seconds her arms are around you. Emily holds you tight, one of her hands cupping the back of your neck as you exhale shakily.

“Hey,” she breathes, her lips gently nudging your temple. “Hey, I got you, honey.” Her fingers weave into your hair, the cold inside of her palm pressing against the nape of your neck. “It’s not your fault.” She says. There’s a firmness to her low voice, ready to defend you against your own mind.

You press your lips together, trying to keep your tears at bay. “I know it’s not.” Do you, though? Your voice is croaky and unconvincing. “It just fucking sucks.” The last word breaks and shatters, along with what’s rest of your composure. 

Tears blur your vision. You close your eyes, trapping them inside. “Just wanna forget,” you mumble, stuffing your face further into Emily’s warm neck, “help me forget, Em.” 

Her breathing stutters. 

Emily squeezes you tighter. “How about we take a bath?” She whispers.

Weakly, you nod into her neck. You know she won’t let go before you do, so you do it even though your body screams in protest. Emily sets down the duffle bags and takes your hand, gently leading you through the dark apartment while switching the lights on, her fingers steading your shakier ones. She passes by Sergio with a quiet hello before pulling you into the bathroom.

You’re too drained to protest when Emily gently pushes you down on the closed toilet seat. She turns on the tap as you watch, running her fingers through the water and making sure it’s warm enough before she bends to plug the drain. The sound of it splashing against the sides of the tub almost loosens something in you. You close your eyes, smelling rather than seeing it when Emily sprinkles in bath salts.

Your eyes are still closed when she gently takes your hands. Her fingers wrap around yours, securely curling around your wrists as she tugs you up. You stand, opening your eyes as Emily lets go. She gives you a small smile and the ghost of a kiss on the corner of your mouth before slowly tugging at your clothes, as if waiting for you to say no. 

You don’t. You let her take care of you, peeling your clothes off and gently nudging you into the tub. The water is almost hot enough to burn, but you’re glad for the sting as you sink into it.

Water laps at the sides of the tub as Emily joins you. It sloshes over the edges and drips to the floor when you lean forward and hide in her neck, closing your eyes as her hands wrap around your shoulder blades.

Emily doesn’t say anything. She just holds you, quietly pressing kisses to your forehead as she rubs warm circles on your back. You let out a shaky breath as something in you unwinds, a product of her steady hands and the warm bath water swirling around you. Again you know she won’t let go until you do, so you reluctantly loosen your grip on her waist.

“Gonna wash your hair now,” she murmurs. 

You nod and hear the water as she gathers it in her palms; some of it drips onto your body before she pours it onto your head, soaking your scalp. Warmth cascades down your face, your shoulders. It takes a few more scoops before your hair is fully drenched, and when that happens, Emily grabs your shampoo bottle.

“No,” you rasp and she stills. Her brow raises in question. “Your shampoo,” you say quietly, the twist in your stomach telling you it’s a ridiculous request. Emily probably thinks the same; you lower your eyes and draw your knees into your chest, the very tips of them peeking out from the water and getting exposed to the cold air of the bathroom.

The comforting scent of Emily’s shampoo floods your senses. Soon after her gentle hands follow, raking through your hair and lathering the shampoo until it bubbles on your scalp. Her repetitive motions are soothing; your shoulders loosen and slump further into the warm water, some tension leaking from your body if not your restless mind. You keep your eyes down, chin on your knees, tilting with her movements as she moves your head this way and that to properly clean your hair. Her short nails scrape against your scalp as she generously massages the shampoo into your locks. You breathe out a quiet sigh.

Conditioner follows on your roots, Emily’s chin nudging against your forehead as she leans forward to reach them. This takes less time, though she’s no less thorough as she spreads it through your hair. When she’s done, you hear her dip her hands into the water, washing the conditioner off before gently nudging your chin.

“Head up, baby.” Emily whispers.

You oblige. Her eyes meet yours and she gives you a small smile, concern visibly swimming in her dark irises. You can’t bring yourself to return her smile, but as she leans forward and kisses your temple, you grab her hand under the water and squeeze. Emily squeezes back.

“Keep your eyes closed, okay? Gonna wash this off.”

Too tired to reply but not wanting to leave her with silence, you hum. Even that sound is thready and weak, drowned out by the splash of the water as Emily pours it over your head. 

Her arms must ache; she repeats it over and over, runs her fingers through your soaking hair to wash out any lingering shampoo or conditioner, and she does it all with endless patience. She doesn’t take the easy route by dipping your head backward into the water, or better yet telling you to wash your own damn hair yourself. Painstakingly, she cups her hands under the water and pours it on your head until your hair is clean.

Her love only brings tears to your eyes. You feel them gather beneath your closed eyelids, a lump forming in the back of your throat as something clicks and you smell Emily’s body wash next. Opening your eyes, you find her lathering it between her palms, letting it froth into bubbles before she starts rubbing it into your chest and shoulders.

“Emily?” You say, your voice thick with tears.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Tell me something good.” 

Tears balance on your lashes. You blink and they drip into the cloudy bath water, leaving small ripples in their wake. 

Emily stops lathering the body wash into your skin. Her hand slips down your chest, her fingers pressing into the left side of your ribs. “You’re alive.” She says quietly. Your pulse rises to meet her fingers. “We’re both home. We’re okay.” Her other hand gently cups your cheek, her thumb tracing the underside of your jaw. “It won’t always be like this.”

Maybe it’s the intensity of her stare. Or it could be her words, both firm and gentle. Or her hand against your heart, making the both of you feel your pulse. It could be all of these things, or none of them, that makes more tears drip down your chin, a choked exhale leaving your lips as you cover the hand on your cheek with your own.

“How do you always know what I need?” You ask, the tremble of your words echoing through the bathroom tiles.

Emily kisses the tip of your nose. “Because I know you.” Her hand leaves your chest and goes to the back of your neck, gently nudging you into her arms. Water sloshes as you sink into her again. “And because we’ve all been in this place before. We’ve been in it and we’ll continue to deal with it in the future, because that’s the price of the job.” She whispers into a kiss, this one to your damp hairline. 

“We can only do so much, honey. We have to remember that.”

The two of you are quiet after that. Emily trails her fingertips up and down your spine, again waiting until you move from her arms to continue taking care of you. She wipes the leftover tears on your face before grabbing her body wash, rubbing it onto your skin and chasing the bubbles off with rapidly cooling water and her soft lips. 

By the time you get out of the tub and pad into her bedroom, you feel somewhat lighter. Not as heavy as before, your tears and Emily’s touch taking away some of the heaviness in your chest. More of it is chased away when Emily hands you her pajamas and spreads her lotion over your skin, enveloping you in a bubble that’s purely her; her hair products and pajamas and lotion, her arms around you when she nudges you into bed and brings you into her chest.

Her fingers again delve into your hair, gently detangling the knots that have formed over the past few days. “Make you some tea?” She murmurs, her lips tracing your forehead. A kiss is pressed there.

“No.” You whisper, curling your fingers into the collar of her pajama shirt. Her pulse beats steadily under your knuckles—we’re okay. You swallow and nuzzle under her jaw, your eyes falling closed. “Just stay with me.”

“Okay.” Emily says.

Her fingers continue running through your hair, ever so carefully working through the knots in it. There’s the occasional scratch of her nails against your scalp, and even when you shift to get more comfortable in her arms, her lips follow your forehead. Sometimes they lay there, still, but every few minutes she’ll press an absent kiss to your temple.

The events of the day sink heavily onto your bones. With your girlfriend soothing your weary soul, her heart thumping steadily under your ear as she murmurs sweet nothings in a language you don’t understand, everything feels just a little bit better. The bed dips as Sergio climbs onto it, finding his way into the small space between Emily’s arms and your body. He curls into your side and one of Emily’s hands goes to your back, rubbing small circles at the base of your spine as she runs her fingers through your combed hair.

You didn’t think you’d find sleep again. But with her holding you like this, you’re helpless to stop it.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics

[ddarker-dreams]

ranking the current husband rotation on how well they handle you crying.

even if he's the reason you're crying, chrollo is unfairly good at providing comfort. he considered himself numb to the sight of tears, but you plucked a cord buried deep inside his decayed heart. he assesses the scene before him with a quiet intensity. unless it's an event that just unfolded, he can always guess what got you this emotional based on past conversations and observation. his immediate instinct is to check you over for injuries. once he's assured that isn't the problem, he makes his presence known. softly saying your name, beckoning you toward him with open arms, offering an embrace deep enough to get lost in. the smooth tenor of his voice paired with his familiar warmth and scent envelop you in a comforting cocoon.

he doesn't tell you that it's okay, that there's no need to cry. he just allows your emotions to run their course. once you've settled down, he'll lead you by the hand to a couch and sit beside you. he'll quietly wonder if this is about so and so, gauging your body language for an answer if words fail you. he doesn't need to ask if you need anything. he just knows, his intuition has been sharpened to perfection by the time you've spent together. he's already thought through a myriad of solutions to whatever predicament you're facing, but he'll save that for later. the future is put aside so he can focus on you in the present.

scaramouche doesn't consider himself a sentimental person. he's allowed whatever goodwill he was born with to rot, gleefully accelerating the process so nothing but thorn and bristle remained. this garden turned necropolis returns to a shadow of itself at the mere sound of you sniffling. if that wasn't bad enough, the sight proves itself infinitely worse. he'll freeze as if his system powered down. this can't be right. you, the only being he considers worthwhile in this world, crying? he storms over, takes you by the shoulders and implores you to tell him what happened.

it's likely his abrupt appearance and grave demeanor won't prove an effective approach. he knew it before he took the first step, but his ability to rationalize succumbed to fear. fear that you were hurt, no matter what form this hurt takes. he wants an enemy to throw all this onto so he can tear it asunder. that'd give a semblance of control, something tangible to work with. if you can't provide him with names or details, he's at a loss. all he can do is think back to the many times he cried alone and trying recalling what it was he wanted then.

he'll hold you in a stiff, uncertain manner. the rough edges prove how genuine the act is.

blade is acquainted with grief and its numerous shades. the difference between you being that he's clawed at his retinas until he couldn't perceive those colors anymore, figuring it best to blind himself rather than granting outside influences the privilege. you cause the monochrome to revert. his empathy is raw, painful, and beyond verbal expression. he initially hesitates to confront this situation head-on. he couldn't offer sweet nothings if he wanted to — and he doesn't, platitudes are revolting — so what does that leave him with? he could say something insensitive, or his inability to form words might be an insult of their own.

he's fought few battles as fearsome as this. there's all the hallmarks of a bloody fight looming over the horizon. his breathing's picked up, adrenaline pumps through his abused nervous system. his hands itch to hold his sword. except there's nothing to slaughter here, no, he's tasked with the far more complicated task of imbuing life. he'll have you lay your head on his shoulder. he'll apologize, though he doesn't know what for. he just keeps you steady. you apologize for getting tears on his jacket as if he wouldn't let you tear him limb for limb if it made you feel a bit better. you probably don't want to hear that, so he presses a chaste kiss to your head instead.

[stinkrascal]

Breanna: It don't hurt, does it? Vladislaus: It is healed, mostly. I am grateful you only took one bite.

Breanna: [ slurping ] You want some of this? Vladislaus: No. Thank you. Breanna: Uhuh. Hey, so is cannibalism a thing with vampires?

Vladislaus: Of course. Cannibalism is found within many species. It is only natural it occurs in our kind as well. Breanna: Oh. I bet that's a big problem. Hey, what about restaurants?

Vladislaus: What about them? Breanna: Do vampires got restaurants? I bet that would help with the cannibalism thing. Vladislaus: There is an entire city at our disposal. There are many such opportunities for fine dining experiences.

Breanna: Huh? Oh. You could've just said yes, but okay. I bet you read a lot.

Breanna: Hey, so do vampires have libraries? Vladislaus: Yes, Breanna. We have libraries. Breanna: Yeah, you sound like you read a lot. Vladislaus: Thank you. Breanna: That wasn't a compliment.

Breanna: Hey, by the way, where are we going? Vladislaus: To the headmaster. She wishes to meet you. Breanna: Oh, right. Hey, so I got another question. Vladislaus: Yes, I'm sure you do.

Breanna: What's that supposed to mean? Vladislaus: Nothing at all. Breanna: I feel like you're making fun of me.

Vladislaus: What is your question, my dear?

Breanna: It was—uh—oh. Yeah. About when I bit you. You were bleeding. And last night, when you cut your hand—you bled then too. How's that work? How do you bleed if you're dead?

Vladislaus: You are mistaken. We are not dead. It is the opposite. As vampires, we are made to live. We experience life in its most concentrated form. Food tastes better, music sounds sweeter, and my God, Breanna, the sex.

Breanna: ...

Vladislaus: ...

Vladislaus: [ clears throat ] My point is, we are not dead, we are more alive than any other. Breanna: That's... good? Right? Frankie: Hey! Heyyyyy! HEEEYYYYYY! HEYY VLADDY DADDY! [ coughs ] ah shit, HEY VLAD! C'MON LITTLE MAN, I KNOW YOU SEE ME!!!!!!! HEYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Vladislaus: Of course. If you pay no mind to the minor setbacks. Breanna: Huh? What setbacks?

Vladislaus: The part where we eat the flesh of innocents, my sweet summer child. Breanna: Oh. How'd you know my birthday's in the summer? Frankie: C'mon peepaw! Get some fuckin' hearin' aids! [ whistles ] Yoohoo! Over hereee!

Breanna: Who's that guy over there? I think he's calling for you.

Breanna: Hello? Mr. Straud? Are you listening to me?

Breanna: Do you know that guy? Vladislaus: [ clears throat ] No. Vladislaus: [ in Frankie's mind ] Leave me alone. Frankie: Aww, c'mon, you don't gotta be like— Vladislaus: [ in Frankie's mind ] I SAID LEAVE. Frankie: Agh, get outta my head ya pervert.

Breanna: It kinda seems like you know him. Vladislaus: [ clears throat, louder this time ] As I was saying--our powers come at a great cost. You will do well to remember that. Breanna: Huh? Oh. You're still on that. I don't really care to be honest.

Vladislaus: You should. You were human not 24 hours ago. Would you turn your back on your people so quickly? Breanna: Who's my people? They're lucky I'm nice enough to stick to blood packs. Vladislaus: The blood packs are a byproduct of our sin.

Vladislaus: For every blood pack you consume, someone must die. Someone must be slaughtered. Breanna: Get off your high horse dude, you're a vampire too. If you think it's so bad you shouldn't have asked to be turned. Vladislaus: Is that what you believe?

Vladislaus: [ sighs ] Forgive me. I am being haughty. Truthfully, I envy your nature. You are suited for this life. This world was not made for me, and every interaction I have reminds me so.

Vladislaus: You, however, seem very good at enjoying yourself. You seek decadence, do you not? Vampirism is a decadent lifestyle. You will thrive. I can already tell. Breanna: ...Oh.

Breanna: [ giggles ] That sounds fun.

Breanna: You make me sound like I put some thought into it.

[yccoffeesimp]

𝙔𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨

Gender-neutral reader!! (I forgot to post this here as well :>)

A stellaron hunter, wanted with a near 8.13  billion credits on his head. A swordsman who sacrificed his body to become a blade. His salvation from the undying pain of Mara was once death. The other plane of existence. That was until he set eyes on you. A fellow trailblazer upon the Astral Express.

He never understood what it was he felt when you were around. He felt... Calm? At ease. Alive. It all started when you followed the Trailblazer onto the Xianzhou Loufo. And ever since that moment, he wanted- No. He craved your presence. He felt so alive when he saw you. No longer suffocating from the binds of the past and its mistakes. But that all disappeared when you went away.

He felt disappointed when you left. The constant pain he harbored returned in an instant. Yet in the background of all of that was an unstoppable craving for you.

Blade tried to deny the craving. Refusing to cross your path and avoiding you all in one, which wasn't hard at first, but somehow he felt himself get dragged to you. Eventually, it was too much. He began to realize that he needed you. And at any cost, he will take you.

It was easier said than done. Kafka, Silverwolf, and Firefly all pitched in. Well, more so Kafka. She found this "love" Blade had for you to be amusing. Silverwolf didn't seem to care and Firefly was too busy carrying out the script in Penacony to do anything.

While everything was happening in Penacony, when Dan Heng left with Boothill, you were left alone with Pom-Pom. That's when you went missing from the express. All alone now with a Stellaron Hunter.

There were many times you tried to leave when no one was paying attention. All were in vain as Blade would eventually catch you. It felt like a twisted game of hide and seek. He never understood why you'd want to leave. He wasn't mistreating you at all. You were fed, clothed, and sure all your freedoms were gone now but he never saw a problem with it.

He isn't manipulative like Jing Yuan. But more aggressive. The first time he ever did anything that resulted in injury was when you tried to run for the 5th time. He was getting irritated and you just so happened to try to run when he needed your presence to calm his mind. So seeing you run when he was like that definitely made him snap. He pinned you down like you were a wild animal. His hand gripping your neck was tight enough to leave a bruise. Normally he would just pin you to the floor. His hand kept your head to the floor as his knee was dug into your back, waiting patiently for you to stop struggling. After that, he would carry you back to your room before locking you in it. Such a nice man.

However, when you began to stop running, he wasn't aggressive anymore. He would just silently bask in your presence, his head in your lap or shoulder. Bringing you food, water, or whatever you need. Of course, he was curious as to why you stopped. Blade would never ask though. All that mattered to him now was that you were his. His salvation was finally in his grasp.

Nicknames: None

___________________________________________The silence of the room was deafening to you. You sat on the edge of your bed, the navy blue-haired individual who brought you here was easily resting his head on your lap. You questioned how he could be so at ease with what he does. He slaughtered many and destroyed several things. One of those was your freedom. Though you didn't do anything about it, you felt bad after what Kafka told you about Blade. Or at first. Honestly, you don't know what you feel for him anymore. Blade's head shifted in your lap a bit, causing your hands to flinch as you realized it was in his hair. "Sorry." You uttered. Waiting for a reply, you sigh as you'll never get one. ___________________________________________

[wilddflwer]

Two-Way Mirror

reader x j. slaughter

Summary: reader manages to get away from the man who held her captive, blindfolded, and abused for days. thinking she finally escaped hell, she comes to realize she wasn’t even close.

Contains: dark themes, kidnapping, abuse, gore, Johnnys an asshole

Your jaw ached at how tightly the gag was tied, forcing your mouth to stay open, no doubt leaving a deep red marking on the sides of your face. You move your tied down wrists and ankles uncomfortably, only being able to shift them just by an inch. Your whole body ached, from the abuse, from the consistent sitting position in the chair you were bound to, from the hopelessness inside, from the lack of strength. You hung your head lowered in defeat as you stayed wondering how long you’ve been here. You haven’t been able to see anything but pure darkness for what felt like months. He never takes the blindfold off.

It wasn’t unusual for your capture to leave you alone for more than two days, starved and beaten. It was something you prefer actually, beats having to deal with his sadistic nature. It almost became some sort of routine for you. Every two to four days he would be gone, then he’d show up again, almost excited to see you. Despite not have ever looking at his face, you felt you already knew him whole. You grew to recognize his foot steps, they were heavy and paced lightly. That’s when you knew he was back, when your found peace was about to end. You recognized his touch, always gloved, never skin, leaving continuous bruises and wounds on your body. Most importantly, you recognized his voice. You’ll never forget his voice, his laugh, his mockery, his twisted praising, his mean degrading, his breathing pattern. Hell, even his scent you grew familiar with, cigarettes and death. No, you’ll never forget it. His voice and laughter echo in the your mind constantly, it bounces off the walls and follows you to your restless dreams. Aside from learning his cruel ways, the only other thing you knew of him was his name; Johnny.

It was day three of Johnnys absence. Day three of another torture of silence, aside from your own breathing and on and off cries. Your stomach rumbled in hunger as you shifted your weight uncomfortably, wishing you never went on your stupid trip. That last minute trip driven by anger and spite towards your father, who you had a pretty bad argument with just before you left. That was another thing that weighed down on you, regret. You said such awful things to him, and those were the last words your father would ever hear from you. It hurt, it really hurt. If you could, you’d apologize over and over until you couldn’t speak anymore. You figured you had until tomorrow to have time to yourself to rest and attempt to gather your thoughts. Although, he was unpredictable, so you didn’t rely too much on your own guessing games. You just preyed he’d never come back. You’d rather die at this point, your sane mind was reaching its breaking point. You were slowly losing your fighting spirt.

“I wanna go home” you whimpered to the empty room, the last little hope in you wishing someone would hear your words. Of course, there was never a response. You fell silent once more. You’ve already tried again and again to escape, thrashing around in your restraints hoping they’d get loose. They never did. You were growing tired of the mind games he’d play with you, the abuse, the inhumanity of it all. Even the small things such as feeding you. You’d feel his eyes on you as you eat what you assumed was some sort of meat. His small chuckles made you second guess yourself, forcing the food down. You didn’t want to think it was anything else besides some sort of animal.

You don’t know how much more you could endure. So, there you are once again, attempting to get out. The thought of seeing your father again and taste of freedom is enough to bring back lost determination. You thrash your wrists and ankles wildly against the rope that burns into your tender skin. You twist and pull, flexing them in different directions in hope it’ll loosen just a little. You whimper and hiss through the pain, the rope burn only seemed to get worse on your broken skin. You didn’t stop. You keep twisting, pulling, thrashing, anything you could take off to get free.

Your struggling suddenly becomes worth it as you manage to tug your left hand free, slipping and tugging it through the rope. It was a tight squeeze out, tight enough to force your hand purple for a small amount of time. That didn’t matter though, you could finally get out. Maybe he tied the rope lazily, thinking it was enough to keep you strapped down. After all, you had been trapped here for almost a month now. Either way, your escape would be a slip up on Johnnys end.

You quickly loosened the rope on your other hand, tugging your joint free from its own prison. Then finally, you take off your blindfold for the first time since you’ve been here. Your eyes adjusted quickly to the ominous, dark room you were in. The only light source was a couple lanterns that were draped on the ceiling and the little sunlight that shined down from a hole in the ceiling. It was just enough to make out the horrors of the cold room you were in. The ceiling was littered with various human body parts, from hands to feet. There were at least four corpses strung up, rotting to the bone. You hadn’t realized it until now you had become nose blind to that god awful smell of rotting. You swallowed down the vomit that crept up your throat. Then there was the ladder that led up to who knows where. You quickly started undoing the ropes around your ankles, your last step to finally find your way out of this hellhole. You massage your aching wrists and ankle before thinking about your next step.

Your legs shake as you stand, causing you to hold onto the arm of the chair for support. You keep your eyes to the floor, avoiding looking at any gruesome scene. You force yourself to stand straight as you make your way, or rather stumble, towards the door that leads out. You tug at the sliding door, attempting to use all your strength to open it. It doesn’t budge at all.

“It’s locked?” you whisper to yourself, half distraught and half confused. Why would he lock the door if you were already tied down? Either way, it’s just another obstacle for your freedom. You take a deep breath before doing a quick scan of the room. Doing your best to ignore the bodies, your eyes fall on a toolbox set on a counter. You push off the door and towards the tool box. You quietly rummage through it, finding something that could fit as a lock pick. Pulling out a skinny tool, you grip it tightly and go back towards the door. You’ve never had to lock pick something, but now wasn’t the time to just give up. You slide the tool through the keyhole and give it your best. You use the tool to apply pressure on the part that’ll unlock the door for you. It takes you a minute but you manage to unlock it. You drop the now bent up tool on the ground and slide open the door. You cringe at the loudness, hoping he wasn’t anywhere near by.

There was no mistaking it, you were in a basement. It was more of a maze if anything. You didn’t know where to go or where to start. You hold yourself for some sort of comfort as you begin to explore. Again, you avoid looking at the various dead bodies you come across. You can’t help but wonder if that’s going to end up being you. Just another lifeless corpse rotting down here. Then you wonder if Johnny did all this by himself. Surely not? This whole place was one big grave. The further you walk, the more your anxiety rises. Everything was unfamiliar and eerie. You think back to the ladder in the cold room. It seemed too easy for an escape, but you weren’t exactly getting anywhere right now. You circle back to the room that was your prison. Each step getting quicker as you approach the ladder. You wince lightly with every move as you climb up, your eyes squinting as you are met with sunlight for the first time in awhile. You could almost cry feeling the fresh breeze and the warmth of the sun blanketing your cold and bruised skin. To you, it felt like an angels kiss.

Once you’re back on your feet above ground, you find yourself in the back of somebody’s yard. It was a big property, so many areas to hide if needed. You timidly begin to move to the front of the house where you know there has to be a road. You squeeze through a small gap as a short cut to reach the side ramp that you can see from where you are. Afraid Johnny might be inside the house, you are careful not to be too obvious as you make your way up the dirt road and over the cattle grates. Paranoid, you keep glancing around for anybody that may harm you. You weren’t sure how many people lived here, but you figured they must know of Johnnys crimes. How could they not? The basement was littered with evidence.

You tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear as you admire the various sunflowers in the front yard. The front of the house was welcoming and beautiful, almost like there wasn’t any horrors behind its walls or under it. You crept closer towards the front gate that led to freedom, and to your luck it was open. You pushed the gate open and left the property without looking back once.

You were free.

A sense of relief washed over you as you began to walk faster. Part of you wanted to run, but your body wouldn’t allow it. Your legs felt too damaged to do anything other than walk. You sped walked down the road for what felt like miles, your feet sore. It had to be at least an hours now, the sun was setting and there was still not a vehicle or person in sight. You needed help badly. You needed to get to proper safety and call the police and your father.

You hugged yourself once again. The house you escaped from was long gone now, miles and miles behind you. At this point, you were in a zombie like state. You legs kept going but you felt like you weren’t really there. Your mind was else where. Maybe it was the trauma, or the self defence mechanism you gained over the month you were here, or maybe you were just tried. Either way, you weren’t keen on your surrounding enough. Not like there was anything around you for miles, you were alone and lost. Though, it was better than being tied down to that damned chair. You did your best to ignore the growing ache in your feet as you continued on. Your eyes stared at the ground in a daze. You shivered every now and then, and to think you’d be use to the cold by now.

Right now, all you could think about was your bed, your shower, your father’s embrace, the feeling of being home, your old life before your kidnapping. You squeezed your fingers tighter against your shoulders as you hazily looked forward at the gleaming light getting closer. You hadn’t realized it until now but there was a vehicle getting closer and closer from the distance just up ahead the road. It took a moment to sink in but there was indeed a vehicle approaching you, a truck is what you could make it out to be. Immediately you felt overwhelmed with emotions. There’s somebody that will help you. You could almost cry at the thought of finally getting far away from this place.

As the truck got closer, you stepped in the middle of the road so it couldn’t get around you. You waved your tired arm to signal the driver to stop. Your body shakes with anticipation as the pickup truck comes to a halt just a few feet in front of you. You can’t see the driver from where you stand, but they sure as hell could see you. The way the sun is angled is blinding your view of him, but you could vaguely make out a man’s silhouette. Without thinking, you jog up to the passenger side door and open it. You take your spot and slam the door shut. Home was so close now.

“Thank you, thank you” you repeat a couple times as you turn to your saviour, “I need to get to the police station as soon as possible. I don’t know where I am, I was taken and- and”

Your words were scrambled and fast as you tried to explain your situation without scaring the stranger off too much. At this moment you’re able to take in his appearance. The man’s got slicked back dark hair, dark eyes and a nasty scar that runs along his forehead to over his eye. Despite the scar, he was quite the looker. He’s got a cigarette loosely hanging from his lip as he studies you, nodding mindlessly to your rambling. A small smirk tugs at his lips as he begins driving the direction back to the house who had just escaped from.

“Wait…” puzzled, you shake your head desperately, “You’re going the wrong way. I can’t go back there”

It goes silent between the two of you for a minute. The bad feeling in the pit of your stomach returns as you feel the shift of speed of his driving. Then he spoke.

“You got pretty far, huh?” Johnny comments, his amusement growing as the look of horror and realization colours your face at the recognition of his voice. Your heartbeat quickens by the second as you feel your body freeze and tense. Your breathing seems to come to a stop as you can’t find the words or seem remember how to breathe. You felt your anxiety pouring over the edge as Johnny makes heavy eye contact with you. For the first time, you look straight into the dark eyes of evil and he stares into your fear struck stare. The sudden familiar smell of cigarettes and despair hit your nose, triggering your flight or flight. Everything suddenly came together. The gloves, the boots, his voice, his scent. It was him, it was Johnny.

“No…” you whimper, backing away until your back hits the door, “No…”

You reach for the handle and push the door open, falling out at a high speed. It hurt like hell, but you don’t take long to get back in your feet and run for the hills. Your body burns but you can’t go back. You can’t let him get you again. You take off the opposite direction of where he was taking you. Johnny stops the truck immediately, shifting gear and pressing his foot down on the gas, going backwards towards you just as fast. He rests his arm over the seat as he looks back to watch you run. It was pointless really, but it was both a surprise and rush to him that you still had the energy to try get away from him.

You can practically feel your heartbeat in your ears as you take off into the fields of tall grass. Johnny halts his truck, putting it in park and stepping out. He chuckles watching you make a run for it, attempting to hide from him.

“Aw…You leaving so soon?” Johnny tauntingly calls out to you, raising your anxiety. You can’t let him catch you. Surely you were dead this time. You keep pushing on until you realize you have no sense of direction, you’re completely lost.

“I’m gonna find you!” Johnnys voice calls out to you, he’s getting closer already, “I will! I promise!”

The sun was almost completely set now, leaving you without much light to see two steps in front of you. Your breathing was loud and heavy as you pushed grass out of your way. Johnnys taunting stopped and it was now eerily quiet, aside from your panicked breathes. You stopped moving and covered your mouth to avoid further detection. It seemed like time stopped completely. Johnny was being just as quiet as you. There was no way he could find you in this grass, and much less lack of light. Maybe he’d give up…you prayed he’d give up and just leave you alone.

“Hey there!” Johnnys sudden voice made you jump out of your skin. You screamed as you stumbled back, loosing your footing and landing straight on your ass. However, you moved quick, getting back in your feet and ready to take off. As much as Johnny loved the chase, the risk of another person driving by and you somehow escaping him was not something he wanted to deal with. He was quick to grab your arm and force you back to him.

“Oh, you ain’t gettin away! Im keeping you!”

“Don’t touch me! Get the fuck off of me!” You curse at him, hitting him with all the strength you have left. It must be the adrenaline, or maybe even the fear that gave you enough courage to fight back. You were so close to freedom, yet so far. Of course it had to be him driving down that road, of course you had to mindlessly get in his truck. This nightmare never seemed to end. You were desperate.

Johnny was quick to pull out his hunters knife, giving you two deep gashes as a warning. You screamed out in pain at the sudden fire stinging wounds. Johnny found an opening to sink the knife deep into you, yet he didn’t.

“Hurtin’ real bad, ain’t you sweetheart?” Johnny asks as he gets a firm hold on you, restraining you from hitting him any further. You cry, scream, anything to maybe get someone to hear you. Yet again, there’s nobody; just you and Johnny.

Johnny keeps you restrained against him until you’re done. Too tired to scream, too tired to cry, too tied to fight back. He could’ve shut you up, covered your mouth, but he thrived off it. Found your screams and cried music to his ears. He knew nobody could hear you, just as well you knew deep down inside. Any ounce of energy you had was gone. The past and present abuse on your body worn you out completely to the point where you finally slumped into his arms.

“There you go” Johnny hums, placing his knife back into his sheath, “You’ve had a long day, haven’t you, [name]?”

You didn’t reply, not that you refused to, but you couldn’t. You felt too defeated. Your only chance at escaping was gone. Instead you let your mind wander again as Johnny lifted you. You focused on the beauty of the tall grass you were in, on the fields among it. You focused on the cool night breeze and fresh air that you wouldn’t ever feel again. You focused on the arising moon way up in the sky and how pretty it looked. You wondered if your father was looking at it too.

“Damn…so close! Good try though” Johnny chuckled at your unresponsive state. He figured he broke your mind long ago, that you had no will to escape anymore and accepted the fact you were his now. Johnny knew better now, you were stronger than the others, he had more time with you. You were his favourite by far.

“Let’s go home”



[dathomirdumpsterfire]

Something is hunting Darth Maul across the stars.

A presence he cannot touch, whispers that chase him from sleep. Answers seem to lay in a place he cannot go... at least, not alone. Before the Jedi and the Sith, before the Republic or the Empire, before the ancient Je'daii even, there were force users building temples and communing with the cosmic energies.

Somehow, even back then, there was a rule of two.

For Ben Kenobi, getting up each day is difficult enough, nevermind facing the past. He has one singular goal left to him: to be a guardian. A very distant guardian. Between the echoing emptiness of his cave and the war-torn memories that haunt him, he really just wants to be left alone.

Too bad for him that sleep-deprived sith lords aren't likely to take no for an answer.

[The long awaited sequel to Desertification is here!]

🔥🔥🔥 Read chapter 1 on Ao3, or scroll below the cut! Updates on Tuesdays.🔥🔥🔥

Bridges are a beautiful weakness. 

This one is massive. Natural stone that reaches across a wide span between stronghold and barren cliff. The architecture is sharp, angular, and modern, with little in the way of ornamentation. It is simply a functional pathway, the sole point of access for a utilitarian facility. The forces garrisoned here would have little trouble defending this chokepoint, under typical circumstances. 

A zygerrian guard rises off the ground, clawing at their neck, while the next shoots wildly, hollering for backup. Blaster bolts curve off unnaturally into empty air. The first alien loses consciousness and slumps, still airborne. Their rifle clatters to the stone. The second turns and manages to flee two steps before they are swept sideways off the bridge like a leaf in a storm. They plummet, screaming, twenty stories down and into the lava below. With a lazy gesture, Darth Maul sends their strangulated comrade tumbling after them. 

Lords of the Sith truly cannot qualify as ‘typical circumstances.’ 

He begins forward again as the next defenders rise to stop him. The formation they take is practiced, but he can see their quaking knees, feel their fear in the air. 

If these fools truly wished to challenge him, they would be far better served by calling their forces back and turning the compound’s anti-ship cannons on its own infrastructure. Burying him alive might actually slow him down… but the cannons remain fixed on the sky, and figures in golden armor pour out onto the wide, windy bridge. 

The price of such short sighted arrogance will be their lives. 

Maul finishes churning through the first of the stronghold’s defense forces. He scatters a forward line of pikemen, shielding himself from blaster fire using stones torn from the structure itself. The occasional bolt slips past these rocks, but he simply bats those away with his saber. 

The slaughter of their frontline gives the next group time to prepare. He is met with a more cohesive unit, backed by snipers. The cover fire does them little good. Maul ruins their formation by blitzing carelessly into the middle of it. His red blades lay into the panicking bodies around him and parry the long range shots back to their origins with impeccable soresu. 

While he picks off the remaining snipers in their nests with a few force-propelled rocks, a new line of troops with energy bows come forward, firing in rapid sequence. It is… quaint, he thinks. Few have the dedication to make such a weapon into a formidable challenge, and these guards could not have matched the skill or power of a dathomirian archer on their worst day. Perhaps it is because these soldiers lack an edge of desperation -for food or survival- whenever they practice their aim?

Regardless, their skill or lack thereof is ultimately irrelevant against a man who can predict where they will fire.

Maul reaches the halfway point unimpeded, and the zygerrians finally switch tactics to something more innovative. The remaining guards part, and a set of twins emerge to close with him instead.

Each wields a halberd tipped by shining blue energy blades. They fight together, resplendent in fanged grins and fine armor. Their movements, obfuscated by swirls of shimmering gold cloth, complement each other with the skill born of what must have been decades spent training in tandem. 

Facing such talent is the highlight of his efforts thus far, but even these warriors cannot match a sith. He tears their blades from them, and stabs each twin through the chest with their siblings' match. They die propped up on the hafts, slouching toward each other. 

Blaster fire starts back up, and Maul returns to working through the rest of the chaff. The air begins to reek of desperation so strong it can be smelt over the sulfur. Acetone-bright and cloyingly sweet. 

Quick as a lightning strike, an electro-whip cracks near his head with a sharp snap-fizz . A waft of ozone fills his nose, and the sith's forward momentum stutters to a halt. Resentful yellow eyes lock on the offender and he bares sharp, iron-stained teeth at them. The tall zygerrian only snarls in return.

Hatred rolls off Maul’s shoulders like heat waves in the force. That energy coalesces, and entropy descends on the whip-wielder. Their fur begins to dissolve as if they were being nibbled on by acid that simply does not stop, and the muscular form falls to the ground, writhing and screaming. They melt into naught but blackened ash under Maul’s baneful stare.

He turns to continue on, sunk too deep in the flow and lust of combat to examine the demise any further. 

Slaves are thrown at him next, driven out onto the bridge as his assault nears the stronghold's three-story double doors. An effort he hesitates to call a 'tactic'. Half of the scrawny chattel fall to their bellies before he has even reached them, quivering and silent as they choose the potential wrath of their masters over certain death upon his blades. 

Those who fight he kills as quickly as they come. Living and dead alike are left on the ground behind him, forgotten as soon as they pass out of sight. 

More guards, with flashier armor and even finer weapons are next. Insignia and marks of esteem decorate their shoulders; the royal guard, here to die for their liege. 

A sai cha strike with his saberstaff, and a head hits the ground before the body knows it is dead. Cho mok and cho mai, double-disarmed at the wrist. Their owner stumbles and falls off the bridge in shock, fixated on the remaining stumps. An angled shiak, down through the ribs just far enough to boil the blood in their lungs. Mou kei to the left leg, and another trips off the side to join the rest in immolation. Maul spins in a flourish of beautiful juyo at the gate.

Sai cha. Sai cha. Sai cha. 

Then there are no more guards. 

He pushes the double doors open with the force, and smiles to behold the reason he came here.

"Prince Trifenra," his croon echoes in the silence of the throne room, "I warned you not to cross me."

The lone zygerrian slams a button on the podium beside them, and the floor falls away with them on it. Maul gets to the edge in time to be stymied by a bulkhead closing the hole over. He sneers at it in annoyance, and starts cutting through with his lightsaber. 

Twenty seconds, and he completes a circle of molten metal. A kick with his cybernetic foot sends the cutout falling, revealing a web of catwalks over a field of lava. He jumps. 

The sith searches the platforms as he freefalls, but Trifenra is nowhere to be seen. 

Maul lands on a catwalk with a heave of force to lessen the impact. His eyes drift closed, chest expanding as he breathes in, swaying in whichever direction feels right, focusing… focusing…

The force whispers to him that his prey is that way .

Maul jumps the rail and bounces between causeways, reaching the correct one and pelting down it. The feeling ends at an arch built into the rough stone walls. Thick metal doors, locked tight.

He snarls and starts cutting again, a small circle just large enough to admit him. The sith punches this cutout, and somersaults through without touching the cherry-red edges. 

On the other side are holding cells. Row after row, multiple levels of hexagonal doors stretch out from the entry, each sealed by lambent red. Some are empty, some not. All the prisoners are exotic in some way. 

Maul glances over the occupants as he passes, walking deeper into the facility. Trifenra is here, he can sense it.

The chamber widens into a large, multilevel room around a center platform. A dead end. The prince's possible hiding places have multiplied yet become limited at the same time. Maul's mouth quirks at the corner.

"Come out, come out. Wherever you are~," he sings in a sardonic drawl, like this is a game of hunter and prey between younglings.

The airscrubbers hum through the walls, creating a deep resonance just on the edge of hearing. Despite what must be a robust air recycling system, this room remains steeped in the scents of the enslaved; bitterness and despondency, melancholia and hate. A multispecies cacophony of emotions that make his sinuses itch. 

He hears wheezing laughter, like the rattle of dry grass. 

"Ssssweet, ssssweet, ssssinger…" calls a hoarse voice from one of the cells. The force twinges, a plucked string.

The source is… across the room, on a higher level. Maul can sense the force warping in on itself somewhere nearby. Curious, he leaps closer to it, up a story and over.

The cell on the left is marked as 214, and it contains a nautolan in a rare carmine color. She is heavily pregnant, and pressed as far to the left side of her cage as she can be. 

The cell on the right is marked as 216. It holds a crab-like species he does not know, with a shell that looks like molten, living gold. It is quivering in the back of its container, in the rightmost corner.

In the center cell is a woman with wide pink eyes and an abundance of platinum hair. Her skin is white, like a palliduvan, but with an oily, iridescent sheen. She sits in the center of the room, naked, hugging her knees and shaking with that dry, rattling laugh. 

Her pink gaze zeroes in on him, and her smile grows…and grows… and- 

Lips spread like split meat as she grins from ear to ear, her teeth needle sharp. Conversely, her eyes are kind above the unnatural-looking maw. 

"Blesssssed sssssinger~" she croons sweetly, "the lit-tle king plays a trick  on you. Deceitful. Rude. Give him t-to me and I will blesss your path!" 

She shouldn’t be able to move her jaw like she is, with those facial muscles severed. The force perhaps, magic or alchemy of some sort. He considers her, and the offer, mildly. "I am not easily tricked.” 

She smiles still, and says nothing. Her presence feels like a tangle of razorwire, writhing and clingy. 

"Hm.”

Maul walks away, stalking the metal floors and surveying the open room with thoughtful eyes. The prince is here somewhere, but there are enough strange projections from the prison's myriad occupants that it feels… cloudy.

A mirialan glares at him as he walks past their cage. The man floats a foot above his bed, rail-thin and cross legged.

A dry-looking quarren ignores him in turn, crying weakly into their hands.

He laps the room, and finds himself at the center of this fusion of zygerrian and modern architecture. A control panel sits on a dias, with a map of the cell block and various monitoring systems running. 

"Hm!" he comments, "How convenient." 

He taps the icon for cell 216 and tells it to open. 

The sound of a ray shield powering down is shortly followed by more dry, wheezing laughter. He turns to see the woman step into freedom and launch herself across the room, trailing yards of platinum hair. 

She lands in front of 107, and presses herself as close to the ray shield as one could be without burning. 

"Knoc-kk knnnock!" she croaks. 

The cell's occupant shrieks, falling back in their terror, but then scrambles to the shield again to yell up at him. They appear to be a salenga, but something… something is off. Maul squints, trying to pinpoint-

"I will pay you whatever you want! Anything!"

He cocks his head. Curious. How would a slave pay- 

Oh. Interesting. 

"Put her back in her cell and I will make you royalty! I swear it!"

The unnaturally white creature hisses, no longer laughing.

It is Maul who chuckles, walking to the edge of the center platform and clasping his hands behind his back. "A marriage proposal is it, Prince Trifenra? Now that is a… curious bribe."

He waits for the hope to glimmer in their eyes, then waves a hand in a grand gesture. The console registers a command from a finger press that is not there, and obeys it.

All of the cells open. 

The salenga shrieks again, and melts into a clawdite changeling as they zip out and go streaking away. They make it all of three strides before disappearing under shimmering hair and vengeful pink eyes. 

The next few minutes involve teeth, tearing, and unhinged sobbing. Maul watches for a moment as dozens of aliens flee on either side of him for the exit, then grows bored and turns to his comm. Dryden's secretary answers for him, a softly spoken pantoran with a penchant for ancient art. 

"Hello sir. My apologies, Mr. Vos is in a meeting at the moment. Should I get him for you, or can I take a message?" Sochu asks.

Maul waves off the first. "Simply inform him that the treachery has been dealt with, and he has my permission to begin renegotiating with the other offer."

"Very good, sir. Anything else I can do for you?" 

"Mmno," Maul says and hangs up.

His timing is good. The room has cleared and the strange woman is levitating up to the central platform, slathered in blood all down her front. Something wet and purple is cupped in her palms. She lands daintily, and he raises a brow. 

"Ssssinger, c-c-clever son~ You figurrrred out the trick-k, denied the trick-ksster. Gave him to us ," she smiles sweetly, too many teeth in her mouth. 

Maul hums, watchful.

"A gift!" she declares, and holds out… it’s a liver, or part of one. 

He accepts it, amused, with the smallest of bows. “My thanks.” 

The woman giggles like rotten wind chimes and turns to leap off the platform. She lands below and goes padding toward the lava flows, leaving a trail of red footprints smeared by passing hair in her wake. 

Maul considers the slick bulk of the organ in his hand. Dense, warm, and evenly toned purple. He holds it up and gives it a sniff. It smells healthy- clean blooded and rich, and the fight did have him feeling peckish.

"Mm… waste not, I suppose.”

He chooses a corner and slides his teeth in. The woman’s sharp, clinging darkness in the force gives a final twist and melts away. Maul chews thoughtfully on his way out of the compound, disregarding the blood that drips off his chin. His robes are already too stained for a bit more to matter. 

[rosietrace]

『 “All eyes on you” 』

| Aldrich Edelweiss and Victoria Shard | 🗡️ + 🪞 |

✎ᝰ. synopsis : “I love you the first time, I love you the last time— Yo soy la princesa, comprende mis white lines.”

✎ᝰ. content warnings : aldrich himself, dark romance, stalking (from both parties), allusions to murder

✎ᝰ. genre : romance of the dark variety, fluff but in a messed up way, oc x oc

( ˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥) a/n : As the president and only member of the Aldrich Edelweiss fanclub, I miss writing for his silly demented ass 😔 so I hope Revington is able to enjoy this piece, even through the potential ooc moments, just as it had been an enjoyable (yet tortuous) process writing it 🥰

✎ᝰ. : reblogs > likes

Aldrich found entertainment in a great, many ways. A more recent one came in staring at a respectable distance— close enough to see her, far enough to not be deemed conspicuous.

Marvelous, he thought behind one of the trees of Pomefiore’s forests, having slaughtered every woodland critter who'd tried making his presence known to her. Absolutely marvelous.

Over the past week, Victoria Shard had caught the attention of Aldrich Edelweiss; prince of Edelweiss, and leader of his troop of witch hunters.

Aldrich couldn't recall when this fascination with her began, but the prince couldn't be bothered to retrace his footsteps as to when it had happened— his focus remained on her, her and her alone.

He quietly sighed, blissful and dreamy at the sight of her. Sat atop a rock, humoring the desires of the woodland critters fortunate enough to encounter her, and not him.

Her movements were poised, precise. As swift as a blade slicing through to the apex of the heart, and aiming as true as any arrow. Akin to a princess, Aldrich thought with eerie satisfaction.

“So, so beautiful... so perfect...” he complimented her in a hushed voice, his canines digging into the flesh of his bottom lip, and yet he didn't care.

Inevitably, his lips bled the longer his teeth stabbed into its flesh. And as his blood slowly slipped down from his chin and onto the grass below his feet— finally, Victoria felt the ever-distant feeling that she was being watched.

A rabbit laid asleep on her lap, its snow white fur gently caressed in between the fingers that combed through it. “How sweet…”

“Although, I have this feeling,” Victoria said, her free hand below the chin of a doe, as if expecting it to react or reply to her observation. “Am I being watched? Or have I truly come to my wit's end?”

Aldrich felt the hitch of his breath against his throat, one foot taking a step back. Should he dare approach? Profess his loyalties and all that he desired unto her?

Or would he remain a twisted, broken-minded coward — whether he acknowledged that as fact or not — and flee like a stray?

He fled. Of course he did, it was his only option left on the table. The last time an encounter in the forest happened between him and his savior, she'd threatened him; used her magic against him while he'd been vulnerable, without a knife strapped to his side.

It was the most gorgeous sight; the way the sun’s bright fixtures illuminated her at her back, looming over him as though she were a goddess reborn. A saint exempting him from the land of promise to repent for his sins.

He'd wanted to kill her, then. Strangled her throat until her face was comparable to the purple of her hair, until her eyes ceased to open again, and until he could cut out her heart and display it in his room for only him to see.

Since then, he'd dreamed again, and again. Of her. In the good dreams, he'd hunted her down like a starved cat on a search for its next meal.

In the bad dreams, he embraced her and never wanted to let go; her fingers in his hair, her lips against his, their arms wrapped eternally around each other.

In the far off distance from where Victoria stood, her words somehow echoed throughout the forest— reaching far enough for him to hear her and the melodious song her voice had elicited.

“Strange… ever strange, indeed.”

“He's looking… again.”

“Pay no mind to him,” said Victoria to Zenith, the former appetizing on a box of dark chocolate brownies as her dessert. “I can assure you, he isn't of your concern.”

But Zen was not so easily convinced. “Sure he isn't.”

“He is of little importance, Zen.”

“Yeah, well, important or not, I am not enjoying the way he's looking at you.”

Victoria sighed. “... You want me to send Mephisto after him, don't you?”

Now that got Zen to grin a little more than before. Maybe, his eyes suggested, filled with mischief and a need for entertainment.

“No.”

“What? Why not??”

“Aldrich isn't a threat.”

“Aldrich Edelweiss. Not a threat.” He looked like he could burst into laughter any minute now after a statement like that. “Very funny, Tori.”

Victoria deadpanned. “He isn't.”

But it isn't looking like he's going to relent, she thought with a tiny and barely concealed frown as she assessed Zen and his expressions.

Mephisto— Victoria's loyal, obedient, little corvid she'd inherited from her late grandmother — was exclusive to keeping an eye on those Victoria personally deemed a threat.

To her, Aldrich didn't qualify as one. He checked off some boxes, sure, but a threat? That's the last thing Victoria would ever call him.

But Zen was relentless. After this, she knew he'd continue to pester and convince her into spying on Aldrich through Mephisto— a nice sentiment on his end, but one she'd consider inconvenient.

Inconvenience, however, wasn't enough to stop a sigh from escaping her lips at what she was to say next.

“... I'll see what I can do about Mephisto.”

Zen smiled. Satisfied, she'd call the expression, and before she could mumble at how he wouldn't allow a no out of her, he pulled her in for a hug.

“Good to know, Tori,” Zen murmured in relief.

And that was enough to prevent her from getting any more annoyed than she already was.

This damn bird, Aldrich thought to himself the more it became clear that Mephisto just wouldn't leave him alone.

For the past four weeks, he hadn't been able to get even a fraction close enough to where he wanted to be— to keep his sights on Victoria was a form of entertainment as much as it was a twisted show of his devotion, and he couldn't even have that.

His patience thinned, as did his sanity. Clueless to who the crow that's been stalking him like a circling vulture waiting to take whatever's left, Aldrich had taken a few extra measures into making sure it stopped following him.

He'd shot arrows, dabbled in throwing his blades right at the damn creature, hoping that one of them could land a hit.

But it wouldn't let up, always somehow returning to him unscathed when he'd been so sure that he'd targeted them dead more than once.

The damn bird even stole his prized dagger right out of his grasp. And every night since, he dreamed of cutting it open with that same blade, presenting the contents to his savior as a sacrifice worthily presented.

He found solace tonight, knowing that Mephisto was seemingly nowhere as he watched Victoria. At first he found it odd, considering a forest deep into the long hours of midnight would be an almost perfect location for a crow to lurk and sneer.

Aldrich Edelweiss, however, hadn't bothered to care too much about it. Not while he admired Victoria — a closer distance than they'd usually be — singing a symphony even the coral sea sirens knew never to compete with.

The animals adored her, sitting by her, having the pleasure of having their head on her lap with their fur combed through by her fingers.

His hand twitched, a wave of longing crashing over him as it always did; the temptations of reaching out and having the attention of all those fur-faced and like-minded winged creatures taken away and directed unto him.

His compromise was a quiet sigh, a hand over his heart. A silent duet they shared, a wordless melody only they knew the lyrics of, even when one didn't notice the presence of the other.

But the sound of a familiar caw brought an end to a moment of entrancing quiet. Bringing Victoria to her feet, and Aldrich with his guard up, bow and arrow in hand and a quiver strapped to his back.

This time, he'd make the shot.

“Mephisto.”

So that was its name. Even so, all too late, Aldrich didn't even process the hand that reached out to the corvid as he fired a single shot.

Just as it was about to pierce through his tormentor, it froze like ice and dropped to the ground. Shattering like broken glass in its place.

The prince's broken, lovesick heart sank at the sight of his savior’s hand reaching out to let his tormentor perch on it like a throne, her fingertips gently caressing the underside of its beak.

“There you are…” Victoria hummed. “I should feed you more, you've been flying slower as of late. Do you think Pallas has any spares left?”

Mephisto gave out another caw straight from its hazardous beak. Victoria frowned. “I forgot to restock. I've been… busy. You know that.”

At long last, Aldrich's heart stopped in its beat. And yet as quickly as he did, Victoria and her corvid’s heads whipped to his direction— staring down at the trees he'd been using to keep cover.

Victoria scrutinized it, her sharp sapphires for eyes suddenly squinting. She scoffed, her soft fingertip tickling Mephisto's beak.

“Go.”

Then and there, Aldrich bolted the opposite direction, racing into the darkness of the forest with no way of knowing where he'd end up— his eardrums ringing in torment, his breathing shallow as he pushed his legs past their limits.

Mephisto followed suit, its crowing mocking at him like laughter. Aldrich shrieked, hands going to the sides of his head to pull at the hairs in hopes that would distract him; little success came of that.

He felt tired. So tired. His chest heaved while his throat burned the longer he ran.

You could imagine the drop of his heart when he — mid-sprint — had all of a sudden, frozen in place. Aldrich's breath finally came to a prolonged, shallow halt.

Her footsteps were so slow and she drew nearer, and nearer. As though she were taunting him, she also took her time in getting closer.

Slowly, treacherous, and calculatingly, she finally reached him; her chest to his back, a shadow towering over his own.

Her arms weaved seamlessly on to his shoulders, a tight hold on them under the impression that if she didn't, he'd run off.

Is this it? Aldrich brought that thought to the forefront. If it were, he supposed it wasn't the worst way to die.

To die by the hands of his savior was better than to die dishonorably by a heretic. But she'd once been that for him, too.

“Kill me,” Aldrich demanded in a soft, tight voice. He clenched his fists at his sides and closed his eyes shut. “Kill me, if you must.”

“I don't plan on killing you, anytime soon.”

Her grip loosened. And with it, her melodious voice went lower in its octave, barely counting as a whisper with each word she spoke.

“I know you've been watching me, Edelweiss.”

The dagger Mephisto had stolen away from him returned to him, at long last. Slowly, Victoria gave a sideways glance to Aldrich while he remained in her grasp with his dagger back in its sheath.

Aldrich shuddered under her grasp— not from her admission, nor from the familiarity of his dagger back in his possession, but the feeling of her breath against the shell of his ear. “I—”

“You don't need to explain yourself for me,” said Victoria. “I'd be a hypocrite if I judged you for it.”

Her hand gently caressed his jaw, adjusting it until his eyes met hers right above. She towered over him, a titaness overcasting him— an undeserving mortal.

She smiled wryly, as though the dazed look in the prince's eyes were humorous. She turned him on his heel and pinned him to a tree, one hand right over his head.

A sight so beautiful it made him want to reach out in ways he'd never even think of doing leading up to this.

In a flash, her eyes broke their gaze with his and looked above at Mephisto circling them from above. “If you must know…”

“... I've been having a certain bird, a confidant if you want to call it that, keep tabs on you for the past… what was it, four weeks?”

At the sudden question, Aldrich nodded rapidly. He couldn't get a word out; that, on its own, was worth his own shock.

“... Why?” His voice was soft, too soft. From one moment to the next, his gaze shifted between meeting her cold gaze and the soft lips mere inches away from his face.

“Why?...” It disappointed Aldrich to see her pull back from the question. He'd expected many things to happen next, not a single one of them equating to an unnatural chorus of laughter.

Her cackles echoed about the forest. Maybe it scared the animals that treated her like a princess, or maybe it didn't. He didn't know.

And he didn't want to care.

“Let's just say a friend saw you as a threat, and I humored them by keeping Mephisto's eyes on you.” Thinking over it, Victoria shook her head. “In retrospect, I can understand the uncomfortable undertones of stalking someone, even if they were watching you back.”

“Admittedly, however… you've instead brought on an interest for me to take apart until every meticulous detail is truly understood.”

“... I do not quite follow.” He did. He absolutely did, and it thrilled him more than it should have, and he wanted nothing more but to hear it from her lips.

Victoria could read that bluff from a mile away. Why she didn't address that, Aldrich didn't understand. He much rather focused on what she said next.

“What I mean… is that I find you interesting, your highness.” Your highness, a silent scoff left her. Unfit for a man so cruel, and twisted. And yet…

“You're a twisted, broken mess. One doomed of disrepair with no one befitting enough of your standards to give you peace.”

The words pierced at his heart. But then… “Unfortunately, I suppose I am equally irredeemable.”

One hand, the one that wasn't resting above his head, intertwined with the limp hand hanging by his side. She smiled at him, and for once, he knew it was sincere.

His eyes flickered from different directions, all trying to pull at his puppet strings and direct his attention onto them.

The moonless sky, the stars that danced over it.

The shadow it cast over Victoria's form; her eyes, sapphires deeper than the abyss of the first water, shining brighter than starlight.

He only had one thought, then. Beautiful as the moon.

A moon that wasn't there to guard either of them. And never will.

“Because a part of me is as cruel, and broken, and imperfect as you are. And if you'll have me… we can both be broken together.”

【 Taglist / Credits 】

↳ In order of OC appearances/mentions

Aldrich Edelweiss – @revivemyreverie · @revolllutionary

Victoria Shard – Me 😈

Zenith Devi – Also Me 😈

Mephisto – Also (2) Me 😈

@starry-night-rose | @jasdiary | @authoruio | @fumikomiyasaki | @nem0-nee | @sakuramidnight15 | @hallowed-delights · @terrovaniadorm | @twsted-princess | @geminiiviolets | @lueerhythm | @valse-a-mille-temps

[whatitshouldvebeen]

“…stops the moment being with you is more difficult than it worth…” ((this is from your post a couple days ago))

Imagine a timid, broken reader trying to win back Johnny’s affection. He’s abusive but to her its still affection he gives and she can’t live without him. She has attached herself to this killer.

“If it will make you happy… you can hit me… you can pull my hair.. or choke me… I’ll even make you feel good… just don’t stay mad…please”

Johnny Slaughter x Reader

Contains: extreme abuse, gas lighting, and the unhealthiest relationship known to man

Too Much Trouble

In the dimly lit room, Johnny's return was heralded by waves of pure hate that seemed to radiate off him.

"You stupid fucking bitch," Johnny snarled, his silhouette looming menacingly in the doorway, hands clenched into fists.

"I'm sorry!" you sobbed, collapsing to your knees with hands clasped in front of you, a desperate plea for mercy echoing in your voice, a prayer to a merciless, vindictive God.

He stood there, a simmering rage evident as his fists clenched and unfurled.

"Johnny, please don't stay mad," you pleaded, bowing your head submissively. "I'll do anything. You can hit me, choke me, or do whatever you want to me. I am so, so sorry."

"You're sorry, huh? How many fucking times have I heard that bullshit?" His open palm met your cheek with a resounding slap, reducing you to grovel at his feet, tears streaming down your face, your cheek ablaze with red.

"I don't need your permission to beat you, you little rat fuck."

"You're right, I'm sorry," you muttered, nodding erratically.

"You're gonna be sorry. This time, I'm not holding back."

His kick landed squarely in your stomach, the force sending you sprawling onto the floor, clutching your abdomen in agony.

The illusion shattered again. The happy façade crumbled, the façade you could pretend was your reality when Johnny was pleased with you, when you were perfect.

He had expected you to pack him a meal when he went out to "work," criticizing you for forgetting his snack for a week. You leaped up, ran to the kitchen, and returned with the snack, only to face his wrath.

"Just like you to be a full-blown fucking retard. Can't listen for one goddamn minute. If I wanted you to go get me a fucking snack right this second, I woulda said to do it," he complained.

"I didn't realize you'd been without one for so long, so I felt bad and wanted to fix it. I shouldn't have worried about it right now, and I'm sorry," you said, attempting to de-escalate the situation.

"Can't go a fucking week without making me explain some basic shit to you. If you thought I cared about the fucking snack, maybe ask if you should go pack it instead of running off?" he berated.

You ducked your head. "You're right, I'm sorry."

"You ain't sorry. If you were, you'd learn a goddamn thing without me needing to tell you a hundred fuckin' times," he growled.

Truthfully, you were amazed he wasn't beating you already. You peeked up at him. "I swear I'll try to ask you if something is bothering you rather than trying to fix it right away," you said, hoping it would appease him. His glare deepened.

"Always with the promises. The swears. 'Oh, I won't do it again, Johnny!'," he mocked.

You started to tremble. "I don't know what to say," you said, struggling to hold his cold gaze.

"If I gotta tell you what to say, it won't make a difference. Why the fuck do I waste my time trynna teach you any goddamn thing? You're useless, lazy, spineless, and pathetic," he spat before leaving the room and locking the door.

Alone, you curled up on the bed, replaying the event in your mind, wondering why he hadn't hit you this time. Maybe you weren't even worth correcting anymore. Maybe you were more trouble than you were worth.

The thought hit you like a sack of bricks. You clutched the sheets, sobbing, desperate to be enough, to be worth keeping.

A timid voice from outside the locked door interrupted your thoughts. "Mommy? Are you okay?"

"Honey, I'm okay. Go to grandma's house, alright?" you said, masking the pain in your voice.

"Mommy needs rest?" they asked innocently.

You smiled through the pain. "Yeah, honey, mommy needs rest. Go on to grandma, baby. I love you."

As their little footsteps padded down the hall, you lay in silence, trying to hold onto the scent of him in the sheets. For almost a month, things had been good. You could almost believe Johnny loved you.

If you had any self-preservation, you'd plan an escape or consider self-defense. But you're stuck, desperately trying to think of what you can do or say to make him happy, knowing deep down there's nothing. With him not having touched you, you feared he had grown tired of tormenting you.

So, as you clutched your aching stomach after he kicked you, part of you was relieved. If he was bothering to correct you, maybe he was still going to keep you.

"I fucking hate you," he declared, kicking you over. "I wish you'd die."

His words cut deep as he grabbed your hair, a blade scraping under your chin. "One little slit is all it'd take to be rid of you. To spare me and our kid from growing up with a shit-for-brains mom."

You said nothing, tears and snot falling onto the floor. Johnny looked disgusted.

"You got nothin' to say? Maybe I should cut out your tongue," he sneered, tilting the blade to nick your skin.

"Baby, please, I-" you started. His eyes narrowed, bloodlust evident.

"Say one more goddamn word. Give me an excuse. I'm dying for you to let me be rid of you," he hissed, eyes filled with hate. "God, it'd make me feel so good to kill you. I can feel the tension leavin' my body just thinking about it. Honestly, I'd probably cum the moment I saw the light die in your dull eyes."

Appalled and mortified, you said nothing. You needed him. He was all you had. You stayed silent as he unleashed his frustration on you, beating you within an inch of your life. When he got tired or bored with it, he left without another word.

You lay on the floor in a pool of blood, body shattered, eyes too bruised to see, but alive. A broken smile crept across your face. He still wanted you. You weren't yet more trouble than you were worth.

[just-another-siimp]

Alone

You're the 141st's medic, assigned to work alongside Ghost, Soap and the Los Vaqueros. Everything changes when you return to Alejandro's base, separated from your team and armed with only a knife this would be your hardest mission yet.

This time you're being stalked from the Shadows.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Graves being Graves, Descriptions of injuries, mentions of death, murder, blood, reader is being stalked, Graves is a dick, kidnapping, Ghost and Soap being an old married couple. If I missed anything let me know <3 Note: I hope you're all as keen as I am! This took ages to write but i'm super keen for the next part. Don't forget to like and reblog, it gives me serotonin. Edit: 30/01/23 all pronouns have been changed to gn.

Enemy at the Gate || Alone || Prison Break || Epilogue

Alejandro had once told you that Las Almas was a beautiful city, despite the cartels and the near constant violence it was a home to many. Though in the dead of the night, with the screams of innocent people being slaughtered by men who thought they had the right to choose who was good and who was bad.. It was difficult to see the beauty he had described to you. Not when you were alone. 

Your muscles ached, burned from the position you’d been crouched in. Minutes seemed to last hours as you waited for the Shadows to pass. They had been sweeping through the building you were hiding in just moments before your arrival, blood stained the wall next to you, its previous owner laying lifeless not far from your feet. There was nothing that you could do to save any of these people, not if you wanted to survive as well. Ignoring the guilt that crept up your spine you forced yourself to look away from the body, focusing on the task at hand. Get out of Las Almas. That’s all you had to do. Any other plans could be made after that. 

The remaining Shadows had moved on, leaving you in an eerie silence. Peeking out of the window you saw nothing, the street in front of you was clear. Across the street was a clothing store, the door was wide open offering the perfect path to safety. With little effort you jumped out of the window, staying low to the ground, checking one last time to ensure that you wouldn’t be seen by a stray Shadow before moving into the store.

From behind the rattle of a glass bottle rolling along Las Almas’ cobbled roads filled your ears, it was close enough to startle you. If this was a horror movie, the main character would go back outside and investigate the strange noise. This however, was not a horror movie, even if it felt like you’d been thrown directly into one. Cautious not to knock anything over you turned back around, eyes scanning the street you’d just crossed trying to find the source of the noise. There was nothing. Probably just your imagination. 

Releasing the breath you didn’t realise you had been holding you moved further into the store, further into darkness, further out of sight. Not aware that if you turned around, just as the lightning illuminated the streets you would’ve seen him. The hulking figured what lurked in the shadows.. Watching you.

-

A few feet ahead of you stood a lone Shadow his back was to you, too focused on the rat that had just scurried out and over his feet. Your hand ached, grip on the knife too tight as you waited for the perfect opportunity to strike. The Shadow was taller than you, roughly Soap’s size. Which in a way helped, Ghost had spent weeks helping you perfect a stealth takedowns, often using the Scotsman as a test dummy. Relaxing your grip a fraction, the way Ghost had taught you to, you shifted your weight. Two steps forward and you stood on broken glass, the noise almost comically loud as you lifted your arms to strike down the Shadow.

There was a struggle, he’d turned pushing you back into the house, his surprised shout concealed by the thunder overhead. His fist connected with your stomach, effectively knocking the air from your lungs and knife from your hand. The shadow tried kicking your feet out from underneath you, as the world tilted you grabbed onto him taking him down with you. Both of you wrestled on the ground, attempting to pin the other down. You cried out in pain as he twisted your wrist into an uncomfortable position, yelling at you to surrender. In your ear the comms cracked to life, Soaps voice barely audible in your ear. 

“T.. is Bra.. 7-1 in- blind. How copy?” The distraction would’ve been deadly if the Shadows were out to kill you, except they weren’t and you’d have to use that to your advantage. You pushed upwards, giving yourself enough space to kick the Shadow back. Desperately your hands reached out for something to defend yourself with, anything to get the prick off of you. Your luck changed as you wrapped your fingers around the hilt of your knife. “Ghost? Chip? This is 7-1, do you copy?” 

“Stand down Chip! Graves wants you alive- but I’m not afraid to hurt you!” Within seconds the Shadow had you pinned down, one hand clamped over your mouth while the other gripped your empty hand. “So this is how it’s going to go. You’re going to surrender, you’re not going to try and escape and you’re go-” 

You didn’t let him finish his sentence, knife plunging into the space between his ribs directly into his left lung. His unfinished sentence was reduced to nothing but a pained gurgle, he was choking on his own blood some splattering on your face has he fell to the side. Pulling the knife from his side you managed to sit up, pushing yourself backwards until you met the wall trying to control the shake in your hands has his blood pooled at your feet. 

“Soap- this is Ghost. How Copy? Johnny… Johnny how copy?”

“Solid” 

“Thought we lost ya.” 

“Anything from Chip, Lt?” 

“Nothing.” 

Ghosts' voice pulled you out of your momentary shock, eyes still fixated on the Shadows limp body. You never even knew his name, but the way his lifeless eyes bore into yours would stick with you forever. Cleaning the knife on the fabric of your pants you took a moment to catch your brother after standing, knowing full well that you needed to report in. Soap and Ghost needed to know that you were alive, venturing through Las Almas and that the Shadows were after you. Yet when you opened your mouth to speak nothing came out. 

“Chip.. this is Ghost. How copy?” There was a pause. Finally you looked away from the dead shadow, hand reaching to unmute your comm. “Chip.. How copy?”

“Solid.” Your voice shook slightly, bending down to grab the P890. 8 bullets, that’s all you had and hopefully all you needed. “Just took down a Shadow.” 

“Good to hear from you, Bonie.” Soap sounded almost relieved hearing your voice. “Heard you scream, thought they’d gotten ya.” 

“I watched you get shot, thought the same.” 

- 

From your current position the Church wasn’t far away, you could see it peeking out from above the buildings now. It couldn’t be more than 400? Maybe 500 metres away? ALl you had to do was reach Ghost, then wait for Johnny at the church. You could only assume that he wasn’t too far behind, you’d wanted to wait for him, safety in numbers feeling more secure than walking through Las Almas alone. Ghost had advised against it, sitting still for too long in one spot was like asking the Shadows to find you. Especially after you killed one of their own. The rain seemed to be pouring harder now, soaking you to the bone as you waited for a patrol to pass.

“It’s pishin’ it doon out here.”

“Speak English.”

“It’s raining fucking hard.” 

You were forced to hold back laughter, moving from behind a dumpster and into another house. In the dark you fashioned another piece of metal into a pry, forcing your way through a locked door and into a back alley. There was a singular shadow, his back turned to you. Unaware of your presence as you crept up on him. This time he didn’t hear you over the rain, he didn’t turn when you covered his mouth with your hand, he didn’t fight back as life left his body. Without looking back you pushed forwards, ignoring the blood on your hands as you moved further down the empty street. 

Why did killing bother you so much? It hadn’t before. Sure you were a combat medic you were supposed to be saving people, but combat was in the name and you saw enough of it. You’d fought in enough of it too. Perhaps it was because you’d served alongside the Shadows, patched them out both on base and on the battlefield. Now you were killing them before they tried to kill you, it felt so.. immoral.

“Ghost?” 

“Chip.” 

“I killed another Shadow.” 

“Good, one less for Johnny to deal with on his way here.” You squared your shoulders, knife feeling heavy in your hands as you continued moving. “Look kid, I know none of this is easy but remember who the real enemy is. Graves betrayed us, don’t go feeling sorry for ‘im and his men.” 

“You’re right.” 

“Always am.”

“Ghost?” 

“Yes, love?” 

“The Shadows don’t want me dead, if something happens- if I get caught.” You paused, looking up at the sky letting the rain clean the dirt, grime and blood from your face. “Promise me you won’t come after me, not unless you’ve got enough guns to kill these sonsofbitches.” 

“No ones getting left behind, Chip. That means you too.” 

For the second time tonight you heard something out of the ordinary, you were supposed to be alone this whole time and you could’ve sworn you heard footsteps behind you just now. “Standby-” 

You felt exposed here, even with plenty of cover the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Turning back to stare into the darkness you found it staring back at you, no one was there it must’ve been your imagination. Paranoia creeping up on you after being alone in a place so dangerous for so long. 

Standing from your crouched position you took a couple of steps backwards, eyes not leaving the darkness until you were sure that no one was there. Wiping the water from your eyes you planned on turning around again, only stopping when lightning illuminated the sky. You could’ve sworn your heart stopped beating then and there, breath caught in your chest as the silhouette of a man flashed before your eyes. He was staring right at you, unmoving. Darkness engulfed the alley again.

“Found you.” His voice followed him out of the darkness, taunting you as he stepped into the light. Your eyes widened, fear almost paralysing as you took in the size of the man before you, he was probably an inch or so shorter than ghost but built bigger than he was. You searched for a weapon, stolen pistol pointed directly at him half expecting him to do the same. Instead he only continued to walk forward, unarmed. You fired two warning shots. He continued stalking towards you, green eyes filled with something malicious he didn’t even flinch. “Graves ‘as been tryin to find ya. Come along lil Darlin’, you’ve kept ‘im waitin’ long enough and ‘m startin’ ta get bored followin ya everywhere.” 

In your ear you could hear Ghost saying something to Soap, you ignored them as you took a step back. You fired four shots this time, only one hitting him in the chest. He was armoured, heavily so. You were surprised he’d gotten this far without you hearing him. You had two bullets left, he was laughing as he lunged towards you knocking the pistol out of your hands as you attempted to get away from him. Using speed to your advantage you ran. 

The Alley led to a set of stairs, you bolted up them with the Shadow hot at your heels. As you reached an open door you grabbed it, flinging it back as you ran through hoping to slow the brut of a man down. It didn’t. Climbing up the stairs you jumped out of a window dropping into a garden bed and rolling once before running across the courtyard, you turned to see how far away the Shadow was to find nothing. Still you didn’t stop, not wanting to find out what would happen if he caught up to you. 

“Ghost, I’ve got one big scary looking Shadow following me.” 

“Think you can get to the church?” 

“I’ll have to.” 

“‘Good, get to it.” 

- 

You were less than 200 metres from the church now, from where you stood it looked magnificent. Perhaps this was the beauty that Alejandro spoke of, maybe one day when this was all over you’d be able to visit Las Almas. See the town in a different light, one that wasn’t caked in the blood of innocent men, women and children. 

“Ghost I’m almost there, no sign of tall and brooding but I’m sure he’s out there.” 

“I’m in the tunnels, Hen. Anything happens and I’ll be there as fast as I can.” Soaps voice piped up, giving you hope that you’d get out of there without any further issues. That hope was dashed just as quickly as it had appeared, out of the corner of your eye you caught the same Shadow running towards you and just like that the chase began again. 

You didn’t have a chance to tell Soap or Ghost, instinct screamed at you to run and not look back. The Church wasn’t far away now, just one street between you and the main square. One street between you, Ghost and Johnny. Taking a chance you turned the corner without looking, not seeing the two Shadows that stood waiting for you guns raised. 

“Drop your weapon!” 

“You’re surrounded, Chip. There’s no point in trying to run now.” There wasn’t even a chance for you to drop your weapon, both of them had dropped to the ground in front of you. In your ear the comm cracked to life again a soft grunt in your ear as the firing continued, it was directed at something else. Maybe Soap. Looking up at the Church you almost smiled. “Little darlin’.. if you think I’m gonna let ya get away, you’re mistaken.”

“What the fu-” 

His hand was wrapped around your throat before you could finish your sentence, it took no effort for him to lift you in the air slamming you against the nearest wall. Pain spread across your back and shoulders, tears stinging at your eyes. That was going to sting later. Gasping for air you clawed at his arm, kicked at his shins, anything to get in a breath of air. He only smiled at you, pressing down harder on your throat tiny black dots starting to fill your vision. The world tilted and you were on the floor, gasps audible over the comms as you tried to catch your breath. 

“Gh-ghost.” His boot connected with your stomach, your body collapsing to the ground gasping violently for the air it had been deprived of . A pained whimper left your lips as he twisted your arm behind your back, plastic zip ties secured around your wrists tight enough to cut off circulation. Next he pulled out your comms, Ghosts yelling audible as he crushed the tech under his boot.  

“Now now, you’ve got a meeting with the boss, Lil Dove.” 

“Fuck you-” you managed to spit out before his foot connected with your face.

- 

Time was a concept in your current state, you vaguely remembered being thrown into a car only conscious long enough for someone to knock you out again. Everything was dark, your head spun, you wanted to throw up. A bright light pulled you back into consciousness yet you couldn’t open your eyes, had you been drugged? The steel chair underneath you was uncomfortable, your body ached as you tested your restraints. 

“Well look who finally woke up.” The sound of footsteps was enough for you to force your eyes open, head tilted backwards as you glared at Phillip Graves wishing you could punch that stupid smirk off of his stupid face. “Welcome back to the land of the living Chip. You slept in.” 

“It’s what happens when someone kicks you in the face.” The taste of iron filled your mouth as you spoke, once Graves was close enough you spat the blood at his feet directly hitting his shoes. The back of his hand struck your face, it was totally worth it. This time you smirked at him, looking him dead in the eye. “I won’t cooperate, whatever it is you want me to do I won’t do it.” 

“Oh but that’s the thing, sweetheart. I think you’ll do exactly as you’re told.” His face was closer now, you could feel his breath on your own, instinctively you turned your head away. 

“Fuck off Graves, I want nothing to do with your Shadows and their bullshit.” You couldn’t stop the wince that left your lips as his hand grasped your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

“You don’t have a choice, Chip. You’ll do as you’re told or I’ll kill every last Los Vaqueros in this place, their lives. They’re in your hands.” He let go of your chin, arms folded across his chest as he looked down at you. "So what is it Chip? Will you let everyone die?"

---

Taglist: @komorebiiiiiiii @mauveserpent @mydogeatscoffeecups @reiya-djarin @underatreedrinkingtea

[go-on-eat-shrooms]

IF THE STARS SAID YOU COULDNT LOVE ME PART 1

Warning: +18

Contains: smut, blood, blades, mentions of Braavos, faceless men, Brackens and Blackwoods battling.

Music to listen to: star crossed lovers by scary kids scarying kids.

The song is beyond perfect.

Summary: You could not ever repeat your birth and who your family is. But when you met Benijocot Blackwood you were willing to fight against the stars to prevent fate from winning.

Being the only daughter of House Bracken had its good and bad moments. You were the type to like the night time or near dawn to go out for walks. Your father always warned you not to go alone but you always defied his wishes.

One night you wondered further than you expected. Lost in thought that you'll be old enough to be betrothed to someone soon was terrifying. So you found the night walks comforting. You didn't want to get married. You didn't want to serve anyone. If you could, you would stay with your brothers and father. Combating and living a happy life. But the real world was not that.

You collapsed on the grass and started sobbing. It wasn't fair.

Unbeknownst to you, someone was watching you. You didn't notice you were severely lost in thought of your terrifying future.

"A young girl such as you shouldn't be out by herself. Especially this late at night. Not only that, I never seen you before. So you are not part of my house. You're lucky your a girl or I would of shot arrows into you long ago."

Benijcot spoke gently.

You looked up startled. Forgetting that you must of went past the barrier stones. And you might just met your death bc you finally where seeing with your own eyes the boy that your brothers and well anyone from your house told was an inhumane beast. But what came next surprised you to your core.

Benjicot sat down next to you on the grass.

"Where are you from and why are you crying as you were on deaths door?"

He said concerned.

"I deeply apologize for wondering too far from where I am suppose to be." You said in hesitation.

You tried quickly getting up but he slumped you back down with his strong hold.

"Are you the Bracken girl that's always amongst all those arseholes?"

He sneered.

"Those assholes are my brothers." You sniffed lightly.

"I been watching you for a long time. I must confess I find seeing you comforting. Though I do not know why. Your pretty and I seen you practice combat in the distance with your so called brothers."

Benji said lightly.

Surprised you didn't have a sword in your neck already you asked yourself if Benji was drunk. You were a Bracken an enemy to house Blackwood.

"Why are you being so nice to me? Since you clearly know who I am." You said softly.  The tears drying slowly on your cheeks in slow comfort.

"As I said, I been watching you, it's kinda odd you would belong to such a family. And for your knowledge I'm not a monster all the time."  He grinned.

From that night on both of you made plans to meet at odd times as to not be caught doing the unthinkable. You always took strolls together through the river banks and forests. Getting to know each other and enjoying one another's company. You had seen a side of Benjicot that was mentioned but thought it couldn't be true. He was sweet, very generous, and most of all cared for you. You had suspicions that you had become more than just friends.

One night you came to the first spot you met him. He waited for you there most times. You told him it was going to be over for you soon. Benji looked concerned and felt his heart drop.

"You can't let them control your life! You have to fight! You must fight! I don't want to lose you. You're my only happy thought when I close my eyes at night and wake in the morning when light hits my face. You are the first name I whisper when I wake in the morning. You are a piece of me like my sword to my sheath. If the stars said you couldn't love, tell me Y/N would you really listen?"

This strong confession of love from a man who was known to slaughter everything and everyone in his wake in battles but had ripped out his heart and gave it to you made you start sobbing.

"I really don't know how to find an open door. I'm trapped inside a chamber with iron gates my love." You sob

"Then let me tear that iron prison with my sword as I have with any other obstacles in my wake! You ever been on a ship? 4 nights from now one docks to Bravos. Lets get the fuck out of here and i know exactly who to go to to help us" Benji growled.

"Who can possibly help us with this situation that's too powerful to break?!" You whispered looking at the ground.

"There's a man with no name, that can change his face like he changes his tunics. He can help us."

"What are you talking about, a man that can change his face? I think you become so shocked you are starting to think like a mad man." You looked up in disbelief of his statement.

"I'm not lying, I been to a huge temple called 'the house of black and white' and there are faces carved off from dead bodies. They are placed on pillars higher than the sky itself. I went there as a kid when I got lost from my father. There I learned the power that has never been seen in the Riverlands. I acquired the skills I know to fight to this day on the battle grounds. 4 days from now we will leave."

You looked at him bewildered and told him more bad news. By that time your wedding takes place.

"Fuck it, run away with me! There can be no man that can ever lay hands on you but me. No man that can caress your skin, no man that can sexually please you BUT ME, and especially not a fucking cunt stranger!!"

Benji screamed

"If the stars say I can't love you I won't listen. What's the point of living without my air. You are my air. Alright 4 nights from now." You said exhausted from crying.

4 nights from that moment you were preparing for your wedding to house Stark. Your handmaid's were helping you put your wedding dressing on. You could feel your heart beating so hard you thought it was gonna explode.

"Tonight is the night" you whispered

One hand maiden asked you if you said something. But you told her you needed a few moments to take it all in. But the truth was Benji was waiting at the bottom of your tower. Oh, you were gonna jump off that big ass height. Waiting below was Benji by Winterfell tower.

You were gonna give the sign on your start to jump down. Lighting a candle. You ripped the white dress off your body and quickly but on fitted riding trousers and a simple blouse.

You started breathing hard, but first put your whole bed by the door. You ran to the window, lighting the candle. You slipped your right, then left leg and sat on your window. You could see the steep drop, but also the man you would tell the old gods and the new they had no control over your future.

You slid beyond fast your breath got lost in basically not a thought but not dying.

You heard slaming and yelling from above.

Benji had your horse you immediately jumped on. You could hear the commotion fading away.

"I'm sorry father, brothers and sorry Cregan." You whispered.

Benji gave you the reins to your horse and the both of you rode away from Winterfell lands.

As expected a ship was docked awaiting your embankment to a mysterious start.

As you yourself docked the ship you heard.

"Valar Morghulis" from Benji giving a coin to the ships captain. The captain more than understood the assignment. And responded 'Valar Dohaeris'.

"What does that mean?" You asked intrigued.

"It's high valerian my father taught me. It means all men must die. And what the captain said was 'all men must serve.' Looking at you sternly.

Both of you felt the sails arise from atop. The commands of the captain to his crew to get their asses in check and prepare to depart the port.

The captain guided you to your quarters underneath the deck. A simple room with 1 bed. The captain grinned and shut the door slowly before stating it'll be a long journey but it'll be worth it.

You sat on the bed nervous, excited, your heart in your mouth, tears forming as to what you just did to your family and poor Cregan. In reality he was a good man. But there was no room for another man in your heart then Benjicot.

"We should get some sleep, it's been a long day for both of us." Benji sighed.

You began to take off your boots and trousers so that you were only left wearing a white thin blouse. Benji took off his tunic but leaving on his trousers. You laid on your side towards the wall. Benji decided to spoon you. Holding onto your waist and slowly making his way up to your breast. You could feel his cock growing under neath cloth. Pulsing with pleasure. He slide his trousers off slowly and placed his hard cock in between your thighs. Slowly thrusting his way near your folds. He felt how wet you got bc of him.

"As it should be, only get wet for me. You belong to me, my little doe." he said softly.

Coming closer he rubbed himself closer to your ass and slide his throbbing thirsty cock inside you. He began to thrust slowly. Since it was a while since the two of you were intimate. You let him lose himself into your body.

He kissed your neck and left soft kisses on your shoulders. He slipped off your blouse. And flung it on the floor. Cupping your right breast. And started massaging your nipple.

"My Y/N." He whispered.

He started picking up his thrusts. having a firm grip on your hip to keep you in place to taking his left index finger inside your folds. Slowly massaging your clit.

You couldn't help but to arch your neck backwards.

"Ride me."  he said

As he laid down on his back. You placed yourself onto of him. Spreading your legs as wide as you could. You started to stroke his girthy cock. Sliding it back and forth your folds. Inserting his beautiful cock inside you. To the most inner parts of your womb. You gasped and moaned his name.

You slowly started bouncing on him. His hands grabbing firm to your hips. Picking up the pace he started arching his hips upwards. Helping you to reach to see nirvana.

You felt a warm sensation inside you. His cum was dripping off his cock. But he wasn't done.

"Turn on your back, I want to cream pie you my sweet doe."

You did as he asked. Spreading your legs as wide as they could. He inserted his length once more inside you. But this time feeling the hunger he was holding back for days. He was pounding you so hard it started to hurt. You moaned loudly, enough to make the near by crew start saying

"fuck her good Lord Benji! It's gonna be a long ass voyage to Braavos!"

Laughter exploded. A huge grin formed on Benjis face. His hair drenched in sweat completely out of breath. He took you into his arms and you both fell asleep.

But the unthinkable thing you just did with the man you actually loved was wild. Your father and brother also friends of the family and poor Cregan. In the end it was for the best. The seven hells could not separate you from your man. Nor blood or a good man. You finally drifted off to sleep in the arms of your beloved.

Part 2

[emilys-bangs]

if your cascade ocean wave blues come | e.p

Tags: established relationship, vague details of a case gone wrong, hurt/comfort, fluff, non-sexual nudity, taking a bath, use of petnames, no use of yn, reader feeling guilty

Summary: After a bad case, Emily suggests a bath to get your mind off it. Requested here. Repost of this fic because for some reason the tags weren't working.

Word count: 2.4k

The unsub is in cuffs, but that doesn’t make you feel any better.

In the jet, you walk past Emily as she sits on the couch—where you usually join her—and make a beeline for the lone seat in the back. It’s nothing against her, but right now you’re desperately craving comfort—her comfort—and you know that if you sat with her you’d cling to her like honey, curling into her lap so she can somewhat ease the tightness in your chest. The case ripped you raw, leaving your emotions splayed out for anyone to see, let alone profilers, and the thought of them seeing you collapse into her makes you shirk away and head to the single seat with steady steps.

Her eyes follow you; you ignore them as you sit down, sure if you looked into the endless depths of them you’d crumble right to the floor. Instead you turn to rest your head against the window and close your eyes.

Even though you do it just to avoid her gaze, sleep takes you quickly. Exhaustion had steadily seeped into your bones throughout this past week, day after day spent trying to catch the unsub who left dozens of bodies in his wake. Now it catches up to you.

Your brief sleep isn’t dreamless. The unsub’s remorseless face swims in your head, his smile slowly creeping over his lips at the sight of your clenched jaw in the interrogation room. He’s smug, boasting the deaths of the slaughtered women whose names you’ve memorized, your shoulders rising up to your ears as you try in vain to get him to reveal your kidnapped victim’s location. Her cold corpse comes next.

Emily wakes you with a silent hand on your shoulder. You startle awake, looking up to find her eyes concerned when you blink up at her sluggishly. The clenched fists in your lap don’t escape either of your attention. You blink the sleep from your eyes as you uncurl your fingers, stifling a wince at the tender imprints of your nails on the heels of your hands.

“Let’s go,” Emily whispers. Your bag is slung over her shoulder, its strap laying on top of the handle of her own bag. 

Ridiculously, it makes you want to cry. She holds her hand out for you and her love is so quiet but so, so loud; steady and patient even when you ignore her hand and stand up, tears burning the back of your eyes as you walk past her and out of the empty jet.

No one’s here, but you still can’t accept her touch. It would break you, and the pieces of you would shatter on the asphalt, glinting under the fluorescent lights of the parking lot. So you hold yourself stiffly and walk to the car without looking back to see if Emily follows.

Her heels click resignedly against the floor, sounding far enough away that you know she’s keeping her distance. The lump in your throat only grows as you pull open the car door and get into the passenger seat, hearing her throw both of your bags in the backseat. When she opens her own door your eyes are closed, tears dampening your lashes as you turn your head away.

She doesn’t deserve this. She was working the case same as you, losing sleep over it and pouring herself into finding the unsub. You know that, but you fear any apology would soon be followed by your sobs, the force of them shattering your body into pieces.

So you stay quiet, let the lump in your throat grow as Emily drives you both home in silence.

She quietly picks up the bags again when you arrive, her eyes briefly flitting over you as she fits the key in the lock. You see her brows draw together, her lips pressing into a thin line as she unlocks the door and swings it open.

It barely clicks shut before you barrel into her. Her chest caves as she huffs in surprise, the breath knocked out of her, but in seconds her arms are around you. Emily holds you tight, one of her hands cupping the back of your neck as you exhale shakily.

“Hey,” she breathes, her lips gently nudging your temple. “Hey, I got you, honey.” Her fingers weave into your hair, the cold inside of her palm pressing against the nape of your neck. “It’s not your fault.” She says. There’s a firmness to her low voice, ready to defend you against your own mind.

You press your lips together, trying to keep your tears at bay. “I know it’s not.” Do you, though? Your voice is croaky and unconvincing. “It just fucking sucks.” The last word breaks and shatters, along with what’s rest of your composure. 

Tears blur your vision. You close your eyes, trapping them inside. “Just wanna forget,” you mumble, stuffing your face further into Emily’s warm neck, “help me forget, Em.” 

Her breathing stutters. 

Emily squeezes you tighter. “How about we take a bath?” She whispers.

Weakly, you nod into her neck. You know she won’t let go before you do, so you do it even though your body screams in protest. Emily sets down the duffle bags and takes your hand, gently leading you through the dark apartment while switching the lights on, her fingers steading your shakier ones. She passes by Sergio with a quiet hello before pulling you into the bathroom.

You’re too drained to protest when Emily gently pushes you down on the closed toilet seat. She turns on the tap as you watch, running her fingers through the water and making sure it’s warm enough before she bends to plug the drain. The sound of it splashing against the sides of the tub almost loosens something in you. You close your eyes, smelling rather than seeing it when Emily sprinkles in bath salts.

Your eyes are still closed when she gently takes your hands. Her fingers wrap around yours, securely curling around your wrists as she tugs you up. You stand, opening your eyes as Emily lets go. She gives you a small smile and the ghost of a kiss on the corner of your mouth before slowly tugging at your clothes, as if waiting for you to say no. 

You don’t. You let her take care of you, peeling your clothes off and gently nudging you into the tub. The water is almost hot enough to burn, but you’re glad for the sting as you sink into it.

Water laps at the sides of the tub as Emily joins you. It sloshes over the edges and drips to the floor when you lean forward and hide in her neck, closing your eyes as her hands wrap around your shoulder blades.

Emily doesn’t say anything. She just holds you, quietly pressing kisses to your forehead as she rubs warm circles on your back. You let out a shaky breath as something in you unwinds, a product of her steady hands and the warm bath water swirling around you. Again you know she won’t let go until you do, so you reluctantly loosen your grip on her waist.

“Gonna wash your hair now,” she murmurs. 

You nod and hear the water as she gathers it in her palms; some of it drips onto your body before she pours it onto your head, soaking your scalp. Warmth cascades down your face, your shoulders. It takes a few more scoops before your hair is fully drenched, and when that happens, Emily grabs your shampoo bottle.

“No,” you rasp and she stills. Her brow raises in question. “Your shampoo,” you say quietly, the twist in your stomach telling you it’s a ridiculous request. Emily probably thinks the same; you lower your eyes and draw your knees into your chest, the very tips of them peeking out from the water and getting exposed to the cold air of the bathroom.

The comforting scent of Emily’s shampoo floods your senses. Soon after her gentle hands follow, raking through your hair and lathering the shampoo until it bubbles on your scalp. Her repetitive motions are soothing; your shoulders loosen and slump further into the warm water, some tension leaking from your body if not your restless mind. You keep your eyes down, chin on your knees, tilting with her movements as she moves your head this way and that to properly clean your hair. Her short nails scrape against your scalp as she generously massages the shampoo into your locks. You breathe out a quiet sigh.

Conditioner follows on your roots, Emily’s chin nudging against your forehead as she leans forward to reach them. This takes less time, though she’s no less thorough as she spreads it through your hair. When she’s done, you hear her dip her hands into the water, washing the conditioner off before gently nudging your chin.

“Head up, baby.” Emily whispers.

You oblige. Her eyes meet yours and she gives you a small smile, concern visibly swimming in her dark irises. You can’t bring yourself to return her smile, but as she leans forward and kisses your temple, you grab her hand under the water and squeeze. Emily squeezes back.

“Keep your eyes closed, okay? Gonna wash this off.”

Too tired to reply but not wanting to leave her with silence, you hum. Even that sound is thready and weak, drowned out by the splash of the water as Emily pours it over your head. 

Her arms must ache; she repeats it over and over, runs her fingers through your soaking hair to wash out any lingering shampoo or conditioner, and she does it all with endless patience. She doesn’t take the easy route by dipping your head backward into the water, or better yet telling you to wash your own damn hair yourself. Painstakingly, she cups her hands under the water and pours it on your head until your hair is clean.

Her love only brings tears to your eyes. You feel them gather beneath your closed eyelids, a lump forming in the back of your throat as something clicks and you smell Emily’s body wash next. Opening your eyes, you find her lathering it between her palms, letting it froth into bubbles before she starts rubbing it into your chest and shoulders.

“Emily?” You say, your voice thick with tears.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Tell me something good.” 

Tears balance on your lashes. You blink and they drip into the cloudy bath water, leaving small ripples in their wake. 

Emily stops lathering the body wash into your skin. Her hand slips down your chest, her fingers pressing into the left side of your ribs. “You’re alive.” She says quietly. Your pulse rises to meet her fingers. “We’re both home. We’re okay.” Her other hand gently cups your cheek, her thumb tracing the underside of your jaw. “It won’t always be like this.”

Maybe it’s the intensity of her stare. Or it could be her words, both firm and gentle. Or her hand against your heart, making the both of you feel your pulse. It could be all of these things, or none of them, that makes more tears drip down your chin, a choked exhale leaving your lips as you cover the hand on your cheek with your own.

“How do you always know what I need?” You ask, the tremble of your words echoing through the bathroom tiles.

Emily kisses the tip of your nose. “Because I know you.” Her hand leaves your chest and goes to the back of your neck, gently nudging you into her arms. Water sloshes as you sink into her again. “And because we’ve all been in this place before. We’ve been in it and we’ll continue to deal with it in the future, because that’s the price of the job.” She whispers into a kiss, this one to your damp hairline. 

“We can only do so much, honey. We have to remember that.”

The two of you are quiet after that. Emily trails her fingertips up and down your spine, again waiting until you move from her arms to continue taking care of you. She wipes the leftover tears on your face before grabbing her body wash, rubbing it onto your skin and chasing the bubbles off with rapidly cooling water and her soft lips. 

By the time you get out of the tub and pad into her bedroom, you feel somewhat lighter. Not as heavy as before, your tears and Emily’s touch taking away some of the heaviness in your chest. More of it is chased away when Emily hands you her pajamas and spreads her lotion over your skin, enveloping you in a bubble that’s purely her; her hair products and pajamas and lotion, her arms around you when she nudges you into bed and brings you into her chest.

Her fingers again delve into your hair, gently detangling the knots that have formed over the past few days. “Make you some tea?” She murmurs, her lips tracing your forehead. A kiss is pressed there.

“No.” You whisper, curling your fingers into the collar of her pajama shirt. Her pulse beats steadily under your knuckles—we’re okay. You swallow and nuzzle under her jaw, your eyes falling closed. “Just stay with me.”

“Okay.” Emily says.

Her fingers continue running through your hair, ever so carefully working through the knots in it. There’s the occasional scratch of her nails against your scalp, and even when you shift to get more comfortable in her arms, her lips follow your forehead. Sometimes they lay there, still, but every few minutes she’ll press an absent kiss to your temple.

The events of the day sink heavily onto your bones. With your girlfriend soothing your weary soul, her heart thumping steadily under your ear as she murmurs sweet nothings in a language you don’t understand, everything feels just a little bit better. The bed dips as Sergio climbs onto it, finding his way into the small space between Emily’s arms and your body. He curls into your side and one of Emily’s hands goes to your back, rubbing small circles at the base of your spine as she runs her fingers through your combed hair.

You didn’t think you’d find sleep again. But with her holding you like this, you’re helpless to stop it.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics

[sylwanin-was-right]

Cameron making Spider a child character, let alone a Tarzan-esque "native on the inside" side-protagonist would make certain ppl so obsessed w him for such troubling reasons, to me 😭.

His character is the best foil to his violent military father bc he's the perfect character to project guilt and accomplishment onto. He's made too young and too helpless to blame yet just principled enough (loyal to fya Na'viyä way) to distract from his privilege as a human among the RDA. In the movie we saw how little it mattered that Spider had a specific place assimilated among the Na'vi, just that he wanted to be Na'vi and was assumingly tolerated by them by walking thru camp and being friends to Jake and Neytiri's kids. In The High Ground, Spider expressed to Neytiri an entitlement to be part of the family (and by extension Omaticaya Na'vi) despite not necessarily being invited to be Na'vi anywhere, as we dont see him go thru any rites of passage adjusted for his humanness and just introduced as someone with a fancy for Na'vi lifestyle (with the unfortunate, and also convenient case that he was the only kid born on Pandora).

Spider retains principle of being loyal to the Na'vi in very little parts of the movie, dressing, moving, and speaking like them, even emulating their skin markings with paint, and of course militantly protecting them when he could in the behinning and very end. Yet it takes this distance between scenes to make his sideplot seem relevant to anything and make his drastic straying frlm principles seem particularly justified, especially his fixation to kame his father despite his associations and actions against him and the Na'vi. As soon as his character and conflicts are introduced, he is made helpless to uphold his principles as a prisoner of war, teaching recoms intricate details of na'vi life and navigation, including speaking the language and the utility of tsaheylu, to preserve himself after a precedent scene of onscreen sacrifice (the brain interrogation torture). It seems easy for Spider to exchange his secrets for preservation and safety against the labcoats and to fufill his personal interest in knowing his father in his new form and this is strangely justified because.... Spider just had to be Quaritch's son, too? And its even easier for Spider to seem principled in his passivity by juxtaposing his simple plea to Quaritch's major damage and affect on years of slaughtering. A wooden "this is wrong" and "I'm sorry" gives certain audiences a sense of relief, a character to ease their guilt onto when a movie metaphorically calls them out too hard. "I'm not as bad as the other guy" when the guys are still in cahoots by the end.

In the comics, Spider is more on principle, but acts very entitled to be part of the Na'vi bc of bis friendship with Jake and Neytiri's kids and his appeal to the Na'vi, despite not having gone thru any rites of passage, not given any special role among the people, and not being entirely accepted. I really didnt like how Spider basically told Neytiri he was part of the family whether she liked it or not and how often Neytiri was set up to look as if she was irrational against Spider for not immediately accepting him and being a liability to their navigation. Its the sort of entitlement privileged ppl have when they think they deserve a place among another group because they oversimplify what being part of that group means in order to enjoy it more readily.

Spider is not played by the most expressive actor nor written in the comics as a likable character. He's easily distrustful to me despite his deliberate age and racial/ethnic position obscuring his role in the films and thus is not interesting to me. But I knew he'd get ppl's attention so much by having interesting commentary about other topics (which rlly should have been introduced in another film rather than jampacked into AWOW lol) obfuscated by his privilege. Its disappointing and gets me a little resentful 💀.

[ilions-end]

finished euripides' iphigenia among the taurians (david kovacs translation)! thoughts that might be even more disconnected than usual because insomnia's a bitch:

the parallels to euripides' helen are everywhere, but the biggest similarity for me is that both are variants of their respective myths that i'm personally NOT that into narratively because it feels like they soften or remove the more uncomfortable elements of central mythological conflicts (what if helen never went to troy/what if agamemnon didn't actually kill iphigenia) .... which is why it's aggravating that THE PLAYS THEMSELVES ARE SO ENJOYABLE. euripides you SNEAK why did you make them engaging!!

like how it forces me to recontextualize iphigenia -- no longer a noble but helpless child, but a woman with guile and initiative. how euripides places her in a story where she can and must use what agency she has! it's so interesting

the age thing is actually really wild to contemplate because in most scenes, iphigenia is demonstrably the eldest. she last saw orestes when he was a baby and they make a point of how pylades wasn't even born yet at the time of iphigenia's sacrifice

the dynamics have all shifted, she's enslaved, she's a victim, but also the one with enough knowledge and initiative to find a solution and save everyone when the men's violence has failed!

i kept thinking about how the play handles blame. like how iphigenia pretends to hold ALL greeks accountable for her fate and deserving of punishment, and you'd ASSUME she hates her father, but in her heart she only blames helen, menelaus and odysseus. she can't bring herself to hate her mother even after learning about the events of the oresteia. likewise, she seems to be unsure WHO she is really sacrificing humans for, if it's artemis or the taurians, and if she can be deemed culpable when she's forced to perform them.

orestes slaughtering the cows thinking they're furies, ahh!! extremely ajax-coded. and it seems he has recurring episodes but always comes to his senses again, painfully self-aware that he's had a recent lapse of cognition. not just ajax-coded but a surprisingly realistic and empathetic observation of psychosis. i keep thinking about that.

"But the other foreigner wiped the foam from [Oreste's] face, protected his body, and shielded blows [...] as they fell, and helped his friend with loving attentions." PYLADES PYLADES PYLADES THE MAN THAT YOU ARE <3<3<3

i kept assuming this play was set sorta mid-oresteia seeing as orestes is still pursued by furies, but they made it clear this is AFTER his trial and apparently some furies just didn't accept the verdict and was like "you can do what you want, i'm gonna keep torturing him" to athena?? that's hilarious

i LOVE how snippy and dismissive orestes is when iphigenia first questions him. usually a scene like that would be (intentionally) frustrating because you WANT THEM to realize who they're talking to SO BAD, but orestes being understandably grumpy and unhelpful talking to the priestess who means to kill him is so enjoyable on its own.

AND THEN THE REVEAL WAS SO SATISFYING!!! pylades just turning around and giving orestes the letter immediately. PYLADES YOU'RE SO FUNNY I LOVE YOU

it's so heartbreaking to compare orestes and electra's reunion in the libation bearers -- how instinctual their recognition of each other is -- with how challenging it is for iphigenia and orestes to believe that they have that bond and are who they say they are. and i know those are different authors and different sibling dynamics but i love how the more plays i read, the more emotionally involved i become in these characters!!

i fucking lost my mind at how the minute orestes and pylades were alone together, orestes asks "Pylades, in heaven's name do you feel the same as I do?" because my immediate read was that he was asking WHAT ARE WE and that they were gonna kiss about it. (they do in the production i have playing in my mind)

"O daughter of Leto, bring me, your priestess, safely back to Hellas from this barbarian land! Forgive my theft! You too, goddess, love your brother; you must expect that I love mine." OMGGGG i got goosebumps that's so GOOD!!

[dreamingofyeo]

𓏲๋࣭ ࣪ A siren's song࿐࿔𖦹ִ

Chapter 1 : Tempted fate ࿐࿔𖦹ִ

~ details in masterlist

~ playlist

~ 989 words

~ chapter warnings: implication/reference to sa, sexism, mild gore

~☆彡 tumblr's algorithm works off of reblogs so please consider it if you like my work :)

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“My heart is pierced by cupid, I disdain all glittering gold, there is nothing can console me, but my jolly sailor bold..” The lyrics trail away from your lips, taking to humming the calm melody instead resting your arms on the wooden railing before you. The sea breeze combs its cold fingers through your hair, sending it slightly floating behind you.

“Shouldn’t be doin’ that missy, brings bad luck.” 

The raspy voice sounds from behind you, you don’t turn to face it. The crew member walks over to you and leans over the railing himself.

“This crew believes my being here on this voyage to be bad luck enough, it can’t hurt” you say under your breath, neither expecting nor wanting an answer.

“Don’t tempt fate, it’s unwise on the most welcoming of seas.” He gives you a long glance before walking back to whatever he’d been tending to on the deck.

~

You lay awake that night, restless. Sleep is evading you. 

You were brought upon this voyage to visit your relatives, across the sea. The journey should only take a few days, but that feels too long on this ship. These relatives are people you have not yet had the pleasure of meeting, but as relations to your late mother, it is customary that your father would bring you with him to deliver the news in person, and possibly return with them for the funeral. From the little knowledge you had of them, they weren’t the most pleasant of folk, furthering your reluctance to the journey, as if the crew’s opinion of your being here be not enough of a reason to detest every moment on the vessel. You desire to be on land, mourning in the comfort of your family home, not here. 

The sound of movement on the deck and various loud noises furthers your annoyance. It’s well past 3am right now, and they’re causing a ruckus? 

Wishing more than ever for sleep to take you, you roll from your back to your side and bring the end of the pillow to your uncovered ear; only to throw it back and sit bolt upright at the sound of the first gunshot.

And then a second, and then the sounds of swords join the harrowing mix of screams and shouts. 

You dress yourself as quickly and efficiently as you can, there is no telling what is happening, but if you get dragged into it you’re sure as hell not being- or dying- in your nightdress. You fasten a dagger under the ruffles of your dress, it can’t hurt to be too prepared. 

You silently thank yourself for the intuition to do so as your door slams open against the planked wall of your room. A disgusting face illuminated by the lantern at your bedside, a devilish grin spreads to his lips, exposing his yellowed, crooked teeth. 

“Come here miss, and it won’t get ugly.” He snides, tilting his head to the side, eyeing your figure.

Frankly, you’re terrified. You’re safer out there than in your room alone with this man though, so you take the hint and walk towards him.

One foot in front of the other. Turn off your mind. Don’t think, don’t feel. Just walk.

As you reach him, he wraps a calloused filthy hand around your arm, the grime dirtying the fabric sleeving it. He drags you through the walkway and onto the deck. 

The sight that greets you chills you to your very soul. The crew slaughtered, your father on his knees before a man with his back to you. The dark figure wears a long frayed coat, cutlas sticking through one of the gaps. An exuberant hat atop his head, matted long hair sticking out from beneath it in an unkempt fashion. Pirate captain. 

The man gripping your arm speaks up, you try your best not to jump at the sudden noise.

“Captain, found this pretty thing back there, what’s your call?” 

The captain turns around, the lanterns hanging on the deck showing you his scarred features despite the mist snaking across the deck.

“Ah you have, have you, Broner? From the looks of it, the little mouse is your daughter, is she not? Considering the look on your face, that is. Hmm, unless she’s yours. In which case, I should rather say bravo.” He laughs at your father grimly, the members of his crew making themselves known in the darkness by matching his laughter.  

He steps to the side and you see your father. Though eyes are enraged, his body is broken. He is fading from the world. A choked sob escapes you.

“Father…”

“Ah so it is the primary assumption, all the better, you’re unspoiled.” He turns on his heel to you with an evil smirk. 

“Don’t, don’t touch her.” Your father rasps out, his pain is punctuated by a weak cough spraying blood across the captains boots.

The captain chuckles lightly, squatting down to eye level with your father, you struggle against Broner’s grasp. He holds you firm, digging his jagged nails into your arm, you bite back the wince.

“Those are my favourite boots.” 

He pulls out a pistol and fires it straight through your father. 

The scream that is pulled from you could move mountains. 

The captain stands, wiping your father’s bloody spray from his face, and turns to you.

“Take her aboard. She is to remain unspoiled, do not disrupt our plans.”

It’s then that you register the ship to your right. A blood red sail billowing from its mast. You know this ship. You’ve heard the stories. Its the Crimson. That captain is none other than Vervona. He’s said to be half mad, a man who sold his very soul to the devil. As evil and deranged as they come.

Maybe the crew member you didn’t even care to learn the name of earlier was right. You really should not have tempted fate on these waters.

<- Prologue ~ chapter 2 ->

*prologue is important please read it :)

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