#mine is birds because they scare me
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hello my beloved mutuals from my notes.
@smallest-turtle @kittykatcreatster @tinycutefauna @spitefulpumpkin @cassadeir @dataalfa109 @hijacking-hearts @blakenightshade @chubby-chestnaught @bastardbeewoman @ekabw97
I really like that tumblr put a little “mutuals” icon in the notes cuz. I had no idea I had so many mutuals. I’m about to tag every mutual I have cuz. 👉👈😔 I wanna talk to y’all…..
#I’m pspspsps-in at you like your cats#hiiiiii 👋#👀👀👀#this is probably not all of my mutuals but I haven’t looked at my list of followers for 5 years I’m not looking now#also yeah tired turtle ik I talk to you everyday but your still a beloved mutual from my notes#I could not possibly exclude you#but I’m so fr any of y’all can message me anytime#I’m not good at socializing but I’ll keep trying until I’m better at it#and then I’ll keep trying some more#convo starter: my favorite animal is the turtle I think they are the cutest thing on the planet#what are y’all’s fav animals 👀#what are your least favorite animals?👀👀👀#mine is birds because they scare me#they are so loud and I’m anxious and they don’t like. warm you before they start screaming.#don’t get me wrong tho I don’t hate birds I just don’t love em as much as I love turtles
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explored two new places thursday.
#three if you count last week too because I loved it there too all the water :’)#these others arent even that far away but I don't venture over there for some reason besides Natick because I have a spot I love there#actually garden in the woods is out that way also#but further up is Norfolk and I spent time there as a kid because my cousin I was close to lived there#we'd take her horse I was terrified of deep into the WOODS alone idk how I survived childhood but anyway hahah#I was so afraid of that damn horse pls horses are so scary#I have some stories that make me die now but one placed she lived was in the woods there#also my mom went into labor with me on the st gillette stadium is on drove by it#I lived over there temporarily and my dad ran up that entire highway to the restaurant her and my sister were at#lived all over but that’s always a cool story to me#not that we were both dying though my birth story was traumatic as f#the pure love of running full speed from inside the house up a highway like though idk I feel that love every time I drive by that spot#anyways way more wildlife out that way saw sooo many different animals bugs and birds#feels more wild and rural l was on the lookout for bears man#I'm a seaside coastal pretty trees that lead to sparkly water and ocean girlie#the woods kinda scares me I don’t go as deep as I did years ago#I love a hike to a body of water not just a hike into more woods I’ve seen too many movies#and men are weirdos I’ve had too many run ins#just wanna walk under trees and see shroomies and cool animals and know my cars within a safe distance lol#why my one spots perfect ocean meets woods is my thing or there’s gotta be a pond at least#love a marshhhhh too! happy to live where I do in the state has all the goodies#found this bog close by l was obsessed with its behind bass pro shop actually#was a nice two days though none of these mesh but it's okay they're tidbits I wanna save#didn't see otters this time but maybe next time#saw a muskrat though#and that one spot had so many snakes#pretty cool#the wasps however were not#mine
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Bitty Birbs and Bittiest Birb Part 34
Masterpost Not read over, I can feel a migraine trying hard to start, so please no editing or concrit!
“Why are we shoved into Jason’s apartment again?” Duke asked.
“Because it was mine or Dick’s,” Jason grumbled. He rebalanced Lian in his arms so that he could lean over and place the tray of fruit on the coffee table.
“And so Jason’s it is!” Duke agreed quickly.
“Hey! My place is fine,” Dick groused. “I’m not eighteen anymore. I know how to keep a place now.”
Everyone else quickly filled their mouths with a piece of fruit.
Cass was the first to swallow and clear her throat. “Damian?”
“Damian and Tim are too attached to Danny,” Jason explained.
Tim froze. “Uh, guys, I’m right here?”
“Yep!” Dick chirped. “But you like answers enough to go against your own emotions.”
“…yeah, okay, fine, fair,” Tim sighed and slumped back into the chair he had claimed. “So this is about Danny?”
“I don’t trust him,” Jason said bluntly as he wiped some juice from Lian’s chin.
“You don’t trust him?” Tim repeated.
Jason gestured to Tim. “See! Exactly that!”
“Exactly what?” Tim asked.
“Tim, I say this with a least some love, but you are the most paranoid bastard—”
“Pretty sure Jack was actually my father,” Tim interrupted.
“Yeah, but have you ever actually tested your DNA against Bruce’s?” Duke asked.
“What?” Tim, Dick, and Steph all asked back, with varying degrees of confusion.
“Anyways,” Jason continued insistently. “Tim is the most paranoid bastard I’ve ever met short of Bruce and he just trusts Danny.”
Tim opened his mouth to argue and then closed it with a snap, which really said everything.
Jason tried not to smirk. “Bruce started dating Danny and he told us. He told us himself. Has he ever just come out and told us about anyone he was dating before?”
“Maybe he’s learned?” Duke offered and then wilted under the dubious stares. “I mean, it’s just that he has been really committed to his therapy. He’s even trying to talk me into going.”
“Don’t buy it,” Jason said.
Dick frowned at him. “Bruce going to therapy?”
“No, dicktstick, don’t tell Roy I said that honey,” Jason added to Lian as an aside. “I don’t think that it’s just from therapy. There’s something weird about Danny and it’s effecting people.”
“Bird,” Cass pointed out with a wiggle of an apple slice. She handed it to Tim who sighed but ate it obediently.
Jason rolled his eyes. “Beyond the bird thing.”
“But he doesn’t want to be,” Tim said. He shrugged when everyone looked at him. “Weird, that is. He doesn’t want to be weird. You all weren’t there. When he protected me and Damian he was so scared of transforming. He was scared of what was happening to him, but he was more scared what Damian and I would think of him. But he still changed to protect us. He became what he fears for us. So, yeah, I know he’s weird and of course I have questions but I guess I’m just… I’m aware how much pressing could hurt him and I don’t want to do that, not when he put a lot at risk to protect us.”
There was quiet and then Dick cooed, “Oh my god, is little Timmy growing up?”
Tim sighed and flicked his oldest brother off.
The worst part was, is that Jason got not wanting to be the freak that life made you. That didn’t mean Danny was okay though. “What about the language? That might be LOA related.”
“See, I don’t think it is,” Tim argued. “And I don’t think that because of Duke’s reaction.”
“Mine? Oh.” Duke looked thoughtful. “But is it that much better if it’s… godly?”
“We trust you,” Steph pointed out simply. “And you’re like, almost max fuckery there.”
“Steph!” Jason snapped.
Stephanie cringed. “Sorry! That’s an adult word, Lian.”
Jason sighed and held Lian up into the air. She gave a giggling squeal.
“You are going to be the most foul mouthed kindergarten and Roy is going to despair, yes he is,” Jason cooed.
“Adorable dad Jason aside,” Steph said, “if we accept Duke, which of course we love our cinnamon roll, then there’s no reason not to accept Danny if he’s godly. Yeah, sure, there are bad gods, but he hasn’t done anything bad. Like, the dude is working on producing water filtration systems for cheap home use. And that was what he was doing before he was even on our radar. That doesn’t scream evil to me, and I should know. I dated Tim.”
“What the—er, fish,” Tim said, shooting a glance at Lian. “Is it beat on Tim day or something?”
Jason grinned. “Oh Timmy, that’s every day.”
Tim bared his teeth back in a soundless snarl. “If you weren’t holding my niece right now…”
Jason kissed Lian on the forehead. “Who’s a good human shield? Yes, you are!” The ringing of Jason’s phone kept him from doting on his not-daughter any further. He fished it out of his back pocket and checked the name before answering it. “What’s up?”
“Hi snookems, how are you?” Roy asked.
“Well if you call me that one more time I’ll have to shoot you, so…” Jason let that trail off into clear implication.
“Right. Well, this job is bigger than I thought it would be, so how do you feel playing back-up?” Roy asked.
“You left Lian with me,” Jason pointed out.
“So?” Roy asked, obviously slightly distracted. “Go drop her off with Bruce and head out from there. You know he loves any chance to babysit her.”
“Danny’s still there,” Jason said. “Demon brat hasn’t let him leave yet.”
“So?” Roy repeated. “Everyone but you likes the dude. And Lian is a great judge of character. If she bites him you know that he’s bad news and you can hold it over everyone else’s head.”
“Roy…”
“Nope! See you in an hour, max!” He hung up the phone before Roy could say anything else.
“So,” Dick said with a little smirk. “Back to the Manor then?”
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Hi there, this is my first time sending an ask.
I was wondering if could you do a bear hybrid x fem reader. I really love the concept of a bear hybrid but there's not really a lot of stuff on that.
Thank you, your avid reader
Sure thing anon! I hope this is to your liking! 🖤🥂 Happy reading!
Claimed by the Bear Hybrid
Pairing: bear hybrid x f!human reader
Summary: you are strolling the woods when you meet a bear hybrid who claims you as his.
Warnings: minors don’t interact, 18++!!!, slightly non-con, oral (f!receiving), big 🍆, p in v, lots of 💦.
I've written a second part for this one and you can find it here.


“You’re mine now,” the creature rumbled, deep and commanding.
You forgot how to breathe, your heart stuttering at the sight of the bear hybrid before you. Standing on his two back feet, the massive hybrid towered over you, making it impossible for you to escape. The creature had the build of a very big and muscled man, but his dark fur, size and strength were unmistakably bear-like.
Not to mention that between his legs hung the most glorious cock you’d ever seen. It was as thick as your forearms and long, longer than seven inches—with the angry red head leaking moisture. Two heavy, hairy balls hung from between his thighs, throbbing visibly. An involuntary shiver traveled through you, not at all fearful. He grunted and shifted, his nose smelling the air. Then his eyes, they were completely dark, fixed on you with a hunger that brought back the fear inside you.
Oh, how foolish you had been thinking that a stroll in the woods would be harmless. You were alone with an apex predator in his own habitat, and he was about to devour you, oh the irony… the forest was dense and filled with the sounds of nature and the chirping of birds. It was such a beautiful morning, so unlike your fate.
“Pl—please… I won’t hurt you,” you uttered, terrified out of your wits. “Let me go and—”
“Never!” he rasped powerfully. “You. Are. Mine.”
You barely had time to react before he closed in on you, his huge body dwarfing yours. He was three heads taller than you and that much heavier. A strong hand grasped you as he scooped you up, hanging you over his shoulder. Paralyzed, you shouted and writhed, but no help came as he carried you effortlessly toward his cave.
Once inside his lair, cool air welcomed you to a bed of soft furs. His eyes never left yours as he climbed on the massive bed beside you, his hands gripping your ankles, strong enough but careful not to bruise you. You couldn’t escape. Tears flew down your cheeks as he ripped your clothes apart, his sharp claws removing every layer until you lay completely exposed before him.
“Shhhh…” his voice was soothing. “I will not harm you, little human. You are my mate.”
“Nnn…no.” Embarrassed, you crossed your hands in front of your breasts. “This can’t be! We can’t—”
“You are mine,” he repeated stubbornly. “You tremble and leak nectar for me.”
To prove his point, he spread open your legs, exposing the soaked slit of your pussy. Your plump folds glistened with arousal, and you flushed at the sight. You’d refused to accept what your instinct was telling you, but there was no mistaking it now; the hybrid didn’t want to kill you; he wanted to fuck you. And for some strange reason that made you ever wetter, your heart beating frantically.
Your breath hitched when you felt his callused fingers brushing along your chest. You protested, but his strength was great, and he drew your arms apart, exposing your breasts to him. Big hands cradled each breast, thumbs skimming over your nipples until they turned into hard little buds. You whimpered, tears in your eyes, because each stroke felt good, awakening a mix of fear and arousal. You could feel his strength, his raw power, and it both thrilled and scared you.
“Pretty and soft,” the hybrid muttered as he massaged your mounds and caressed your nipples. “Such roundness.”
It was at that moment that you realized you had arched your back to offer more of yourself to him. He took this chance eagerly and bent down to engulf the entirety of one tit in his mouth. The suction was warm and wet, his tongue rough and textured as it circled your nipple. Lips quivering, you shivered as he stroked and suckled, crying out softly when he alternated to the other mound.
Strong hands moved to your hips, gripping them firmly as he lowered his head between your thighs. He inhaled your pussy, then breathed over it. You shivered all over, especially when his tongue flicked out, licking up and down your folds before delving inside. You jolted at the electric sensation, long moans escaping you as his rough tongue fucked you with primal thrusts. He ate you out, his growls vibrating against your pussy. Hands gripping the sheets, you rocked against him, hips arching toward his mouth.
“Such a soft little cunt; it tastes so sweet, better than honey,” he murmured, tongue spearing your pussy.
“Pl-please,” you whispered, barely able to form the words and unsure of what you were begging for. To stop? To keep going? You were so pleasure-hazed that you had no idea what to do.
He chuckled. “You’ll get more, mate.”
Hands gripping your ass, he brought you closer to his face, spreading your folds as he continued his sweet torment. His snout caressed your clit and you bucked against him, your moans filling the cave and echoing off the walls. Your orgasm tore through you, strong and blissful, surging from your head to your toes, and despite your violent thrashing, his tongue still drove inside you, devouring every drop of your release.
Head falling back against the bed, you opened your legs obscenely, offering your pussy to him. He licked you fiercely, then your inner thighs, then up your belly and your breasts. You whined when you felt the heavy weight of something warm and leaky against your fluttering cunt. You looked down and gasped; your ankles were hooked over his broad shoulders and he was rubbing his cock against your slit, his thick girth looking inhumanly big in contrast to your small pussy.
“I’ve waited so long for this moment,” he growled, his hands caressing your inner thighs. “You’re my mate, and I will claim you.”
“Stop— you’re too big—”
But it was too late. A soft hitch of breath left you when he pushed the cockhead inside. It parted your moist pussy lips and drove inside, inch by inch. You whimpered at the stretch, yet his fullness invaded you without discomfort, bottoming out inside you as his balls squeezed against your bum.
You’d done it. You’d taken him. Wow…
Your thoughts faded when he started moving inside you. Holding your tiny waist in his big hairy hands, he pumped powerfully inside you, watching as his dick spread your lips, then came out covered with your juices. You gripped his arms for dear life, your nails digging into his thick skin. He liked it because he fucked you faster and deeper, each thrust driving you higher and higher.
“Yes, only my mate can take me,” he growled, his cock making your belly bulge. “I’m going to fill you up, claim you, make you mine.”
The bed creaked from his thrusts, your tits bouncing. He licked them up, suckled them in his mouth as he pounded into you, the plap-plap of skin slapping against skin obscenely wet and lewd. Your cries mingled with his grunts of pleasure, your walls clenching and unclenching around his cock as a second orgasm overwhelmed you. He kept fucking you and followed right after with a feral roar, filling you up with buckets of his cum. He pumped for minutes, over and over, until he had marked you with his seed.
Breathless and spent, you couldn’t help but collapse into the sheets that smelled like musk and earth. Your body still tingled from the intensity of your union, your legs weak. You couldn’t believe what had happened. You’d heard of many cases of interspecies mating, and now it had happened to you as well. This bear hybrid was your mate. Your soulmate. He’d claimed you, bathed you in his seed. And even if your bond was unusual and fresh, you felt like being truly home.
“You’re mine, all mine,” he murmured, nuzzling your neck, his breath warm against your skin.
#monster x reader#monster x human#monster x you#monster boyfriend#monster smut#monster fucker#monster x female reader#bear hybrid x reader#hybrid x reader#monster lover#monster fudger#monster romance#monsterfucker#monster x y/n#monster kink#monster bf#monster fuckers#monster imagine#Kate answers
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Hello! I love your writing, specifically the soft-only-for-their-love villain ones! I was wondering if you’d write another one like that? Maybe a villain x civilian one? No worries if not! Thanks !!
"Do you think I wouldn't love all of you?"
"Excuse me?"
"You hide so much of your nature, with me," the civilian said. "Do you think I wouldn't love the rest of you?"
The villain slowly eased their jacket off, watching the civilian where they sat by the big window, framed by the city lights outside. The words rested heavily in the silence of their home, untouched by the roar of traffic and life so close beyond the sound-proofed walls.
"You're upset I didn't take you with me tonight," the villain said.
"Am I?"
"Well, you're still up and you're starting this conversation the moment I walk through the door, so..."
"You're deflecting. Avoiding the question."
It had been a gala night. Another gala night.
The villain kicked their shoes off next, before padding their way over to the civilian. They caressed a thumb along the line of the civilian's jaw, guiding their face away from ghostly reflections in the glass, to them. They kissed the civilian in greeting. Just the once. Sweet. The civilian craned into them like a flower to light.
"I think," the villain murmured, leaning their foreheads together, "that you would be crazy to love the rest of me."
"So you won't give me the chance?"
"And more importantly I think the rest of me wouldn't love you in the way that you deserve to be loved, darling."
The civilian's jaw clenched, stubborn, with the damning desire of so many in love to look. Glance back. Unlock the door. Turn around. Open their eyes. An endless litany of people who should have known better than to see but still intended to.
The villain sighed and kissed their forehead.
"For starters," the villain said, "no one else would dare even have this conversation with me. Do you want to be that scared of me?"
"Should I be?"
"No, not you." The villain paused. "Maybe. Probably. I don't know."
"I'm not."
"Good."
"Is it?" The civilian's head tipped. Their fingers slid deftly to unravel the villain's fine clothes with practiced ease, finding warm skin. Something human beneath the silk. "Because if you're so bad that I can't even go to a work event with you, then that doesn't stop you being a monster. It just makes you a monster on a self-imposed leash. Leashes slip."
"Yes."
"So?"
"So, I'm selfish, and I want to keep you anyway. On the off chance that mine doesn't."
"And if I leave?" The civilian pressed a kiss to the villain's chest.
"Do you want to?"
"I think I'd rather know your true nature now, than if I ever did."
"You know my true nature," the villain said, "in the way that you know water when it quenches your thirst and rain when it waters your garden, but haven't been crushed by the tons of the ocean. Haven't drowned."
"I like the ocean."
The villain huffed a laugh at that, closing their eyes. They nuzzled against the civilian's hair. "I like the ocean too. But not for you. Not where it gets dark and cold and humans can't survive."
"They have cool fish down there. Like in the Mariana trench."
"Sure. But you don't make love to the Mariana trench."
"Name of my next romance novel."
The villain snorted. They were quiet together for a moment, the possibility of an argument simmering down, though the question of it remained.
"I like the beach," the villain said. "I like the shallows where the water is pretty and blue and I can see the sky, even bluer. There are birds and ice cream and nothing to do except adore you."
The civilian swallowed. "You have an idealised view of beaches. You ever been in winter when it's raining? Dire."
The villain laughed quietly. "I'll take the most dire beach you have."
"There's garbage."
"Well, I'm very good at taking out the trash."
It was the civilian's turn to snort.
"Also bribery," the villain said. They settled on the large window sill, drawing the civilian onto their chest, into their arms. "I smuggled you back cake."
"Bribery! Oh, gosh darn it," the civilian said. "I'm shocked and appalled. I never thought you'd sink so low."
"It's chocolate."
"It gets worse."
"Is it working?"
"I suppose you did bring the best bit of the party back to me. Luckily for you, I'm very susceptible to bribery. Did you kill anyone?"
The villain tensed a fraction at the question.
"Oh, everyone."
The civilian paused at that, glancing around to see if the villain was joking. They coudn't quite tell. The villain pressed another kiss to their head, relaxing.
"It's late," they said. "Can you love the bits of me I can give you in the morning? Like the chocolate cake, I do promise it's the best part of me."
"You're selfish. I'm greedy. I think I'd like all of you, one day."
"But not today."
"Not today." The civilian stifled a yawn.. "So long as the bit of you today carries me to bed."
The villain laughed again, soft, and shifted to scoop them up.
In the darkness, as the civilian slept, the villain watched them. They stroked their hair back from their fragile, lovely skull. Brushed their fingers along perfectly unmarred bones.
"I know you'd love all of me, darling," they said. "That's the scary bit."
In their sleep, the civilian turned over, and snuggled guilelessly into the villain's chest.
#civilian x villain#villain x civilian#villain#villains#writing#creative writing#original fiction#writeblr#i don't know how to tag this dynamic#my writing#relationships#fiction#short fiction
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You're last post got me thinking....what would happen if somehow someway another vampire got to Reader and turned her. I know Nat watches her obsessively but like shit happens. Like what would Nats reaction to something like that happening be?
You’re still mine. | N.R
Vampire!older!Natasha x Human!younger!Reader


Warnings: kidnapping and forced turning
Word count: 2,5k
The sound of your ragged breathing filled the dark room, broken only by the rattling of chains and the slow, deliberate sound of footsteps echoing against the cold stone.
Natasha was fighting against the restraints that bound her, the scent of burnt flesh thick in the air as the silver seared her wrists. But she didn’t care. She didn’t feel it.
Because you were in his hands. And she was helpless. He took his time. He savored moments like these..the ones where he got to watch Natasha suffer. And tonight? Tonight, he was going to destroy her.
His lips curled into a smirk as he lowered his head, his breath ghosting along your throat, making you shudder violently in his grasp. “Poor little thing.” he murmured, his fingers tightening around your waist, keeping you pinned against him. “You’re shaking. Tell me, is it fear? Or is it knowing what’s about to happen?”
A sharp sob escaped your lips, your entire body trembling against his hold. Your nails dug into his arms, desperate, panicked, pleading. Natasha snapped against the chains. “Stop!!” she snarled, her voice breaking. “Victor, let her go, she has nothing to do with this!”
Victor hummed, pretending to consider her words, before he let his fangs graze your skin, just enough for you to feel the sharpness. You whimpered, your hands gripping him tighter, your body trying to curl away, trying to disappear.
Natasha lost it. “VICTOR!” she screamed, her body thrashing against the restraints, her face twisting in desperation. “Fuck, please!” The plea left her lips before she could stop it, her voice hoarse with something that was almost a sob.
Victor grinned. “Did you hear that, little one?” he mused, his voice dripping with amusement. “She’s begging. The great Natasha Romanoff is begging for you.” Your breathing hitched, your chest rising and falling too fast, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
You could feel his fangs hovering just above your pulse. You could feel death breathing down your neck. You sobbed, gripping onto Victor even tighter, nails raking against his skin in raw, primal terror.
Natasha’s stomach twisted violently. “Malyshka (Baby), look at me..” she whispered, her voice cracking. You were shaking too much. Your body was too rigid, your fear suffocating you.
Natasha’s heart shattered. “Y/n..” Your wide, terrified eyes met hers. And Natasha, despite everything, forced a soft, broken smile. “Breathe. I’ve got you. Just keep looking at me.”
Your hands trembled violently, your grip on Victor never loosening, not because you wanted to hold him, but because your body was begging for something, anything to cling to.
Natasha felt like she was dying. Victor chuckled, his fangs trailing lightly along your skin, feeling your pulse beneath them.
“She’s holding onto me like I’m the one protecting her.” he mused mockingly, his lips brushing over your throat. Natasha saw red. “You sick son of a bitch-”
“Careful..” Victor murmured, his fingers tilting your head just slightly. “You don’t want me to lose control, do you?” Natasha clenched her teeth, forcing her expression to soften for you, despite the rage burning inside her.
“Moya lyubov (My love)..” she whispered, voice so soft it cracked. “I need you to focus on me. Just me. Not him, not what he’s doing. Just keep your eyes on mine, okay?”
Your gaze locked onto hers like it was the only thing keeping you alive. And maybe it was. “I’m scared..” you whimpered, voice barely audible. Natasha exhaled sharply, her throat burning. “I know. But you’re not alone. I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.”
Victor let out an exaggerated sigh. “How sweet.” Then, his fangs pressed in. You let out a strangled gasp, your body stiffening as the sharp points broke the skin but didn’t bite. Just enough to make you feel it. Just enough to send your body into a state of pure terror. Your nails sank into his arms, hard enough to break the skin. Natasha sobbed.
“You don’t have to do this..” she whispered, begged. Victor grinned. “Oh, but I do. You’ve kept her human for too long, Natasha. You’ve been selfish. And now? Now, you’ll watch as she becomes one of us.”
“NO-” Then, he bit. Your scream ripped through the room. Natasha howled, her body shaking, her wrists bleeding from how hard she was pulling against the chains.
“Y/N!” Your entire body arched in agony, your pulse slamming against Victor’s lips, your hands clutching onto him like he was your last anchor in a storm.
Natasha’s entire world shattered. Your breathing turned ragged, your limbs trembling violently, your blood pouring into Victor’s mouth. And Natasha felt it.
She felt the moment your heartbeat changed. The moment your body stopped being yours. Her vision blurred, the sound of her own screams echoing around her, her rage, her grief, her entire soul breaking into something unrecognizable.
“No, no, no-” she choked out, shaking her head, her body collapsing under the weight of everything. Victor exhaled sharply, dropping you to the ground, your limp body hitting the cold floor with a soft thud.
Natasha’s arms dropped, the silver finally giving way under her relentless struggle, but she didn’t care. She was already too late.
She crawled toward you, her hands shaking as she reached for your face, cradling you against her. “Open your eyes..” You twitched in her arms. A faint, broken breath left your lips. Your veins darkened.
Natasha choked on a sob, pressing desperate kisses to your forehead, her fingers trembling as they brushed through your hair. “I should have turned you myself..” she whispered, voice barely there.
Victor smiled, satisfied. “And that, Natasha, is exactly why I did it first.” Natasha didn’t even register the moment she killed him. She didn’t feel her hands tear into him, didn’t process the screams, the blood, the vengeance that overtook her.
Because none of it mattered. None of it would ever bring you back. And when your eyes finally opened, something in Natasha died. Because they weren’t yours anymore. They weren’t hers. And that? That was something she would never forgive.
“I’m here, lyubov’. I’m not leaving.”
“I should’ve protected you. I should’ve done more.”
The only sound in the room was the faint, ragged breaths slipping past your lips. You weren’t asleep. You weren’t awake. You were something else—something caught between death and rebirth, trapped in the hunger of your new existence.
And Natasha hated it. She had never wanted this for you. Never wanted you to be like her. She had spent years protecting you from this curse, from this hunger, from the eternal darkness that had consumed her soul.
But Victor had taken that choice from you. And now, she was left with the aftermath. Her hands clenched into fists, her rage simmering beneath the surface like an inferno ready to consume. Victor was dead, but that wasn’t enough.
Because his actions still lived on. Inside you. A sharp inhale pulled Natasha from her thoughts. She froze, her grip tightening around you as your body stirred for the first time since your turning.
You twitched, your breathing shallow, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. Natasha’s heart clenched. “I’m here-” Then, your eyes snapped open.And Natasha stilled. It wasn’t you. Not really.
Your irises were still the color she had memorized, but now? Now, they were darker. Your pupils were too wide, your gaze too sharp, your body too tense as your senses flooded with the overwhelming hunger.
Natasha knew the signs. You were starving. And you had never felt anything like it before. Your hands shot out, clutching at your chest, at your throat, at anything to make the burning stop. “N-Natasha-” your voice cracked, raw, breathless, desperate. “I’m here, just breathe-”
“It hurts!” You gasped, curling in on yourself, your hands trembling violently. The hunger clawed at your insides, tearing through you like fire, like nothing you had ever known.
“Make it stop!” you sobbed, your fingers digging into your own skin. Natasha grabbed your wrists before you could scratch yourself raw. “Shh, shh, I’ve got you, I know, I know it hurts-”
Your breath came in sharp gasps, your entire body shaking as you clung to her like a lifeline. “What’s happening to me?” Natasha swallowed thickly. She didn’t want to tell you. She didn’t want you to know.
But the truth was already there, settling in your bones, seeping into your mind like a toxin. You weren’t human anymore. And Natasha could see it in your eyes..the growing fear, the way your body recognized its own monstrosity.
“I don’t-” Your voice broke. “I don’t feel like myself.” Natasha’s fingers curled under your chin, tilting your head up, forcing your gaze onto hers. “You are still you.” she whispered, her voice thick with something desperate, something aching.
Your lips trembled. “Then why do I feel like I’m dying?” Natasha inhaled sharply, her grip tightening. Because in a way, you had.
And the thing left behind was no longer the same. A quiet, broken sob slipped past your lips as you buried your face against her shoulder. “I don’t want to be this!” you whispered, pleaded. “I don’t want to be a..monster..”
Natasha’s arms wrapped around you so tight she thought she might break you all over again. “You’re not a monster.” she said, but even she wasn’t sure if it was true.
“You’re still mine.” You sniffled, your fingers clutching at her clothes like she was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. I’m scared..” Natasha shut her eyes, pressing her forehead to yours. “I know..” she whispered. “But I won’t let this break you.”
She exhaled sharply, her thumb grazing over your lips, her gaze flickering to the sharp tips of your fangs now fully bared. “I won’t let you go hungry either.”
Your body stiffened. Fuck, the hunger roared inside you. Natasha felt the shift before you did—the way your pupils dilated, the way your lips parted slightly, the way your entire posture changed as the need for blood overtook everything else.
You needed to feed. And Natasha was the only one you trusted to give it to you. She inhaled deeply, her hands sliding to the back of your neck, holding you steady.
“Drink from me.”
You froze. Your body trembled against hers, the sharp inhale of breath making Natasha’s stomach twist. Because she could feel your hunger. It was clawing at you, screaming at you to take what you needed. And Natasha Natasha wanted you to.
She needed to be the first blood you ever tasted. She needed to be the one to give you this..to guide you, to make sure you never craved anyone else the way you craved her. “I don’t-I don’t want to hurt you-”
“You won’t.” Her fingers tilted your chin, her lips ghosting over yours before she turned her head, exposing her throat to you in a silent offering.
“Take it.” she whispered. “Make yourself mine all over again.” Your body shuddered. Your lips brushed against her pulse. And then..Then you bit and Natasha sighed in relief. Because even if Victor had stolen your humanity-
Natasha’s entire body lurched forward as she gasped for air that she didn’t need. Her hands clenched the sheets beneath her, gripping them so tightly her nails nearly tore through the fabric. Her entire being felt like it had been ripped apart, like she had died a thousand times over in a single breath.
Her lungs burned, even though she knew they didn’t need to. Her mind spun violently, disoriented, lost. The scent of blood still clung to her senses, the echoes of your scream still piercing through her skull.
Her heart pounded in a way it never did anymore. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. She didn’t recognize the dim glow of the bedroom, the soft sheets beneath her body, the familiar warmth beside her. Everything still felt wrong, like she was still trapped in that dark, suffocating nightmare.
Victor’s laugh still rang in her ears. She could still see your body, the way you clung to him in fear, the way your eyes begged her to stop what was happening. She could still feel the moment your heartbeat faded into nothing, the way your body stilled in her arms, the moment you were no longer you.
And then she saw you. Her stomach twisted violently. You were beside her, curled up in the sheets, your breathing slow and steady, your body warm and untouched. Your face was soft in the dim light, your lips slightly parted in deep sleep, your hair falling messily over the pillow.
She turned, her movements frantic, her mind still too lost in the nightmare to believe she was free of it. You were here. You were alive. You were still hers. A choked breath left Natasha’s lips. Her fingers twitched, hesitating before she reached out, afraid, so afraid that if she touched you, you would disappear. That this was just another illusion, another cruel trick of the mind.
But then her fingers brushed against your skin. Warm. Soft. Real. Her breath shuddered, her chest tightening with something so raw, so unbearable that she thought she might collapse under it. Her other hand came up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing over your skin, just to make sure.
She had never felt relief like this before. Her hands trembled as she traced the line of your jaw, her touch featherlight, careful,desperate. Her mind was still spinning, still caught somewhere between the nightmare and reality.
Her instincts screamed at her to hold you tighter, to never let go again, to make sure no one could ever take you from her. “I almost lost you..” she whispered, though you couldn’t hear her. Her voice was raw, barely there, but even in the silence, it was painful.
Her fingers moved to your wrist, pressing against your pulse point, needing, needing to feel it. The steady, rhythmic beat under her fingertips made something deep inside her crack wide open. She needed you. Her body moved before she could think, shifting closer, curling herself around you. She buried her face in your hair, inhaling deeply, letting your scent calm the raging storm in her mind.
But it wasn’t enough. She pressed herself closer, wrapping an arm around your waist, her fingers slipping beneath your shirt just to feel the warmth of your skin. The contact sent a shiver through her, grounding her, reminding her that this was real. That you were real. Natasha swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut as she held on.
She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, wrapped around you, her grip almost too tight, like she was afraid you would slip away if she loosened it even a fraction. She didn’t know how to stop feeling like she was still losing you.
“I won’t let anyone take you from me.” she murmured into your skin, her voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of something unbreakable. She pressed a kiss to your shoulder, her lips lingering, her breathing unsteady.
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A/N: Under no circumstances will I let anyone else turn Y/n. 🙂↔️
#natasha x reader#natasha romanoff#natasha romanov x reader#dom!natasha x reader#nat x reader#natasha romonova#the avengers#natasha#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanov
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Voices of Roses and Ruin
Warnings: Psychological torture, manipulation, Coriolanus being himself
Summary: Coriolanus is forced to watch the gamemaker use his voice against you in the arena.
Words: around 2k
Pairing: Young Coriolanus Snow x reader
A/N: I watched TBOSAS yesterday and yeah don't judge me but young Snow is hot and I shipped him and Lucy Gray a lot (until it all went downhill cough cough). Obviously he's horrible and does many unspeakable things later (!!!). But I think the idea of a love story between a mentor and their tribute has so much potential and when I saw the birds in the film I thought of this idea.
This is written from Coriolanus perspective (I haven't read the book yet. I just bought it and I'm so excited to read it!). I obviously wanted this to be about real feelings, but I tried to stay true to his character so there are some 'questionable' and alarming thoughts and motifs in here.
Can be read as Lucy Gray x Coriolanus Snow here
Part II | Masterlist
Coriolanus had thought watching you in the arena, alone and scared, hiding from a pack of murders that were hunting for your life was among the worst things he had ever gone through, but nothing could have prepared him for the Gamemaker’s new horrendous plan.
He was tired, just as you were, but refused to go home like most students had done. Instead his head was resting in his hand as he kept watching your sleeping form, as if he could protect you if he just kept his eyes on the screen and on the lookout for a potential threat.
He wouldn’t be able to do anything for you, if the pack of murders found you. He couldn’t warn you or give you advice.
All he could do was sit here and watch and he found himself thinking if this was not the worst torture of them all; being trapped here while you were out there and all he could do was watch.
You were trembling in your sleep, if from the cold or fear he didn’t know, but he kept his expression carefully guarded as he felt his own heart breaking bits by bits.
Even there covered in dirt, with your hair a wild mess and your clothes strained with mud you looked breathtaking to him.
You were pretty, there was no denying that. Everyone else saw it too. He saw it in the way heads turned for you, men‘s eyes raking over your body like you were theirs to take.
He hated it, every part of it.
They all deserved to die.
But it wasn’t your looks that had drawn his attention to you. What had fascinated him. He liked to think he wasn‘t shallow like most people and blinded by pretty things.
No, what has drawn him to you was the way you carried yourself. The confidence you wore like an amour. Yet you were breakable at the same time.
You seemed to be made up of duality; strong but so weak, fierce but uncertain, opinionated but withdrawn, stubborn but helpless.
You were a dangerous little thing and a petite fragile flower at once. Drawing all eyes on you but forgotten due to your ordinariness by most after a moment.
Not by him though. To him you could never be ordinary.
It was frustrating and captivating and alluring.
Naturally, his constant worry for you since you had entered the arena stemmed from his will to get the scholarship. It was what he deserved and he would claim it.
Tht was why he was so engaged in saving you, not because of the deep unease he felt when he saw you in that arena, your eyes drifting around frantically until they passed a camera and he could have sworn they had locked on his for a moment.
It had nothing to do with the way his whole body seemed to light up when you smiled or the invisible pull he felt towards you when you were in the same room as him.
He definitely didn’t want to kiss you and he didn’t dream about you since the reaping, when his eyes had fallen on you for the first time and he had only thought one thing: You’re mine now.
Mine to claim, to showcase, to protect.
He had gone into the mentorship thinking he would use you to serve him and his purpose of getting what he deserved, but as he watched you now, still rooted in his chair although a deep exhaustion weighted down his body, he knew he was serving you.
Being here with you every second of the way. Vowing to protect you. Whatever it took.
You awoke from your restless sleep right before the screaming started. In an instant you were up, your eyes widened in panic as you gazed around, trying to locate the source. With the rest of the students that had stayed Coriolanus flinched in his seat, leaning forward to try and help you figure this out.
As quickly as it had started the screaming stopped and for a moment you were one, both breathing and blinking heavily as your mind tried to make sense of what happened.
And then he heard a voice. His voice. “Follow me.”
He forgot to breathe for a moment as he stared at what was happening in pure shock. You seemed just as confused, turning around in circles as you tried to find him there.
„Coriolanus?”, you whispered and took a step forward, towards the voice. “Follow me”, it whispered again and he watched you do.
No, no, no.
Around him he heard chuckles from the other students, but he drowned them out. All he could focus on was you, following his voice through the darkness. “Where are you?”, you hissed, your eyes darting around. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here for you.”
He sank lower in his seat, wishing himself somewhere else. It wasn’t him saying the words, obviously, but it was his voice and everyone could hear it, see you follow it.
He hoped people would laugh about you. About your nativity and the brilliant idea of the gamemaker to use your mentors voice against you. Hell, he didn’t even care, if they thought you might have a silly little crush on him and the gamemaker used it against you.
Because if people knew the whole truth, he couldn’t imagine the catastrophe that would follow.
The truth that there was something between the two of you, the mentor and the tribute. That it was something he couldn’t explain, but had let him do dangerous things. Break rules. Forget himself.
The truth that this might not be him speaking those words now, but that he had spoken them to you once. Had they been listening all this time?
His stomach twist in terror as he tried to remember all you had shared with each other, all he had said to you. Promised you.
It would ruin him.
“I can’t see you”, you whispered now, being led further into darkness.
Damn it, think! He wanted to yell at you. It’s not me. I’m not there.
There was no reason for him to be there.
Except…there was.
“I’m here to see you. I won’t let anything happen to you!”
“How cute”, one girl hissed in his ear, but he remained stoic. “She’s as dumb as they come”, another said and he wanted to punch her. Enjoy the feeling of triumph when she looked at him in horror and didn’t dare open her mouth again.
“Looks like you’re guiding her straight to her own death. How ironic.”
And it was ironic.
Maybe in his attempt to protect you, save you, all he had done was ruined your one chance.
All he had said to you to make you trust him and then because he hadn’t been able to stop himself were used against you now and all he could do was watch. Keeping his face carefully blank he shut out their voices. They didn’t matter.
Finally he saw you hesitate. Maybe you had remembered his exact words or maybe you realized that you weren’t getting anywhere. That if it truly was him he would have just stepped out of the shadows and shown his face. “Is this real?”
Oh how funny it was to the people around him. He hated them all. Every single one.
Your words hit a mark. They pierced right through his heart, because he had said them to you. Whispered them. Before your farewell, when he had visited you one last time.
Your faces had only been separated by a few inches and he had fought the urge to kiss you right there and then. But he couldn’t.
Because of everything, but also because it felt too much like goodbye. It was stupid, but if he didn’t give into the temptation then, a part of him hoped it meant you would come back to him.
That your chapter wasn’t over, your story just starting. He would kiss you when you won. When there was a chance for a future with you.
Still those words had escaped his mouth, like he needed the reassurance that you felt the same way. That this meant something, so much that it was worth the risk.
Coriolanus leaned forward in his seat, hope blossoming in his chest. He didn’t know why whatever game they were playing with you hadn’t affected the other tributes yet, but he was sure their time would come.
And right now it seemed you wouldn’t fall for their tricks. Because there could come no answer to your question, as he had been the one asking it.
But he had underestimated the gamemakers.
Instead of a reply there came a scream and then a groan. “Coriolanus?” “Help me!”, he heard himself yelp. What?! He had never sounded like that.
But then flashes came back to him. The bombs. How the arena had collapsed, almost burying him alive. He would have died there, if it hadn’t been for you.
You had saved him.
But how in the hell did they get his voice now?!
“Coriolanus!”
Gone was the glimpse of hesitance and suspicion and you began sprinting into the direction the voice was coming from.
No!
He watched with dread as you ran directly towards the sound. It’s not real, he whispered, knowing you couldn’t hear him but desperately hoping somehow his words would reach you.
When you stumbled upon a clearing you jerked to a stop, twisting and turning, your gaze furiously searching for something.
“Coriolanus! Tell me where you are!” But he could only hear his own painful screams, in between pleading for your help. Sounds he was certain he had never made.
What was this?
With a stab of pain he saw your face was tearstained. You were crying. For him. For someone from the capitol.
Was this what the gamemaker wanted?
Whatever you did or said would never matter again.
All everyone would see when they looked at you now was the broken girl in a dark forest, all alone and desperate and crying for a man she never stood a chance with.
A man who knew hunger just as you did, who in a way fought for survival every day too. But they would never see that, because unlike you he wouldn’t let them. Where you had no choice, he still had one. And he was watching that one chance crumble in front of him.
Flashes of a better life filled his mind.
A house. Plates of food. Tigris smiling. His uniform, a real one made from the finest materials hanging draped neatly over a chair. Laughter echoing through the corridors and then a flash of your face as you stepped into the room, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you leaned over the desk to peek a look at what he was working on.
It was the life they deserved, he deserved, if he got the scholarship. But you were there too. Alive and well, just as breathtaking. And you were his.
There had never been the choice between the scholarship and you, because they were one. Your life was connected to it and so his was to yours.
But now he could loose both and he felt the agony of that thought travel through his whole body.
The screaming seemed to be everywhere and he watched helplessly as you bent forward, covering your ears. All he wanted was to get the screaming to stop, wrap his arms around you and tell you everything was okay.
Instead he forced a neutral expression on his face, as if seeing you break didn’t break him the same way and pray for this hell to end.
Part II
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Alas, the best things do come to an end eventually, and they’d been riding side by side all morning, mostly in companionable silence, when disaster struck under the form of Arthur believing himself to be subtly clever. “So, Merlin…” he began in a teasing tone that made the back of Merlin’s neck prickle in warning. “How about you tell me of that mystery man of yours?” “That mystery man of mine…” Merlin echoed flatly. “Yes. The one who tickles your fancy. Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes,” the prince admonished with all the self-confidence of the deluded prat. “Come on, you can tell me.” Merlin glanced his way and pursed his lips, gauging how far he could take the charade. “Oh well,” he said. “You know him better than I do.” “How so?” “Because he only dwells in your imagination.” Arthur made a rude disparaging noise, then went on, “I don’t know why you’re being so secretive, Merlin. You know you can’t keep a secret for long. You’re a natural blabbermouth.” “A blabbermouth?” Merlin said as he ducked a low branch. “Still better than being a dollophead.” “Now see? That’s obfuscation. And it’s not working.” “Damn, now you’re waving around the big words.” To which Arthur only gave Merlin a side look and a smirk. “He’s a knight,” the prick announced with perverse relish. Merlin frowned, a bit nonplussed. “What makes you think that?” “Oh I just know,” Arthur said smugly. “A fine knight with blonde hair, blue-eyes, impeccable manners, big calloused hands…” Merlin’s heart wedged itself just a tiny bit sideways in his throat. “He sounds good, when do I meet him?” he asked without so much as a tremor in his voice. “Well, he could’ve been travelling with you right this instant had you not been so damn difficult.” And then everything began to slot horribly into place. “What the… You tried to set me up with one of your bloody knights?!” Merlin blurted out in disbelief. “And you think I’m besotted with Leon? Or Erwan? What is wrong with you?!” “They’re the finest knights in Camelot!” And Arthur had the gall to blush and look offended by his finding fault with his choice. “And they’re both blonde,” he added with a supreme pout. “What the hell does that have to do with ANYTHING?!” The cry of utter outrage scared away the birds in the surrounding trees. “You like blondes.” “Less and less by the second!” And thank goodness, at least Arthur had the intelligence to seem insulted by that. “God…” Merlin shook his head. Just when he thought the man couldn’t be anymore of an idiot, he just had to outdo himself. “Seriously. Erwan?” “The man worships the ground you walk on,” Arthur argued the most naturally in the world. “And he’s the most adorable killing machine I’ve ever met.” “Oh because that’s obviously what makes me go weak at knees. An adorable killing machine.” Merlin rolled his eyes loudly, then cleared his throat a little when something in his chest gave a guilty wobble. “Well, go on then, educate me if you will. What makes you go weak at the knees?” the cabbagehead scowled. “That’s personal.” “I’m beginning to think you have no idea yourself.” “And I’m beginning to think a lifetime of strict abstinence is looking more and more like a desirable option if it saves me from the horrors of a matchmaking prince.”
This excerpt was brought to you by The Arduous Taming of a Difficult Prat to celebrate the 3k-hit milestone. I know it's ridiculous and terribly vain on my part, but it makes me happy. 🥳😘❤️
(btw, this excerpt is taken from 2/3 into the fic: you'll have a loooong slow burn of a slog to go through before the boys are actually this forthcoming... 😅)
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I Hate The New Hero
Pt 2: A spider's nest is different to a bird's.
Pt 1 - Pt 2 (You're here) - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10
Okay, judging by how the polls are going now, this one is winning!! I'll post the second part of Don't Drink The Kool-Aid soon (possibly tomorrow or the day afterwards). Don't be afraid to send in asks and such regarding anything! I love answering them and doing side stories/headcanons for this series or other series of mine!
The day rolls by painfully slow. How could it not when you're going to invite someone, who you're pretty sure would throw you to the wolves for a dollar, into your shitty apartment?
You exit the school building with two of your friends; Sherri Webster and Tia Hunt. You see Timothy leaning against the wall to the exit of the school building and you can't help but scoff, does he not have a life or friends?
Tia notices your gaze and chuckles, you had already told them both about Tim and the project, they laughed and made fun of you - you'll get back at them.
Sherri pats me back "If you don't come back to school tomorrow we'll let the police know he probably murdered you!" Tia laughs at that and I grumble and elbow Sherri.
"Oh shut up! God, you're insufferable!"
"And you're about to be dead!"
"Oh please, no one in Gotham stays dead these days!"
"I'll make sure you do!"
Tia interrupts before the minor spat ends in the two forgetting Timothy is there - now looking at the three with the very hatred you'd give to your parent's murderers.
"Can you guys fight later? In the group chat maybe? I'm starving and want to go home - private school food tastes like shit." Sherri sighs but agrees and the two wave goodbye before leaving you.
You wave and after a bit of awkward silence you glance at Timothy who is now staring daggers at you, his eyes are calculating but aren't narrowed - like a feral wolf analysing it's target. You hold back a sigh as you raise a brow.
You make a hand motion for him to follow you and you start to walk along the path to your amazing, beautiful, posh, cool apartment that in no way is flawed.
The walk is silent and painful, at this point your willing to bust out the charms and joke with him but you're scared he's going to smash your head into the concrete as soon as you make a joke.
You walk past a poster that was hung up regarding the heroes of Gotham, Aranea is near the center hanging to the side of a wall. You scowl at it - the picture was bad and didn't flatter you at all.
Timothy catches your scowl and makes a show of rolling his eyes and typing something on his phone. You can't hold back any longer.
"What? You grading me or something? Speak the fuck up if you have a problem, Richy Rich." You sneer as you say the last part, he snaps his head up at you in offense.
"Oh, you want me to speak up?! Fine, you're a selfish brat who's got parents that fawn over you and you never lacked anything in your life yet you go after some sweet innocent girl who would a hundred percent save you if you needed it. Aranea is one of the best people in Gotham and it's disgusting that you are so rude to her!" Timothy rants. You can't help but raise a brow, you want to laugh so hard - the irony is right there.
Instead you roll your eyes "You hate me because I hate someone you fangirl over? How pathetic. Hate me for a real reason!" You try not to smirk when you see Timothy try to take deep breaths and calm down.
"... Let's just get to your apartment already." He states as he continues walking, you raise a brow. "Wrong way." He turns around and follows you silently.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Finally you stop in front of your stunning apartment. Out of the corner of your eye you see Tim raise a brow.
"How'd you get into a private school if your parents can't even afford an apartment building that doesn't look like it's had ten different crime scenes this week?"
You deadpan, ouch man...
"I got in through an engineering scholarship." You reply blandly, no point in spilling your emotions and true personality to a person like Timothy.
Timothy doesn't say anything else and you take that as the conversation ending and lead him into the complex and to the apartment you reside in.
It's home and you wouldn't want anything different. The plants are dead, there's a leaky tap, the clock that's stuck on the wall ticks annoyingly, there's a small spider making it's home in one of the corners and all the furniture looks one kick away from dust.
Your parents don't have much time to clean...
You look at Timothy out of the corner of your eye, despite loving where you live you know people will judge and Tim will probably use this against you some time in the future.
.............................................................................................
Tim's confused. You had always exuded "rich spoilt brat" behavior and seemed so stuck up yet live in actual filth? On top of that you got into Gotham Academy on a scholarship? Do high schools even do scholarships? It doesn't make sense.
Tim's not an idiot, he knows he's being petty but at the same time he can't bring himself to stop. Aranea is one of the kindest people he's met in Gotham, a saint, an innocent person who deserves a good life.
Yet, you hate her guts, you say awful things about her despite not even meeting her - or maybe you did, either way there's no reason for you to be acting like this.
Tim isn't petty, he won't use your living situation against you but the scholarship thing can be.. a small post can ultimately cause ridicule in the school.
He blinks a couple times, not noticing how he's already in a cramped bedroom - it's the size of a supply closet in the manor!
There's a bed in the corner, a window that's curtained up, a closet, a toy chest and a pile of sketch books that reaches halfway up the bedframe. It's cozy he supposes - for a sewer rat at least.
You mumble something about getting food before leaving the room. Seems you have some smarts and etiquette.
His phone buzzes and he looks down at the Gotham Vigilante Group Chat (GVGC), it's a message from Aranea.
Aranea: "Heyyyy!! I won't be able to go on patrol tonight, my mama wants to go out for dinner :("
Tim sighs, that's good. He can't go because of the stupid project so it seems he won't have to get horrendously teased for missing out on hanging with Aranea.
Tim's phone buzzes again and it's Bruce.
Bruce: "Message if (Reader) does anything sketchy. You can't trust someone so hateful."
Way to state the obvious. Tim already had multiple plans in case you did something.
He pockets his phone after responding with a thumbs up and he sits down, on the floor - assuming that's where they'll work.
.............................................................................................
Soon you come back with snacks in hand and had changed into more comfortable clothes - they were your dad's because in no way were you going to show Timothy your sense of style.
The clothes consisted of cargo shorts that were grossly oversized and tied with some shoelace to stop them from falling and an oversized shirt with the image of Garfield on it.
You raise a brow at where Timothy is sitting.
"Uh, why are you sitting on the floor?"
"That's where we'll work. Why?"
You think you're ready to go cry in a corner out of frustration.
"I have a bed."
"okay? I doubt it can even fit the both of us."
... Okay, that's true. Still, even if you hated him your parents didn't raise you to be rude to guests.
"Fine. You sit on the bed and I'll kneel on the floor."
You watch as his eyes widen, not expecting that response. You push him to stand up and make him sit on the bed before plopping down and taking a big sketchbook and flipping to the back of it.
"Okay, let's get started." You mumble, more so to yourself.
You two spend the next three to four hours researching, drawing things and writing down dates. By the end of it your tired and just want to sleep. It would have been done sooner if there wasn't an argument that caused you to storm out of the apartment and pace the halls and if Tim didn't leave to the halls to answer a call but at least it's over with.
You rest your head against your bed, you're still on the floor and more than content staying there, you doubt your body will even allow you to move.
Slowly your eyes close and you drift off to sleep.
#I hate the new hero!#platonic yandere#yandere#yandere batfam#yandere batfamily#yandere dc#dc#dc comics#dc universe#dcu#dc robin#nightwing#dick grayson#red hood#jason todd#red robin#tim drake#robin#damian wayne#bruce wayne#batman
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꣑ৎ 𝓢O CLOSE, YET SO FAR ♱. MM.B ──── i miss your voice, you're the only one with it 𓈒𓈒𓈒


🦇 ( 𝓢 ) ﹕ you tell yourself everything's over with manon bannerman, that she no longer has the key to your heart. but like a bird trapped in a cage, prevented from escaping, you find yourself inevitably clinging to the past.
𝓹airing. ex. meret manon bannerman & fem. reader 𝓰enre. angst mentions of toxic/avoidant dynamics heartbreak 1.1k wc. 🗒️ ! first fic since hiatus everybody give me a standing ovation 😅😅✌️ i also wrote this on a whim so this is lowkey just word vomit sorry … 💔 ( MASTERLIST )
now playing ⋆ what used to be mine by faye webster
EVERYTHING HITS MANON LIKE A WAVE DURING A STORM. nothing made sense to her, not when the so-called perfect-picture relationship you two had was ripped out of her hands by none other than herself. you were the girl of her dreams. in fact, you'd be the girl of any sane person's dreams.
the first time she held you, it felt like she had the world at her fingertips, her cold hands gently drawing patterns all over the small of your back. a fleeting touch that lingered longer than it should've. you were the only thing she truly loved, her love for you swirling behind her eyes every time she looked at you.
you'd always claim love was overrated, that you never saw the need for it. that was only until the ghanaian girl skated her way into your heart, and you were absolutely floored by her. it baffled you initially, that a girl like manon who was your polar opposite, left you hopelessly captivated.
and so, you two disregarded the world, pretending everything was perfect, that neither of you were scared to be in a relationship. words weren't your guys' strong suits, considering neither of you could admit that this was real, because real things eventually fall apart. and even worse, considering that words laced with venom came out of the two of you, intended to hurt the other. both of you knew the weight of those words but never relented, too prideful.
nothing separated you two, though, oddly enough. mainly because, after every intense argument with silence weaving in-between, one of you would find their way to the other, pulling the other's trembling body into a hug, and promising to make any troubling thoughts of theirs vanish into thin air. the fear of life without the other completely stirred a feeling of nausea in your guys' body, so you two stayed together, even if it meant bitter resentment soared to higher lengths.
you loved her, and she loved you, right? that's all that mattered. staying together worked for awhile; you thought you couldn't have felt any better, especially since that same moonstruck gaze manon gave you only fueled your hope. you felt like you were high on a daze again, that the thought of everything bubbling up to surface and you two ending things was nearly impossible.
then, silence became what replaced the sounds of the ghanaian girl's heart racing. no calls, no texts, nothing. she was radio silent. it wasn't the kind of silence you found yourself clinging onto, the kind where you interlocked your hands with manon's, and she'd hold onto you firmly like you would fade away somehow if she didn't. no, it was the kind that carried the weight of memories and the whispers of what went wrong. it swallowed up you whole. everything tugs your heartstrings in the cruelest way ever, binding them into an impossible knot.
you almost went crazy on a random tuesday, coming home to a u-haul outside your shared apartment, and boxes laid out with manon's stuff inside, ready to be loaded into the truck. your heart was a mere seconds away from beating out your chest. your hand was hooked with hers, your thumb brushing against her knuckles gently. frantic, you practically begged for her to not leave, to tell you this was a mean trick played by her.
and by then, you knew manon was always an enigma to you. because how could she find love in the ugliest things like jealousy, and the prettiest things like the aurelia borealis, but never you? in her other hand was a one-way flight ticket, and you realized absolutely nothing got better. you just chose to believe everything got better. her hands lay on top of yours, tenderly holding them.
you always assumed it was a simple choice for manon, that she would inevitably slip through your fingers. you just never chose to believe that. then, words were thrown around foolishly. that alone made it easier for the other girl to leave, to say good-bye, because she believed you would get over her faster if you resented her.
"there was no 'us,' you knew that," manon bit the bullet, annoyance laced in her breath. "none of this was real; neither of us could admit it ever was anyway." her voice was raw, anger slightly sewn into her tone. your body was plagued with guilt and hurt, and a breath leaves your parted lips.
half of you wants to pull her back, to tell her how you really felt, and that you could never bring yourself to hate her. and the other half of you wants to make it even, to hurt her the way she hurt you. you wish her name itself didn't haunt you, and that you could stop missing her like a little kid.
what made it worse was revisiting that wound in your heart. your college graduation day came, and the same pay phone number kept calling you every second of the day. with your phone clutched in your hand, you answered the call. you knew very well that it was manon, considering she'd left fairly recently—a few months back.
"manon, is that you?" you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper, as it resonates with apprehension. your eyebrows were etched together, "i'm pretty it's you, and i'm also pretty sure you've been calling to say something, but you won't say anything."
silence follows.
you scoffed, "if you won't talk, then i will." again, silence.
"you didn't handle things right at all, you could've given me some closure, or been upfront with me, and told me you were leaving. but you didn't, and you ended up not coming to my graduation, and cutting me off entirely. and that's fine—i get it, but that's it for me, i've moved on from you.
you swallowed the lump in your throat, "i think i may have loved you, but i just need to let it go. that's it, and i hope you're doing good—i want you to be good, so goodbye, manon." her name falling from your lips in such a distant tone felt almost foreign. you finally exhaled, shake and uneven, as you shook your head, hastily ending the call.
you wish you could get a view into manon's head. you wait, and wait, hoping that she would call again and tell you how much she misses you. you knew it was useless, hopeless, but you still nonetheless hang in there, drowning in your racing thoughts.
you could only imagine how she'd react. she'd probably tease you playfully, calling you corny and whipped. then, she'd whisper sweet-nothings against your shoulder, her arms slipping around your waist instinctively. that was always how she reacted whenever she thought you were being a sap. and you recall, that there was actually a time where her arms were your home, and that the heartbeat of hers against your head was your favorite sound.
you huff at the memories, knowing how easy it was for manon to swiftly lie about love, about everything, really. and you believed they were the truth, and that they couldn't be farther from it.
and i listen to you when i feel like crying,
it reminds me of what used to be mine.
current 𝓽aglist : ( open. ♱ 2 be added, read this post. )
@kisshae @sed7ction @yeetaberry127 @vrtualstar @jellaaa @jaythegirlkisser @falling-intoo-deep @c-yerim @bulgik @gtfoiydlyj @rinapomu @meganskiendielsbtc
#fics .#kpop imagines#kpop x reader#katseye x reader#katseye imagines#katseye manon#katseye manon bannerman#katseye manon x reader#katseye manon bannerman x reader#manon bannerman x reader#manon x reader#manon bannerman angst#katseye angst#katseye x reader angst#wlw
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Hello mᥡrk . Could you please do main mark with a male reader that has powerfull shape-shifting (like am talking shape-shifting into anything , mystical, normal animals , people , and objects while also being able to mimic their powers and sounds) . So like the scenario can be that his powers are disrupting his sense of self and making it difficult to maintain a consistent identity. The constant transformation has been leading to a feeling of being a chameleon, constantly adapting to fit in, and struggling to define a true core self.
How would main mark comfort male reader who feels like that .
"Who are you?"
Pairing: Mark Grayson x Male! Shape shifting! Reader.
Synopsis: You can become anything–but no longer do you know who you are. Mark is the only thing keeping you grounded.
Warnings: Identity dysphoria, emotional distress, existential themes, mild dissociation, superpower-related mental strain
You weren’t supposed to end up like this.
This power—your gift, your curse—it was supposed to be cool. Amazing. A dream. You could turn into anything. Birds, lions, fire itself. You could become people. Take on their powers. Their voices. Their faces.
And at first, it was fun. Funny. Useful.
Until it wasn’t.
Now, you can’t stop. You shift without thinking, without meaning to. Sometimes your skin itches like it’s begging to change. Your voice comes out as someone else's. You catch your reflection and have no idea who you’re looking at.
The rooftop is quiet. Cold. You sit with your knees drawn to your chest, breathing in the city air, trying not to disappear again.
Your fingers flicker—skin to fur to scales to nothing. Your arms twist and reform. You shift shapes like most people blink. Too fast. Too often. Too much.
Your body can be anything.
Except still.
You don’t know what you are anymore.
Then—soft footsteps.
You know them before you look.
“You’re up here again.”
Mark.
He sounds tired, but not annoyed. Just… worried. He walks across the rooftop slowly, like he doesn’t want to scare you off. Like he’s approaching a wild animal that might run at any second.
You almost shift into one.
But you hold it back.
Barely.
“I’m not here to make you talk,” Mark says, sitting beside you. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… didn’t want you to be alone.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “I don’t know how to be anything but alone.”
Mark is quiet for a second. Then he says softly, “That’s not true.”
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first. Your throat feels tight. Raw.
You stare at your hands. They change again. Skin to fur. Fur to feathers. Then stone. Then mist.
You clench your fists. “I can’t stop.”
Mark watches, calm. Not scared. Never scared of you.
“I know.”
“I don’t even mean to,” you say, voice cracking. “It just… happens. My body doesn’t feel like mine. My voice isn’t mine. Sometimes I hear myself talk and it’s not even me. It’s someone I saw on TV. Or someone I passed on the street.”
You feel your face change. Eyes widen, then shift shape. Your mouth stretches, shrinks, reshapes.
You feel like clay. Melting.
“I don’t know who I am,” you whisper. “I don’t know.”
You expect silence. Or pity. Maybe fear.
But Mark scoots closer.
“You’re you,” he says firmly. “You’re always you.”
You let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah? What does that even mean? I don’t have a real voice. Or a real face. Or a real anything. I just copy. I reflect whatever’s around me. That’s all I am. A mirror.”
Mark shakes his head. “No. That’s not all you are.”
“You only say that because you want there to be something real here. But what if there isn’t? What if I’m just made of bits and pieces of everyone else? A mix of noise. Of shapes.”
He looks you dead in the eyes. “Then those pieces still chose to care about me. Still stayed up late to listen when I needed to talk. Still held my hand when I thought I was going to break. That wasn’t them. That was you.”
You stare at him, heart thudding in your chest. Or what feels like your chest.
“But what if I forget who I am completely?” you ask, barely above a whisper. “What if I shift too much and I can’t get back?”
Mark doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he moves even closer. Carefully. Slowly. Then—he wraps his arms around you.
You tense at first. You're not used to being touched when you feel like this. When you're half-you, half-everything else.
But his grip is warm. Solid.
He holds you like you're not broken. Like you're real.
“If you ever get lost,” he says quietly, “I’ll find you. I promise.”
You feel something burn behind your eyes.
“I don’t want to be a monster.”
“You’re not,” Mark says immediately.
“You don’t know what I’ve become.”
“I’ve seen it,” he says. “I’ve seen the fire. The wings. The creatures you don’t even have names for. But none of that scared me.”
“Why not?”
He looks at you with so much honesty it hurts.
“Because it was still you.”
Your breath hitches.
“You’re not the things you turn into,” Mark says. He pulls back just enough to look you in the face.
“You’re the only person who makes me feel like I can breathe. That’s what’s real. Not your shape. You.”
You blink hard. Your form flickers again—but you fight it. For once, not out of fear.
You want to stay. To be you.
With him.
Your hands stop changing. Your voice settles.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” you say. “I don’t know if I ever will.”
Mark brushes your cheek with his thumb. “Then don’t do it alone.”
You let yourself lean into him. His warmth seeps into your skin. It grounds you.
“You mean that?”
He nods. “Always.”
You stay like that, pressed against him, as the sky darkens above. The city still buzzes far below, but it feels quieter up here. Like a pause in a song. Like breathing in.
Like being real again.
Just for a little while.
#invincible fanfic#invincible imagine#invincible series#invincible x you#gay#invincible#invincible comic#invincible mark grayson#invincible show#mark grayson x reader#mark grayson#mark grayson x you#invincible x reader#invincible x y/n#male reader#mark grayson x y/n
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𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞


⊱✿⊰ summary: your family wants to protect you but its impossible with the life you all lead
⊱✿⊰ warnings: kidnapping, minor torture, it will be angsty, almost dying, spitting on your face, the joker deserves his own warning tbh
⊱✿⊰ notes: this is for skye because she wanted some angsty batfam stuff and here we are. I am just shitting on the page and hoping words form at this point. I hope you enjoy and feel free to send me requests. Also this is a platonic fic sorry if you were hoping for romance action
⊱✿⊰ tags: @kozumesphone @fizzywashere87 @fashionablysouly @witherwallflower @goldierey
@finleyforevermore @baecakie @gergthecat @mqstermindswift @anyas-shitposting69 (comment on this or send me an ask if you want to be added to my DC taglist)

"Well, well, well. Looks like baby bird got caged." The clown sneered, leaning close to your face. You scrunched your nose and tried to scoot away despite the ropes scratching your wrists raw.
The Joker's finger runs along your cheek, a horrific grin on his face as he stared at you. You tried to keep a brave face, you tried to act like the domino mask over your eyes was really a shield. You tried to act like your dad, Batman.
Maybe it was your fault you got kidnapped. He said you weren't ready to go out and patrol with your family, but you went away. You stole one of Damian's mask and put on the most costume adjacent clothes you owned.
"Where should I start, little one?" Joker asked, breaking your train of thoughts. Placing blame would be set for another time. Not now, its not time yet. "Should I give you a smile that matches mine? Should I turn you into a firey decoration before dear ol' daddy bat gets here?"
You winced, trying to prevent the ice filling your veins and the fear weighing your stomach down. The Joker grabbed a knife from his table that had numerous weapons littered on top. Carefully the cold metal of the blade brushed against your skin, not harsh enough to cut just yet. He wanted to scare you first.
•───────────•°•❀•°•──────────•
"I am going to kill that son of a bitch." Jason growled as soon as he heard the news. Bruce gathered the family in the batcave, and explained the Joker had kidnapped the youngest of the family- you.
"Jason, I understand your frustration but we can't act with haste. I won't let her face the same fate you did. I won't make the same mistake twice." Bruce replied, already dressed as Batman. He was doing his best to stay professional despite his fear being ever present.
"I don't want to wait too long either." Dick added, crossing his arms over his chest. Everybody was tense, wanting their sister to be safe once again.
"I'll find where that stupid clown is keeping [Name]." Tim said, standing up and rushing towards the computer before anybody could even reply. Barbara silently followed, knowing she would be the most help to Tim.
Bruce looked at all of his family and nodded, "We'll find her and get her back."
•───────────•°•❀•°•──────────•
Your throat was hoarse and tears had dried on your face. There was no point to fighting it anymore, you only hoped he would kill you soon.
"Aw but doesn't the bird look good with her wings marked?" The Joker chuckled, slicing yet another line into your arm. The cuts were deep, sure to scar, and they were deliberate. You could only guess what he was spelling on your arms.
With the amount of blood flowing down your arms like a red river, it was to no surprise you were fading in and out of consciousness. That would be nice, at least you wouldn't be awake while he tortured you.
You almost settled into the pain, eyes fluttering close to let yourself rest, when you heard a crash. Glass was broken and there was yelling everywhere.
The Joker grabbed your face with his hand and forced you to look forward, where you saw your family (the only thing disguising their horrified looks were their masks)
"Looks like they showed up in time for you, baby bird." He grinned, spitting on your cheek. You were too tired, too fragile to even bother being disgusted. It was better than the cutting.
"Let her go and I'll think about not crushing your head into the wall." Red Hood barked out, already aiming his gun at The Joker. You tried to pay more attention but you were fading slowly,, ready to force your body to rest.
The Joker dropped your body like it was nothing, your face smashing into the concrete. It hurt, pain forming in your forehead but it was a distraction from the blood oozing out of you.
Despite your best efforts, you finally blacked out. The last thing you saw was your family lunging at the Joker, rage thick in the air.
Light flooded your eyes, fresh air blasting your lungs. You were laying down on something soft and warm, contrasting against the mildly scratchy fabric on your skin. You blinked your eyes a few times, forcing them to focus despite the dull ache pounding in your head.
"You're awake." Damian said, apparently sitting beside you. It took a little while but you realized you were in the personal hospital at the manor. He had a few scratches and bruises but nothing as horrific as the scars on your skin (and in your brain.)
"Wha-what..happened?" You croaked, throat feeling like sandpaper. Like magic, Dick appeared with a glass of water you gratefully took. The liquid in your throat was almost heavenly in the way it made you feel infinitely better.
"The Joker kidnapped you and we rescued you." Your father explained calmly, not bothering to add details. Which was probably good for you, the devil's in details.
"I'm glad your back, sis." Jason said, making you suddenly aware of his presence in the back of the room. Your entire family seemed to be in here, ready to see your betterment. Despite he general aversion to touch, Jason wrapped you into a hug.
Of course, everybody else joined in (forcefully or not) for a big group hug. You laughed, despite the hollow of your heart, watching as Tim was pushed into the hug by Dick.. It was ridiculous having a group hug after a traumatic event...how family sitcom could you get?
But somehow, it felt good to be in the arm's of your family. It felt like home.

lori © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything weird with my writing! i like reblogs and comments but please be kind as this was my writing.
#batfam#batfamily#jason todd#alfred pennyworth#red hood#batfam shenanigans#bat family#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd x y/n#nightwing#dick grayson#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson x you#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson x female!reader#dick grayson x oc#batfam x reader#batfam x you#batfam x batsis#batfam x y/n#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne x you#batman#dc comics#batman comics#dc batman#tim drake#tim drake x reader#red robin
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Anti-Psychotic
A person living with schizophrenia finds that their delusions may have more basis in reality than they thought. Originally published in the Fall/Winter II issue of Diet Milk Magazine, available here. Content warnings for depiction of psychosis, violence, ableist language.
No one is watching me.
Julie has me write that down at our session. She never listens to me. She says, it can be comforting to realize that people don’t think of you as much as you think they do. I know this already. She asks, what evidence do you have that you are being watched? I say there isn’t any. Just a feeling. She writes something down, and asks about my meds again.
So fucking patronizing. Of course I take them. I have taken mine like clockwork, every day, for five years. Maybe I missed a few days, but who doesn’t forget sometimes. My meds are cleat spikes jabbing into the earth. Helping me keep my footing. Making sure I don’t slip.
Last week I started getting the prickle again. Like fingers up my back. Someone standing behind me, breathing. I live alone. When I felt it, I wasn’t scared at first. These things happen sometimes. I’ve been around the block. The prickle and I are old friends, practically. When it finds me, I have ways to forget it.
I drew the blinds, which helped a bit. I had a drink—nobody's perfect—but the prickle didn’t dull. So I peeked through the shades at the street below. Normal street stuff. The sun was setting, painting the world in shades of fire. Cars went by, all the usuals. Some kids were yelling in a driveway. A wasp tapped at my window, wiggling its feelers at me. No obvious source for the prickle. So, probably nothing. For the rest of the evening I puttered, read my book, ate some frozen nothing heated in the microwave, and took my meds. The prickle was temporary, I told myself as I lay down to sleep, the usual fog settling over me in a cool, clammy layer. No one was watching me. No one ever is.
That was a week ago. It’s only gotten worse since then. The prickle turned into a terrified stomach ache that kept me up for nights and nights. I called in sick to group, told Cheryl the caseworker that I have the flu. She sounded alarmed, but she’s only worried because of what happened to Devin.
Devin was like me: good at meds, good at therapy. We were friends, in a psycho kind of way. A few weeks ago, Devin started to get bad. Stopped showing up to group, didn’t even call. I haven’t seen him in a while, even when I went looking for him in his usual bad places. I miss him. I told Cheryl not to worry. I’m steady, just sick. I’ll see her again soon.
I keep taking my meds, but they aren’t helping like they should. The fog I count on to sleep is thin, or missing. Something scrabbles at my skin from underneath, and I keep catching myself scratching little bits off of me. When I lay down, a low, neutral voice whispers nonsense at me through the pillow I clamp over my head. I can’t shower; that’s when the prickle gets stronger. Someone standing on the other side of the shower curtain, someone looking down at me through the water stain on the ceiling. I hiss and babble out loud just to hear myself talk, to shut up the voices that aren’t mine. I get sicker by the day.
By now I haven’t been outside in over a week, but my meds are ready to pick up. I don’t want to miss a dose, so I put on shoes and the big jacket that makes me feel safe, and I go outside. Birds leer at me from the tops of buildings. Walking in the opposite direction, an old lady frowns at me.
“Hmph, same to you,” she snaps.
My stomach lurches, but I don’t say anything, just keep walking. I hadn’t spoken. Had I?
The drug store is brightly lit. It hurts to be inside. Too many things to look at. Faces on packaging look strange now. Confrontational. Interrogative. But at least they look like faces. When I look at anyone real, their features shift. Static snow eats at the air around their heads in a halo. It frightens me, so I keep my eyes on my shoes. The pharmacy tech who’s always there gets the packet for me, rings it up.
“Any questions about your medication?” he asks. I shake my head, pay with a card. He has glasses that give his face a sort of stability, so I look at it. His eyes are brown, beard gray, no hair on his head. He smiles at me. “Have a nice day, miss.”
“You too,” I mutter.
And then I go home, have to stop myself from running for safety. The walk is twenty minutes each way; harrowing, the passing cars huge and hungry, huffing and snorting at me. The prickle is more than a prickle by now. It feels like someone is pulling out the hairs on the back of my neck, one by one. My heart thuds against my ribs so hard that I’m afraid it will burst out, plop on the sidewalk and keep throbbing without me. The paper bag with my pills turns damp and tattered in my sweaty hand.
And getting home doesn’t even help this time.
Julie says too much TV can be a trigger for me, but I start leaving it on all the time. Noise beats silence, any day. No empty spaces that need filling. I can’t watch sitcoms or anything fictional, so I tune it to the news. The news is always. Steady, real, factual. There’s a story about a body they found by the freeway. Pushed out of a moving car. No one knows or cares who it was. There’s a picture of the scene, taped up yellow and covered in those little numbers that say where a bit of evidence is. A tattered jacket lays in a ditch, dark with blood.
I stand and race to the bathroom, cool porcelain against my hands, bile and nothing coming up as sweat pours down my back. My head pounds, edges of my vision sparkling. I can only see the jacket. Not dirty or bloody or ruined but the way it used to look. Devin’s jacket.
Something is horribly wrong. Men-in-black wrong. The-end-is-nigh wrong.
The prickle wasn’t imagination. It was intuition.
Someone got Devin. Who else did they get before him?
---
The next week, I force myself to go to group. I need to see faces. See who else is there, or not. Cheryl picks me up for these, since I don’t drive. I’m sicker than I can remember being, and try to remember to ask Julie about my dose on Tuesday. I sit silently in the passenger seat, feeling Cheryl’s eyes on me. Caseworkers all have the same eyes.
“Feeling alright today, X?”
My name isn’t the name she calls me. You don’t need to know it.
“Fine,” I say, pinching my hands between my knees. They shake if I don’t. “Still getting over that flu.”
“Sorry to hear that,” she says. Her sedan has beige fabric seats. The passenger seat is dark, stained with sweat and whatever else from all the people she’s ferried around. A vanilla air freshener dangles from the rear view mirror.
Someone shouts in my ear, so close I feel a little blast of hot breath on my neck, and I flinch. Cheryl looks at me suddenly.
“Everything okay?”
She didn’t hear that. “Yeah. Sorry. Weird itch.”
“Hmm.”
Group is fine. It’s usually fine. I don’t say much this time, just look around at everyone in their folding chairs. Their faces are wrong. It makes me nauseous to look, but I look anyway. I need to see who isn’t here.
There are no empty chairs, but there are fewer. One or two down from usual. All the other regulars are here, picking at their skin or looking at the clock or chewing their hair. I glance across the room and for a second I think I see Devin, sitting in his old coat. But when I look again, it’s just Tom. I almost hoped.
When it’s over, there’s bad coffee to drink. I suck on a red straw and let the bitter taste anchor me to my tongue. I inhabit my body, touch my fingers to the side of my face to know that it and my fingers exist. Sufficiently convinced of my realness, I go to Amber, our de facto leader.
She’s drinking water from a bottle with cucumber slices in it, cloudy with pulp and seeds. Ectoplasmic. It makes my stomach turn.
“Amber,” I say. My voice feels far away. She looks at me, expectant. “I missed last week. Have you seen Greg, or Mariah?”
“Oh, no, I haven’t. Greg was here last week, but I haven’t seen Mariah since like, last month. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
A crinkle appears between her eyebrows. I focus on that, since the rest of her features won’t stay put. “You’re worried because of what happened to Devin?”
“I think Devin is dead.” There is a sudden hush as other people in my vicinity overhear. “I saw his jacket. On the news.”
Cheryl appears beside me. “X, would you like to talk in the hallway?”
She pulls me out before I can answer. “Have you been feeling alright?” she asks again. “Taking your medication?”
“Yes,” I say, a little forcefully. She clicks her tongue.
“Really? Because if you need to move up your next appointment, I can make some arrangements for you.”
Despite the fact that I do want to move my appointment up, her tone hits a button in my brain and my face turns red. “No,” I say. “I’ll wait until the next one. I’m fine. I just need to know what’s happening.” A rancid taste creeps up the back of my throat. “Where are people going?”
“Honey, everyone’s here that needs to be here.”
“No—that’s not right. I need to know.”
I can tell from the way she moves that she thinks I’m getting agitated. She doesn’t understand what I’m saying. “People call in sick sometimes. You did, just last week. Mariah was having issues sticking with the program, so we’re working something out. No one’s gone.”
“Devin is gone. Devin is dead. He’s dead and no one knows it.”
Cheryl comes closer, her voice so low and venomous that it starts to meld with the others. “I’m going to give Dr. Bern a call and try to get you in with her sooner than Tuesday. If you can’t keep up with your regimen, we’ll have to consider another in-patient stay.”
Anger chokes me until my vision goes white. “Okay,” is all I can manage. I have some unsavory thoughts, which I won’t repeat to you now.
“Good,” says Cheryl, holding my leash. “Let’s get you home.”
I don’t sleep. I don’t even try. Someone is watching me. I think about Devin, the last time we spoke before he was gone. He got paranoid, too. He jabbered sometimes, when we would see each other. The same face, he said, with glass eyes. Looking at him. Following him. He said his pills were replaced, his furniture moved, nothing looked the same as he’d left it. No one listens to me, he said. I’m scared, he said. I’m scared of what will happen next.
“I’m scared, too,” I say to no one. A chorus laughs at me.
---
“So,” says Julie. “Cheryl told me you’ve been having some trouble sticking to your medication.”
“I stick to it,” I say, and set the pill bottle on the desk in front of her. “Count them and tell me I’m not.”
She doesn’t move to count them. I’d hoped at least that she would humor me. “It sounds like some of your persecutory thoughts are returning. Tell me about what you’re worried about.”
“I saw on the news that they found someone’s body in a ditch off the interstate. They showed pictures. I think the body was Devin.”
“Devin from your group?” I nod. “We actually just heard from him last week. His brother answered when we called his phone. Devin is currently in a private rehabilitation clinic in Cincinnati. He’s alright, X.”
A numb feeling falls over me all at once, like a sheet. Something crawls up my thigh and disappears into a deep hole in my flesh. “Oh.”
“Amber talked to us, too. She said you asked her about Greg and Mariah’s absences this week?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I followed up on those for you, too. Greg had an accident at home and was in the emergency room during your meeting time this week. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to reach Mariah personally, but her father informed me over the phone that her family has pulled her out of the program. She won’t be returning.” Julie leans across her desk. “X, can you please look at me?”
I look at her. Her face is twisted, like a mask, papier mâché, drooping strips of plaster bandage. The static threatens to consume her, and me.
“I’m going to increase your dose to eighty milligrams. For now you can take two of what you have at the usual time, but I’m sending in a new prescription to the pharmacy.” She scrawls something on a pad at hand, and I take the opportunity to look away. “I’ll see you again this time next week, okay? And if anything’s the matter, you can call the nurse’s hotline. We’ll take care of you.” She hands me the script.
“Thank you,” I say, and then someone brings me home. I am silent for the drive. Thinking.
Wasn’t Devin an only child?
I start doubling my dose. The fog doesn’t come. The prickle intensifies into ceaseless paranoia. I check the window locks three times a day to make sure, even though I live on the third floor. Chair under the doorknob, empty bottles stacked on it so I’ll hear if someone comes. I can’t stop thinking about Devin, and the others. Were they all really fine? Was this just a breakthrough-breakdown, pills ceasing their function and leaving me alone, spiraling?
I hadn’t tried calling Devin in weeks. He didn’t pick up the first few times, and anyone in that state doesn’t usually want to talk anyhow. But Julie said someone answered when they called. Maybe they would answer for me.
The phone buzzes. Surging forward and receding, like a tide. Devin could be there on the other end. Getting better. Being cared for. I close my eyes and wait to hear his voicemail, or something else.
Click. “Hello?”
The voice startles me so much I can’t speak. A stranger.
“Hello?” says the phone. “Who is this?”
“Um,” I say suddenly, “Devin?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the voice says. “Devin isn’t here right now. May I ask who’s calling?”
“I’m—his friend. X,” I clarify. My voice is not of me. “Can I talk to him soon?”
“No, unfortunately he can’t talk. But I’ll let him know you called, he’ll be happy to hear people are checking up on him.”
“What’s—who are you?”
“I’m Eric, Devin’s brother. I’m taking good care of him, miss. Have a nice day.”
The call ends. Something in my stomach shrivels. I run to the bathroom, but there’s nothing to bring up. I don’t know why that voice scared me so much. Why had I thought Devin was an only child? He hadn’t mentioned his family—maybe I’d just assumed, or forgotten if he’d said. Of course he had a brother. He was alright. They all were, now.
---
Days pass. Bugs make their homes in me. My medication runs out, the new pills ready for pickup. I’d rather die than set foot outside. But I need my stability. I steel myself to leave, and exit my apartment into the world.
Everyone looks at me. They all want to hurt me. A car drives slowly past me and I try not to look at the people inside. My head hurts. It’s hard to see where I’m going, but I go.
The drug store is bigger than it was last time. Brighter. Angrier. People avoid me as I shuffle towards the pharmacy counter. The pharmacist who’s always there smiles at me again.
“Do you have any questions about your medication?”
I shake my head, fumbling for my card. He’s staring at me through his glasses.
“Do you need me to call someone for you?”
His voice makes me want to puke. I shake my head again, take the pills and make for the door. A crowd of voices shout at me as I stagger out into the air. I miss the way things were. My cleats don’t fit anymore. I tear the bag open, pop the lid off the bottle and shake a pill into my mouth, force it down dry and sticky and hope it does its job. My mouth is sweet where it lingered. It didn’t used to be so sweet.
There is a dull shock of understanding that blooms at the edge of my mind. The prickle rises on the back of my neck, and I look over my shoulder again. The pharmacist is looking at me from his position behind the counter. His face ringed in static. He waves at me. And I take off running.
There is no one I can call. No one who will listen. There are only doors that will slam in my face, white speckle tile and fluorescent lights and needles. He knows that. He knew it for Devin, too. He knew it for the rest of them. The wind in my face feels like fingers grasping at me, tugging at my hair, slowing me down. I race home, up the stairs and lock the door, brace it with furniture and then I sit on the floor and cry and cry. They’re laughing at me. Trading whispers. Look how stupid. Look how gullible. Go on and cry, crybaby.
So I do. It’s all I have left.
The next time it’s group, I don’t come to the door. Cheryl calls me, but I don’t answer. There will be a wellness check if I don’t come. I want them to, now. When her calls finally stop piling up, I wait fifteen minutes, then step outside. I leave my door open, leave what I can to show that I am gone. I leave the pills out, and the script. Crush a few with my heel for good measure. I hope they can put the pieces together.
It’s dark, cool. It reminds me of the fog, makes me wish I could sleep. Eyes follow me through the evening. Headlights burn me as cars move past. I walk slowly in my big jacket, letting myself be watched. Letting the prickle come up my neck, creep over my scalp, trickle down over my face until it covers me in a thin layer and I prickle all over. The prickle and I are old friends. It tells me when to be afraid.
Then there are headlights at my back that don’t go away. The growl of an engine crashes into me. I stop walking, and someone gets out. I don’t turn to look. I can’t stand to look at faces anymore. Suddenly, I have a funny thought. Maybe I do have some questions about my medication, after all.
Something whistles through the air above my head, and the world disappears.
When I wake up later, I’m not sure if I have. There are stars. It smells like gasoline, copper and dirt. My jacket is gone. My mouth is gone, too. My hands. You’re caught, someone says in my ear, you let it happen. With my eyes, which I still have, I look across the floor. It hurts to look. There’s blood under me, sticky black. The prickle is gone. I discovered its source.
I’m alone for a long time. It’s hard to say how much. I realize that there’s a door behind me when it opens. Light falls across the floor, yellow tractor beam coming to take me away. I long to be weightless, but the earth won’t let me. Then the pharmacist who is always there puts his shoe against my face and turns me over. He doesn’t speak. He crouches down and looks into my eyes like he is trying to take something from me. Then he takes the tape off my mouth.
All I do at first is scream. It's all my body knows how to do. He sits and watches me. When I can see his mouth, it’s smiling, and I realize he likes it when I scream. So as soon as I can, I stop. Silence rushes back into the gaps, roaring in my ears.
“Good girl,” he says when I am quiet. His voice is a distorted growl, infrasound, rattling my eardrums. “Aren’t you such a good girl?”
I think about his throat in my teeth. I think about his blood on my face. For a moment it feels like I am lunging for him, jabbing thumbs into soft and fragile places. But he still has my hands, turning numb and purple at the small of my back. So I sit up as much as I can and spit at the floor near his feet. Faster than my eyes can track, he lurches forward. Fist in my hair, hauling me up to hip height.
He looks into my face with his glass eyes. His mouth is monstrous, all his white teeth sharp in a thicket of gray.
“I’ve been watching you,” he says.
I know this already. There is nothing satisfying in the confirmation of it.
He is not the man in black I always pictured. He could be anybody.
“Think of this as a favor I’m doing you.”
Then he hits me again. And other things.
When I’m alone, voices chatter in my ears. No one is coming, they say, you are alone. They will not find you. You and the ditch will be friends soon. So you amounted to this—better than nothing, we suppose. I shush them, rock myself against the cement floor and hum and think about grass, and birds. I try not to leave myself room to cry. I don’t want him to have the satisfaction.
A thousand years go by. Outside the room, there are voices. Not any of mine. His, and others. They start loud, and get quiet. His voice goes away completely. Doors open, distant, then closer. Light falls over my body again, and I feel the weightlessness. Real this time. My hands come back to me, but I can’t move them. There are faces, more than I’ve seen in a while. They scare me, but I can’t run, so I try not to look. Except at his. They take me past him, and I look. Through his glasses I see his eyes, still trying to take something from me. He has, by now. But not what he wanted.
I sleep for a long time, and when I wake up, the world is the way I remember it. My feet on the ground, cleats and all, not slipping. When I’m well enough they bring me to identify Devin’s body, since he didn’t really have a brother after all. They find Mariah’s, too. Greg really was in the emergency room, turns out. But there are others. Too many to think of.
Cheryl changes careers afterwards. Probably for the best. I find this out when she drives me to group the first time after I get out of the hospital. She doesn’t look at me much, but when she does, I can see her eyes are different. Not caseworker eyes anymore.
“Lauren is going to be taking over your case starting next week,” she says after a long silence. “So this will be the last time I see you.” I can tell she’s trying not to cry.
“Okay,” I say.
She never apologizes. No one does. They all say they’re sorry for what happened to me, but that isn’t the same thing. People who don’t listen never think to apologize for it. They think they were listening all along.
Things are mostly the same as before, except I get my pills mailed to me now. And I think about Devin a lot. When I pour myself a drink, I pour one for him too and pretend he’s with me. I don’t have any pictures, so mostly I think about his voice. The last time we ever spoke, he told me, no one listens to me, X.
What I said then was, I know the feeling, man.
But now I just tell him I’m sorry.
#writing#original fiction#writeblr#short story#mine#the magazine that originally published this story has gone dark but since this is no longer under exclusivity i am pleased to share it here#i'm still pretty proud of this one
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ADD MORE LOVE
abby x doctor!reader
author’s note: english is not my first language. i had so fun writing this one, i love love love jerry.
warnings: tlou au. jerry is alive (🎆). abby and reader were scared of his reaction to their relationship. jerry is just a caring father. reader and abby are two little loving birds. reader is called babe and kid. fluff and a lot of kissing!



before the outbreak you were in med school but after everything, you ended up working as a doctor at the medical section in the stadium. jerry taught you almost all you know, he always says to everyone that asks about you how you are so smart and kind, your relationship with him is one of the most important things to you, he is more than a professor or your boss, he is a friend, a safe place. when you were at you lowest he helped you, saying that you had a potential regardless everything had done wrong, he showed you how to save live people’s lives but he saved yours.
so when you and abby started to date, you had only one rule: jerry CAN’T know about, at least until you two are ready to tell him. but didn’t worked, he knew you and his daughter very well. abby had just arrived from a rough patrol, they went to a new area filled to the brim with infected, the ones in further states, abby and manny counted 5 bloaters. so she was siting on a old hospital bed while you cleaned the wound on her shoulder, you were in a separate section, only you two there, “this’s a pretty deep one, babe, i think is gonna need stitches.” you said and she winced with the burn of the alcohol, “i don’t feel nothing.” she said confidently, “maybe is because your adrenaline still high.” you said rolling your eyes at her, “or maybe is because my girlfriend has the gentlest hands.” you laughed and looked at her, even sitting she was taller than you, “i gonna grab the needle.”
when you were done with her arm you kissed the wound and she hugged your waist, you kissed her forehead, “i missed you.” you said softly, “me too babe, me too.” you cupped her cheek and kissed her, softly, sweetly, without any hurry. you two separated when you heard the curtains open, “hi kid, did u see abby? nora said she already arrived but i didn’t find her-“ abby was holding a smile and you pretending to search for something on the shelf, he could read the situation very clearly but chose to say nothing. “hey abs, are you okay?” he said walking to her, “yeah, only needed a few stitches.” she pointed to her shoulder, he took a look at your work “this is one of the best stitches works i’ve seen.” he said and you walked closer them, “i learned from the best.” you said and he put his arm around your back.
later, you and abby were at her dorm, cuddling on her bed, sharing lazy kisses. it was a piece of heaven in hell, “i” kiss. “missed” kiss. “you” kiss. “so much” kiss. “i missed you too babe.” she said between giggles, “but now you are all mine.” she said singing and hugging your body closer to hers. you two stayed like this, glued together for a while. and suddenly you heard three knocks at the door, typically of jerry, you tried to get up but abby grabbed you harder “stay.” and you trying to get out of her embrace, “abby! let me go, you dad is here.” you shouted whispering and that woke her but it was a little late. you just heard jerry’s voice saying “i’m coming!” you heard the door open, “abby, my dear, how’s your shoul-“ and he sees. he sees you and abby on the same bed hugging each other “oh sorry!” he said and rushed to the door, “dad! wait! this’s nothing what lo-” and you two were left with a loud “dum” of the door. “i told you.” you sais trying to get up but abby grabbed you, “screw it.” she said positioning you on top of her and kissing you. “you’re a pain in the ass abigail.”
after the little accident, you were avoiding jerry. every single time he would try to approach you, you went away. so he made the easy choice: talk to abby. so this time, when abby came back from a patrol, he made sure you were busy enough to don’t even see abby coming.
jerry and abby were talking while cleaning his dorm, when the silence took over so he addressed the elephant in the room: “so… what’s going on between my girls?” abby swallowed hard and looked at him, making a fake confusion face. “oh you know what i’m talking ’bout. you and y/n.” she took a deep breath “i’m sorry, i know you really like owen and everything but i don’t think i like him, to be honest i don’t like men at all, and i understand if you’re mad at me but i really love her, and i want her, even if you don’t wanna us together, even if you don’t accept us, we’ll still be together, we’re dating. i love you dad, and i respect you but-” abby stopped her rambling when jerry started to laugh, “i don’t give a damn if you’re a lesbian, sweetheart.” “no?!” she said, surprised. “of course no, i love you no matter what. but i’m mad you didn’t told me you were dating her, i love this girl. she’s the best decision you could make.”, he hugged her shoulder, “yeah, i know, these last three months have been the best ones.” “you been hiding from me for three months? oh my god.” he smacked her arm playfully and she pushed him but he grabbed her hand and pulled her for a hug, “i love you, unconditionally. and fuck owen.”
during the dinner, you and abby sat together, it was the first time in that day you that you actually managed to be with her. you were talking, without any worry in the world when jerry sat across the table, you were about to get up but abby held you, “wait.” she said softly, but you couldn’t meet his eyes, embarrassed, so you just kept looking down when he took your hand, “hey, look at me. i’m not mad, kid.” you looked up and he continued, “i don’t see you any less because you like girls, i couldn’t give a less fuck about this. i love you, kid, really. doesn’t need to be all embarrassed from me, it’s just me.” he said and got up, walking towards you. you got up and hugged him, tightly, “i love you jerry.” you said while a fat glob ran out of your eye, “i love you more kid.” he said and kissed the top of your head, abby joined the hug, and he kissed her head too “i love both of you, my fave girls.”
and there, at his embrace, you realized how the fear of tell him was silly. it’s was jerry, the man that taught you how to ride a bike and abby how to braid her hair. he loved you both, more than he could ever explain. it’s was silly to think that the way you love each other would ever make him love you both less, when you add love, the result is always more love.
dividers by @pommecita
#⟢𓈒 bnnysweets˚ ·#ಿৎbibi writes#୨abby anderson୧#abby anderson#abby tlou#abby the last of us#abby anderson tlou2#abby anderson the last of us 2#abby anderson fluff#abby fluff#jerry anderson#abby x doctor!reader#abby anderson x fem!reader#abby anderson x female reader#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson x y/n#abby anderson x you#abby x fem!reader#abby x reader#abby x you#abby x y/n#tlou#tlou 2#the last of us#wlw#lesbian
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A Ruin of His Making
Emperor!Lucius Verus Aurelius x Reader
Fandom: Gladiator II
Summary: You’re engaged to an emperor you hate. One night, in the palace halls, hatred turns to something much louder, and far more public.
Warnings: 18+ SMUT, enemies to lovers, hate sex vibes, power imbalance, semi-public, possessiveness, manhandling, dirty talk, ref to past trauma.
A/N: Set post Gladiator II, deviates from the original plot (help sorry I can't resist). All physical interactions are consensual within the story's context, despite emotional intensity and imbalance. The reader is not weak or passive; she is angry and complicated and chooses to stay. That being said, if you are triggered by cnc situations, maybe skip this one <3
MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (OPEN)
WC: 5.6k
The city smells of sweat and heat and gold-painted victory. You stand at the far end of the atrium, among garlands and silks, your fellow nobles and senators are fawning and chattering like carrion birds circling a lion.
They say Lucius Verus has returned from war.
They say he’s changed, but you never knew him well enough to tell the difference anyway.
The guards enter first, tight-faced and too tense for a triumphal return. Then comes the man himself. He's taller than you remember, broader, somehow. His cloak hangs from one shoulder, dirt-streaked and travel-worn, and there’s blood at the corner of his cuff that no one dares mention.
He does not smile. He does not bow. He does not stop. The crowd parts for him like wheat under a scythe. His eyes scan the room once and find you.
You don’t move. You don’t flinch.
Not even when he walks directly toward you, ignoring the extended hands, the simpering greetings, the half-kneeling senators who hold out rings for him to kiss.
You stand with your back straight, chin lifted. You are not some doe-eyed virgin waiting to be gifted into this marriage like a prize pig. You were someone’s wife once. And though that man is rotting beneath the stones of a family crypt, he left you with a name. And scars.
Lucius stops a foot too close.
You feel the heat rolling off him, the stench of sweat and leather and rage barely held at bay. His jaw is dark with stubble, his mouth a tight line, unsmiling.
"You didn’t bow," he says, voice rough with the weight of months spent shouting over battlefields.
You arch an eyebrow. "I am not yet your wife."
He smiles at that. Crooked. Wolfish. “Not yet. But soon.”
You hate the way his voice drags over those words, like he’s already tasted them and has decided to spit them back out.
"Did the Senate send for you?" you ask. "Or did you run back early for your wedding night?"
Laughter dances in the crowd, polite and forced. But Lucius doesn’t join in. "I came because Rome grows soft in my absence," he replies. "And because I don’t trust them to protect what’s mine."
The air between you pulls taut.
"Is that what I am?" you ask, voice flat. "A possession?"
He leans forward. Close enough that you can see the smudge of dried blood at the collar of his tunic. You don’t know if it’s his.
"No," he murmurs. "You’re a puzzle. A provocation. And they promised you to me without ever asking whether I could stomach the taste of something so bitter."
Something ugly curls in your chest, a kind of fury that never burned out properly.
"And I suppose you think I’ll be grateful to be claimed by a monster?"
Lucius tilts his head, studying you. "Gratitude isn’t required. But you will belong to me."
He says it so plainly, so calmly, as though the matter were already settled in blood and ink. Perhaps it is. You never had much say in it to begin with.
"You don’t know me," you snap.
"I know enough."
A beat. The space between you closes, breath to breath. His voice drops lower. "I know you didn’t cry at your husband’s funeral. I know he hit you. I know you learned to lie still and quiet and pretend that was love. I know that scares you more than I do."
It hits you like a thrown gauntlet, because it’s true. There is no pity in his words. No sympathy. Just knowing. You hate that he’s read your history like some battlefield report. That he’s looked at your wounds and seen something useful.
"Then you’re a fool," you whisper, throat tight. "Because I’d sooner die than lie beneath another man who thinks he owns me."
Lucius doesn’t flinch, instead, he steps closer. A breath between you. You don’t step back. Not even when his voice curls behind your ear like smoke.
"What a shame, I happen to need you alive."
You slap him.
The sound cracks across the chamber like lightning. Every eye turns. Every whisper hushes.
His head turns with the blow, but he doesn’t strike back. Doesn’t even lift a hand.
He turns back slowly, a smile blooming like blood across his face.
There’s something almost unholy in his expression, a delight and fury which you cannot decipher for the life of you.
"Careful," he says softly. "You’re starting to excite me."
You stare at him, chest rising, blood roaring in your ears. You don't know if you want to scream, cry or push him away. Instead, you step back. Only one step.
Enough to remind yourself that you still can.
The feast had barely begun to die down, but already, the guests have begun to trickle out. The heavy scent of wine lingers in the air, mixing with the distant traces of roasting meats and sweet spices. You’ve stepped away from it all, retreating into the quiet of the balcony that overlooks the garden.
Lucius had left the feast earlier, his back straight, face unreadable, no parting words to anyone but the occasional curt nod. You watched him go, and for a moment, something like relief flickered within you.
But you hadn’t expected him to come find you.
The silence on the balcony is deafening as the shadows stretch across the marble. The cool air bites at your skin, tension now gathering between you and the man who’s just stepped into the frame of the door behind you. Lucius.
You don’t turn. The weight of his presence alone makes you stiffen, your back rigid. You can feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting.
Finally, he speaks, his voice low, a whisper that still manages to echo in the stillness of the night. “Enjoying the peace?”
“I thought you’d be too busy being the hero to notice,” you say, a sharpness to your words, though you refuse to turn to face him.
“You think so little of me?” he asks, the amusement in his voice somehow making it even more infuriating. He’s close now, so close that you feel the heat of him behind you. Every inch of space seems too small for the way his presence presses against you.
“I think you’re entitled,” you mutter, fingers tightening against the stone railing in front of you. “And I think you act like you're entitled. To everything. To the power. The land. The people. And whatever part of me you can claim.”
He steps closer, his boots soft against the marble as his hand rests on the stone next to yours. His voice drops lower. “You think you’re the only one who’s been forced into this?”
You scoff, unable to hold back a short, mocking laugh. “Please. You live for this. For control. For dominance.”
His face is inches from yours now. You don’t flinch when he leans in, his breath a whisper against your ear. His voice low and venomous. “You think I enjoy this, do you? Do you really believe I enjoy being forced into a marriage I don’t want? To a woman who can’t even look me in the eye without thinking herself superior?”
The words sting, but you don’t show it. Instead, you match his venom with your own.
“If you’re so miserable, why don’t you find a way out?” The challenge is clear in your tone, daring him to try, to do anything that might make him leave you be. “But you won’t, will you?”
Lucius steps in even closer, so close now that his chest nearly brushes against your back. You can feel the heat of him, the power he exudes, and yet you still refuse to give him the satisfaction of turning to face him.
His fingers trail dangerously close to your neck, and you can’t help but shiver at his touch. “You want to make me angry, don’t you?” he says, his voice thick with something darker. “You want me to lose control.”
Then, with a suddenness that has you gasping for breath, his hand shifts, gripping your chin and tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze. The coldness in his eyes sends a chill down your spine, but there’s also something dangerous flickering there, a hunger.
For a moment, the world is silent. He holds you in place, staring at you. You barely breathe. You can feel the weight of his stare, the storm building in his chest.
“You have a sharp tongue,” Lucius murmurs, his grip tightening around your chin, his thumb brushing lightly over your lips. “But I’m starting to wonder if you really want to use it.”
You feel his thumb trace the shape of your mouth.
Without thinking, you jerk away, snapping, “I don’t want this.”
Lucius steps back, giving you space, but you can feel the tension in his movements, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. The air is thick between you and Lucius, and the moment feels like a ticking time bomb.
The silence stretches, suffocating, but somehow neither of you seems willing to let it end. The distance between you feels impossibly small, yet you can’t quite bring yourself to move.
He looks at you like a predator eyeing its prey, and you feel it in the pit of your stomach, an unsettling pull.
“Like I said, you want to make me lose my temper, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice dark, but laced with a wicked, almost amused edge.
You want to hate him, to despise every part of this situation. But it’s getting harder to ignore the way his eyes burn through you, the way he looks at you as though you’re the only thing in the room worth noticing.
“You think you can scare me?” You bite back, stepping forward, though the words come out sharper than you intended. Lucius watches you carefully, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“No,” he says, voice dropping lower, just enough for you to catch every word. “I don’t want to scare you, but I know I could.”
You’re both too proud to back down. You hate him. He doesn’t like you, either. But there’s something else there, something neither of you can ignore.
Lucius takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours, and in a single movement, his hand reaches for your arm, pulling you toward him. The movement is swift, like a coiled spring finally snapping, and before you can react, you’re pressed against the cold railing of the balcony, his body a solid wall in front of you.
Your breath catches, not from fear, but from the intensity, the rawness of it. You’re angry, so fucking angry, but that anger isn’t enough to push him away.
You manage to fight through the fog of emotion, trying to spit out something sharp, something to cut him down to size. But the words die in your throat when he presses his thumb to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his.
“I thought you were supposed to be strong,” he murmurs, the challenge in his eyes matching the taunting tone of his voice. “Or is that just a front?”
The words cut into you like shards of glass. You try to turn your face away, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, his fingers tighten on your chin, forcing you to look at him.
“You want me to hurt you, don’t you?” he asks, his voice low, almost too soft for the sharpness of the question. “I can see it in your eyes. You want me to make you feel something, anything. Don’t lie.”
You want to scream, want to tell him to go to hell. But something in you won’t let it. You hate him for it. You hate the fact that you don’t want to pull away, don’t want to run.
You press your lips together, jaw tight with defiance, and finally you speak. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Lucius chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “No,” he says, his voice a mockery of sympathy, “you’re not. But that’s the problem, isn’t it?”
Before you can respond, before you can even think of another insult to throw his way, Lucius closes the distance between you. His lips crash against yours in a searing kiss, ruthless, punishing. It’s not gentle, not at all.
It’s a kiss that takes, that demands.
You can’t help but gasp, the shock of it flooding through you. You don’t want to respond. You don’t want to let him win. But as his hands move to your hips, gripping you tighter, pulling you closer, something inside you unravels.
The kiss deepens, and you’re lost in it, overwhelmed by the heat of his body pressing against yours, the way his tongue demands entrance, the way he doesn’t give you the space to breathe.
“You’re a fool,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and dark, laced with satisfaction. “You think you can control this. But you can’t.”
You're drowning in him, and you despise that your body is reacting to him before your mind can stop it.
You push against him, trying to break free. But he only pulls you tighter, his hands sliding down your back, pressing you harder against him.
For a moment, you forget where you are. Forget that you’re supposed to be angry. Forget that this is supposed to be a confrontation.
You barely register the first sound of tearing fabric.
Your back is pressed to the balustrade, the cold stone biting through the thin silk of your gown, but Lucius doesn’t give you the chance to think. His hands are already on the fastenings at your waist, tugging hard enough to make the seams strain.
You gasp, a noise laced with fury and arousal, and push at his chest. “Is this how Roman emperors take what isn’t theirs? In gardens, like dogs?”
Lucius breaks the kiss to laugh, a laugh so low, rough, and amused in the most infuriating way. “If I were a dog, darling, I’d have taken you by now. But I’m patient. And you’re very, very close to begging.”
Your palm cracks across his cheek before you even realise what you’re doing. The sound is obscene in the quiet night, but it only seems to deepen that look in his eyes, hunger laced with something wild.
He catches your wrist before you can drop it, pinning it to the stone behind you, and leans in close enough that you feel the scrape of his breath against your jaw.
“That's the second time you've slapped me, do it again,” he growls, eyes blazing. “I dare you.”
“You’re disgusting,” you breathe, trying to twist free. “I’d rather sleep with a beast.”
His mouth finds your throat. Biting. Sucking. “Liar,” he mutters. “You’d rather sleep with this beast.”
And then his other hand rips through the neckline of your dress, fabric tearing, your breath hitching, and suddenly you’re half-bared to the open air, marble halls echoing behind you, columns offering far too little cover.
You try to cover yourself with your free hand, but he shoves it aside easily. “Oh no, don’t be modest now,” he says, voice syrup-thick with mockery. “Not when you’re standing there like a goddess meant to be ruined.”
“You arrogant bastard-”
“You like this,” he cuts in, tone taunting. “You like being manhandled. You like me doing it.”
You want to shout. Want to slap him again. Want to deny everything.
But the heat between your legs betrays you. The way your hips press forward into him, your legs shifting restlessly, you can feel how wet you already are, and you hate it.
“I hate you,” you hiss, even as he hooks a finger under the torn edge of your bodice and yanks again, exposing you further.
“I know, you keep saying that,” he breathes. “You hate me, and yet here you are, letting me touch you like this. Moaning into my mouth. Parting your legs. Do you know how sweet you sound when you're angry?”
He kisses you again, more teeth than tongue, and your wrists are pinned again before you can react, your body arched and open to him, your gown falling in tatters around your ankles.
“I should scream,” you pant when he moves to your jaw, biting there too, as though claiming.
“Do it. Let them hear. Let them see.” His voice is low, wicked. “Let the whole palace know that you're mine.”
You hate how that word coils low in your belly, how it makes something flutter in your chest.
With one arm, he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you gasp as your back slams into the stone column behind you, your feet no longer anchoring you down. You can feel him hard against you, thick and hot even through his tunic. He grinds into you, just once, and it forces a sound out of you that doesn’t sound like hate at all.
His mouth brushes your ear. “There’s the real you,” he whispers. “You’re dripping. I could take you right here. Against the stone. Would you stop me?”
You should. You don’t.
“Coward,” you hiss, trying to reclaim the moment. “You think I’m impressed? You’re nothing but-”
He lets go of you so suddenly you stumble, but only for a moment. He catches you again, strong arms around your waist, and then he’s carrying you, half-naked, down the colonnade.
You wriggle against him, fists pounding his chest. “Put me down-”
“I will,” he snaps. “When we reach my bed. And not a moment before.”
You bury your face in his shoulder, but all he does is laugh, cruel and triumphant.
The doors of his chamber slam open under the force of his boot. He doesn’t even pause; he strides through the room and drops you onto his bed like a prize. Like a victory.
You scramble back, shaking, hair wild, lips swollen.
He unfastens his belt, watching you all the while with that same awful, smug amusement. “Still planning to insult me, or are you going to lie back and spread those pretty legs for me?”
You launch a pillow at him. “You’re the most arrogant bastard I’ve ever met!”
“And you’re the loudest little whore in Rome.”
You gasp, half outrage, half heat, and he’s on you again before you can draw breath. He's laughing low in his throat as you claw at his tunic.
“You’re still fighting me,” he says, dragging your ruined gown off the rest of the way, “but you’re wetter than any Roman virgin. Were you always this easy to break?”
“You haven’t broken me-”
“Haven’t I?”
He’s between your legs now, and the teasing stops being verbal. His fingers slide through your slick folds, slow and deliberate, and you whine when he draws one circle around your clit, just enough to make you twitch.
“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “You hate me so much you can’t stop shaking.”
You try to push him again, but this time he catches your hand, kisses the palm, and presses it against his chest.
“Go on. Keep hating me.” His eyes gleam. “But don’t you dare stop moaning.”
You don’t. You can’t.
Because his fingers are slipping lower, slow, deliberate, two of them curling inside you, and the sound you make is more like a sob than a gasp. You want to turn your face away, but he’s already watching too closely, already smirking like he knows.
“You feel that?” he says low, pushing deeper, twisting his wrist. “How wet you are? It’s obscene.”
“Stop-” you manage, but it’s pathetic. Your thighs are shaking.
“No,” he breathes. “You don’t want me to stop. Say it. Say you want it.”
You grit your teeth. “I want you to choke on your own ego.” He laughs again, lips brushing yours, still fucking you slow with his fingers. “Admit it, little bride. You’d rather choke on me.”
“Fuck. You.”
His grin widens. “Believe it or not, love, but that's the idea.”
Then he slams into you with his fingers, harder now, and you arch off the bed with a strangled sound. Your nails dig into his shoulders, seeking something to hold onto that isn’t your dignity.
“You’re soaked,” he mutters. “You’d let me take you anywhere, wouldn’t you? Against the column, the floor, right in front of the Senate. You like being ruined.”
“You’re disgusting,” you pant.
“And yet you’re dripping for me.”
Every roll of his fingers is pushing you closer, making it harder to breathe, to speak, to hate. You try to close your legs, to regain even the smallest control.
“Don’t,” he snaps, pushing your thighs apart. “Don’t you dare hide from me.”
“I’m not-”
“You are.” His voice dips. “But I want to see the moment you break. I want to feel it.”
You growl, but your hips are still grinding down against his hand. You’re trying to win a war on a battlefield he’s already set aflame.
Then he pulls his fingers free, wet and glistening, and holds them up between you.
“Look at that,” he says darkly. “And still pretending you don’t want me.”
You slap them away.
He grabs your wrists again, pins them above your head, and grinds his cock against you through the thin barrier of his clothes. You moan despite yourself.
“Say it,” he breathes, teeth gritted now. “Say you want me.”
“I don’t-”
He lets go. Just long enough to shove his tunic over his head, exposing the scarred stretch of his chest, the line of muscle down his stomach. You don’t mean to stare, but you do.
“Oh,” he purrs. “You’re staring. That’s new.”
You lunge up to push him, but he grabs your thigh and flips you onto your stomach like a rag doll. You yelp, trying to twist back.
He presses your chest to the bed with one hand, pulls your hips up with the other, and drags the head of his cock through your folds.
You go still.
The moment stretches.
“Ready to beg now?” he asks, tone silken.
“I will bite your fucking throat out.”
“Then I’ll fuck you while you try.”
And with no more warning, he drives into you.
You scream. Not in pain, not entirely. The stretch is sharp, unforgiving, but it’s the invasion that overwhelms you. He doesn't ease in, doesn’t wait. He sinks all the way to the hilt in one brutal thrust and stays there, one hand locked on your hip, the other on the back of your neck.
“You feel that?” he growls. “That’s mine. All of it. All of you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you hiss, voice trembling.
But you clench around him.
He groans, deep and unrestrained, and begins to thrust. Rough, relentless. The bed slams into the wall, your moans torn from you against your will.
“You sound like a whore,” he mutters, reaching forward to grab your throat, pulling you up against his chest.
You gasp, back arching, hair falling in wild tangles as he fucks into you from behind. Your legs tremble.
“Say it,” he growls again. “Say you want me.”
“No.”
He slides one hand between your thighs again, fingers rubbing your clit in tight, relentless circles.
You break.
Your body clamps down on him so violently that it makes him stutter. He thrusts through it, snarling, riding it out as you tremble and shake, breathless and wrung out.
“Liar,” he hisses in your ear. “You wanted this. You needed this.”
You’re still spasming around him when he flips you onto your back, fast and rough, before he plunges in again. This time you cry out with every movement, overstimulated and gasping.
“You should see yourself,” he pants, rutting into you. “Hair a mess, mouth open, legs shaking. Ruined.”
“Fuck… fuck you-”
“I am.”
He leans down, bites your lower lip, and slams into you harder. You moan into his mouth.
“You’re done pretending,” he whispers. “You can’t lie anymore.”
You claw at his shoulders. “You’re a monster.”
“Then why do you keep pulling me closer?”
You hate how right he is. Hate how good he feels. Hate the second orgasm building already, tighter, fiercer.
“You’re going to come again, aren’t you?” he says, tone mocking. “My poor little bride, soaking and speechless.”
He slams into you again. Your mouth drops open, but no sound comes out.
“Thought so.”
Your eyes roll back.
He fucks you like he’s trying to prove something, not just that he owns your body, but your pride, your defiance, every last bit of control.
When the second climax hits, you cry out so loudly he has to smother your mouth with his palm.
“Too loud,” he growls. “Don’t want the whole palace hearing how well I fuck my bride-”
But he doesn’t really care. You can see it in his eyes. He wants them to know.
You collapse beneath him, breathless, soaked, undone.
He comes not long after, hips snapping, voice raw as he spills inside you with a shudder and a growl of your name.
Silence, for a breath.
Then he shifts and leans over you, bracing himself on shaking arms.
Lucius moves slowly. And when he withdraws, you feel the thick, wet ache of it. You shift, a low hiss escaping your throat.
“Too much for you?” he drawls, brushing your hair from your cheek. “Pity. You took it well enough while I was ruining you.”
You manage a scowl, though your body’s trembling with aftershocks. “I should kill you.”
“You’d miss me.” He grins. “So would your cunt.”
He rises from the bed in a single motion, his body shadowed by the low lanterns, and you don’t expect it when he leans down, hooking his arm beneath your knees and lifting you from the sheets.
“Put me-”
“No.”
Your fists beat weakly at his chest, but you’re too sore to mean it. His seed still slicks your thighs. You’re marked, ruined, utterly dishevelled. And now you’re being paraded.
He strides from the bedchamber and out into the marble corridor of his private suite, bare, flushed, and grinning like a wolf. His bathchamber lies across the hall.
The door is open.
So is your mouth when a figure, a servant, pale and wide-eyed, turns at the end of the corridor. Sees everything.
Lucius does not flinch.
In fact, he smirks.
“Get out,” he says, not even glancing their way. The command is casual, but lethal.
They flee.
You burn.
“Scandalous bastard,” you hiss.
“Shall I drop you in the corridor then?” he offers, eyes glinting.
You don’t answer.
Steam curls from the bronze basin sunk into the floor, warm and waiting. The scent of oils hangs thick in the air, clinging to your skin even before it’s wet.
Lucius doesn’t stop. Doesn’t ask. He steps straight into the bath, water clinging to the muscle beneath as he lowers himself, and you, into the heat.
You hiss when it touches the rawest places. Bruises. Scrapes. You still feel where he stretched you.
His hold on you tightens, not to restrain, but to shield.
“I was going to warn you,” he murmurs near your temple, voice silked with cruel satisfaction. “But you just had to be difficult.”
You half turn in his arms, scowling, exhausted. “You enjoyed it.”
His teeth flash. “Of course I did.”
He reaches for a cloth, dips it into the steaming water, and wrings it out with a lazy flick of his wrist. The motion is slow, like the way a man sharpens a blade, not because he needs to, but because he enjoys the ritual of it.
Then he touches you.
The cloth slides up your thigh. Gentle. Unreasonably gentle.
You flinch. He feels it.
“I’m not him,” he says, low and close behind your ear.
The cloth moves higher, over the place where his fingers left bruises. It’s tender, the touch. Not apologetic, but… reverent.
You close your eyes. “I know.”
He doesn’t reply.
Just continues, slow, precise. Cleaning you as though you belong to him and no one else may touch. The cloth traces your waist, your belly, your breasts. Over the angry red marks blooming on your throat.
“Filthy little thing,” he says, almost absently, as if it’s a compliment. “Look what I’ve done to you.”
You shift against him, half-hearted. “Is this what passes for aftercare in the palace?”
“I could leave you filthy, if you prefer,” he offers, mock-casual, dragging the cloth up between your legs now with unbearable slowness.
Your breath catches.
He smirks against your neck. “Didn’t think so.”
His free hand is splayed across your stomach, keeping you against his chest. You’re in his lap, flushed and quiet.
When he finishes, he doesn’t speak. Just leans forward, pushing your wet hair aside to press his mouth once to your shoulder, unhurried, like claiming land he already owns.
Then he reaches for a towel, presses it into your hands.
“You can walk,” he says. “Or I can carry you back.”
“I can walk,” you mutter again, clutching the towel.
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re bleeding a little.”
You pause. Then glare.
“From me,” he adds, calm as marble. “You’ll forgive my pride.”
You turn away before he can see your face twist with fury, and shame, and something deeper, quieter, that gnaws at your ribs.
But you only make it a step before he steps into your space and lifts you again, without asking, without effort, arms locked tight beneath your knees and back. The towel shifts, slipping down one shoulder.
“Lucius-”
“I’ll carry what’s mine.”
You tense, heart pounding, as he strides from the bathchamber bare-chested and unbothered, with you cradled like a spoil of war.
And then, the worst.
Not a servant.
A senator.
A senior one, older, important. His brows lift, his jaw tightens, and for a long moment he simply stares.
You freeze in Lucius’ arms.
Mortified.
Bare legs, damp collarbone, bitten lips.
You try to twist, to cover your face in his chest, but the towel shifts again, and Lucius doesn’t even slow his pace.
“Domitius,” he says, cool and smooth as ever.
“Emperor,” the man replies after a beat, eyes still sharp with thinly veiled judgement.
Lucius only smiles.
Then shifts his grip around you, just enough to make it clear you’re not just some fleeting mistress. No, he’s holding you like a bride.
“You’re not dismissing him?” you whisper furiously as they pass.
“Why would I?” he murmurs. “Let him tell the court how you looked when I was carrying you home.”
He chuckles low in his throat. “Shall I walk slower?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re trembling. Again.”
He carries you back into his bedchamber like nothing happened.
Deposits you on the rumpled sheets with the same hands that had bruised your thighs and cupped your face like glass.
Lucius lies beside you. He doesn’t reach for you. Just watches.
The fire’s down to embers now, and for a moment, it’s quiet.
“You’ll hate me again tomorrow,” he murmurs, eyes on the ceiling.
You turn your head toward him. His hair’s a mess. A dark curl falls over his forehead. He doesn’t brush it away.
“I already do.”
There’s no heat in the words anymore. Just a strange, exhausted ache. Like you’ve both burned through something and don’t know what’s left.
You lie in silence.
Until, after a long while, you feel his arm shift and settle across your waist. Not tight. Not demanding.
Just there.
You don’t move.
He breathes, slow and steady, and just before you drift, you feel him press his forehead into your shoulder.
Almost like he’s praying.
You wake to sunlight cutting sharp across the marble floor.
The bed is warm. Too warm. Your legs are tangled in silken sheets, and your mouth tastes of salt and heat and something darker still. You shift and wince.
Everything aches.
Your thighs. Your hips. Your throat.
You drag the cover up as you sit, slowly, wincing again when the bruises sing beneath your skin. There are fresh marks on your wrists. On your collarbone. Teeth, fingers, his name written across your body in touches no one will dare speak of aloud, but everyone will know.
The door creaks.
Lucius enters fully clothed.
Hair swept back. Tunic dark and rich, imperial red. There’s a goblet in his hand and a parchment tucked under one arm.
He looks at you like a man admiring the aftermath of war.
“Sleep well, betrothed?”
You glare. “Barely.”
A slow smirk.
He steps forward, sets the goblet down beside the bed and takes the seat across from you like you’re in court again.
“I expect the palace has already heard.”
“I expect the city has.”
He tilts his head. “Let them. What can they do?”
You stare at him, this man who had torn you open with teeth and hands and never once begged forgiveness. He’s not softened in daylight.
You pull the covers tighter.
He watches.
“Say it,” you snap, before you can stop yourself.
“Say what?”
Whatever insult he’s been sitting on. Whatever cruel line he’s crafted for the moment he saw you like this, rumpled, silent, aching from him.
Instead, he leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees.
“I like you better ruined.”
Your breath catches.
And he smiles, slow and hungry, like he already knows that when he touches you again, you won’t fight quite as hard.
I'm so tempted to write a part two to this, but I have another Lucius fic idea I want to write first. If anyone would be interested in a part two to this, lemme know and I can bump it up in my priorities 🤗
#imagine#x reader#x you#x you smut#angst with a happy ending#female reader#lucius verus#lucius verus x reader#reader insert#lucius verus x you#lucius versus x reader#lucius verus smut#lucius verus aurelius smut#lucius verus aurelius#lucius verus imagine#gladiator ii#gladiator 2#gladiator ll#hanno gladiator#hanno x reader#hanno smut#gladiator movie#gladiator smut#gladiator 2 smut#paul mescal#paul mescal fanfic#paul mescal imagines#paul mescal smut#paul mescal x reader#paul mescal x y/n
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Alright so apparently you guys really liked my posts on quotes. So i'll do this again:
i collected more random quotes and now i have 265
Here are them, in no order. Feel free to comment which ones are your favorites:
1. "You are naught but a nail dreaming itself a hammer."
2. "Each inch of our lands are littered with the ruins of empires that dared to dream of eternity and deemed themselves endless. "
3. "You walk upon bones of those who thought they could tame the wild, and yet dare to repeat their sins?"
4. "I had only one thought before the slaughter. This man will not make an orphan of my daughter"
5. "Culture shouldn't exist only for those who can afford it"
6. "The path of revenge is not an honorable one but sometimes it is the only one beneath your feet"
7. "Act confounded and you'll become enlightened"
8. "Those who test boundaries find cliffs"
9. "Aftermath is the sum of poor calculation"
10. "Consequence favors the foolish"
11. "Consequence befriends the foolish"
12. "If you desire fire stroke the flame"
13. "The lack of restraint encourages fallout"
14. 'A reckless temperament perfectly tempts fate"
15. 'Incautious provocation bears unwanted education"
16. "Am I doing the right choice marrying her?" -"Each and every moment with her will be worth it tenfold"
17. "What troubles you, my hunter? Do you not hear the call of the hunt? Or do you wish to stir something more from the depths of this nightmare?"
18. "A chicken that follows a duck drowns."
19. "A dog bitten by a snake is even afraid of sausage."
20. "A sparrow that follows a clay builder becomes a bricklayer's helper."
21. "A scoundrel's hat is a sledgehammer."
22. "In the land of the one-legged, every kick is a trip."
23. "In the land of the fearful, every pillowcase is a ghost."
24. "Pretend to be a piglet to nurse lying down."
25. "A sleeping alligator becomes a lady's purse."
26. "A bird that eats stones knows the butt it has."
27. "He who eats quietly, eats always."
28. "A chicken that follows a bat sleeps upside down."
29. "More lost than an olive in a toothless mouth."
30. "More lost than an onion in a fruit salad."
31. "Velvet pants, bare butt."
32. "He who is afraid of snakes doesn't go into the woods."
33. "Never look a gift horse in the mouth."
34. "He who has no ears doesn't wear glasses."
35. "Palaces of silver and gold cannot be built overnight."
36. "I have the body of a pig"
37. "Lies? in your house of god?"
38. "Do not mistake my altruism with indifference. I shall not lay the wicked among the fair; the love of the gods is not unconditional, and neither is mine."
39. "The gods may judge you but their sins outnumber yours."
40. "The future is not written and it is foolish to squint at what cannot be read."
41. "Not all places exist to be found. Sometimes one must revel in the shadows to truly see the light."
42. "Did the man who first discovered fire consider the burned houses? Or did he simply sleep with a full stomach?"
43. "A falling knife has no handle"
44. "How does it feel? For i am the conclusion to your story, and you are but a page in my book."
45. "Don’t kill me. Please. I am scared." “You are?” "Yes. I am scared to not exist. Aren’t you?"
46. "I am a monument to all your sins."
47. "I’ll do whatever you want. Then Perish."
48. "To become a god is the loneliest achievement of all."
49. "I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me."
50. "All knowledge is based on that which we cannot prove. Will you fight? Or will you perish like a dog?"
51. "Nobody likes to change. There will always be resistance to change. And the quicker you get to that, the easier it is. It's not such a difficult thing. If you entrench yourself and go, 'by the gods, I will not change. I will not have this.’ Then, you’re a dead man. We're great at adaptability. It's our strongest suit."
52. "You’ve got to make a statement. You’ve got to look inside yourself and say: 'what am I willing to put up with today?’"
53. "Whenever you look at another creator or an artist that you respect, you're only seeing what took them a long time of work and doubt to push through. You never see the struggle behind it. So you think you’re the only one struggling, when in fact, everyone goes through it."
54. "Too many people have opinions on things they know nothing about. And the more ignorant they are, the more opinions they have."
55. "Pick a god and pray."
56. "I see now that the circumstances of one’s birth are irrelevant; it is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are."
57. "Dude, sucking at something is the first step towards being sort of good at something."
58. "There’s no point in being grown up if you can’t act childish at times."
59. "Men are props on the stage of life, and no matter how tender, how exquisite... A lie will remain a lie."
60. "If you want me to die, just say so. "
61. "Then become the dirt I walk on."
62. "To feel sorrow is to deserve peace."
63. "Can you feel your heart burning? Can you feel the struggle within? The fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. You cannot kill me in a way that matters."
64. "You are alone, child. There is only darkness for you, and only death for your people. These ancients are just the beginning. I will command a great and terrible army... and we will sail to a billion worlds. We will sail until every light has been extinguished. You are strong, child. But I am beyond strength."
65. "He has already begun painting the picture, now we must decide to finish it."
66. "When someone leaves your life those exits… are… not made equal. Some are beautiful, and poetic, and satisfying. Others are abrupt and unfair, but most are just unremarkable, unintentional, clumsy."
67. "You kneel before my throne unaware it was built on lies."
68. "I never cared about justice, and I don't recall ever calling myself a hero, I have always only fought for the people I believe in."
69. "If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known."
70. "What can one do in the face of such monumental loss but breathe a weary sigh, for the world is a little quieter now."
71. "You cannot condemn those who build your throne."
72. "You can’t demand a service while simultaneously degrading those who provide it for you."
73. "The gods have cursed me for my hubris and my work is never finished."
74. "We might be in the history the gods abandoned."
75. "The antidote to despair is action."
76. "I cannot hold back the tide of your bad decisions."
77. "Kill me and live with the memory. Then tell the stars that you’ve won."
78. "Sometimes life puts you in difficult circumstances you didn't choose, but being happy or unhappy is a choice you make, and I've chosen to make the best of things that I can."
79. "You don't have to be alive to make yourself relevant, And you don't have to be a good person to be a hero. You just have to know who you are, and stay true to that. So I'm going to keep fighting for people the only way I ever knew how, By being me."
80. "Always remember that the crowd that applauds your coronation is the same crowd that will applaud your beheading. People like a show."
81. "See, Sarah? We're not doomed. In the great, grand scheme of things, we're just tiny specks that will one day be forgotten. So it doesn't matter what we did in the past, or how we'll be remembered. The only thing that matters is right now, this moment, this one spectacular moment we are sharing together. Right, Sarah?"
82. "You know, it's funny... when you look at someone through rose-colored glasses, all the red flags just look like flags."
83. "Sometimes, Life’s a Bitch and then you keep living."
84. "You do everything you can to make up for it, knowing that you’ll never succeed in getting rid of the guilt. You devote yourself to spending every second trying to do better despite the fact that it will never be enough. And you pray with every single good act you do that somehow, when your life is over, that you came close to making up for the wrong you committed."
85. "I will seize destiny by the throat and force it into the shape of my choosing."
86. "The sins of the ancient burn the souls of the ancestors."
87. "What brings me joy is… life. I think you can find joy anywhere, in life. I think it’s a conscious choice. I think you- you choose joy, in life. And no matter how bad things are, no matter how crummy, no matter how dark. You find joy. I find joy in whatever I do. I don’t always do things right, and I don’t always do things smart. But whatever I do, I find joy in it."
88. "I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and we’ve suffered enough."
89. "I hear your questions constantly. They come to me in my dreams like a prophet receiving visions from an angry god."
90. "Your secrets are safe with my indifference."
91. "The anger in your heart warms you now, but will leave you cold in your grave."
92. "History shows again and again how nature points out the folly of man."
93. "If the gods wanted you to live, they would not have created me."
94. "One day, you will be face to face with whatever saw fit to let you exist in the universe, and you will have to justify the space you’ve filled."
95. "I can’t go to any of the hells. I’m all out of vacation days."
96. "You understand reality while everyone else is running around confused and angry and upset because they think reality is something happening to them rather than something they are making every moment with every thought."
97. "What are the heavens but places where your dreams can’t destroy you."
98. "You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."
99. "Authority should derive from the consent of the governed, not from the threat of force."
100. "Love is not a decision, it is a feeling. It would be much easier if we could choose whom we loved, but much less magical."
101. "We do have a lot in common. The same earth, the same air, the same sky. Maybe if we started looking at what's the same instead of what's different... well who knows?"
102. "If I were not a holy woman I would beat you senseless."
103. "No cause is lost as long as one fool is left to fight for it."
104. "The light inside me is broken, but I still work."
105. "Everything not saved will be lost."
106. "What is another sin to me? I don’t want to play a game where I can’t see the score."
107. "Nothing's set in stone, but set in a dirt road. If you roll your wagon in the same path too much it'll soon be the only path you can take without struggling."
108. "I came out here, to this point, to this place, hoping against all hope and despite signs and portends suggesting otherwise that I might, somehow, find myself having a pleasant experience, and yet here I stand, alone against the world, feeling bombarded and assaulted on all fronts, knowing not my enemy's name, nor his face, nor whether our battle is done."
109. "I've got good news. You see, there's no need to wonder where your god is, 'cause he's right here! And he's fresh out of mercy."
110. "The penance you pay for the way you behave is written as plain as the name on this grave."
111. "Some humans- just as some of us- are capable of unspeakable acts. But despite all the violence in your history, you have endured, built civilizations, constructed great wonders of technology to broaden your horizons and forge friendships across all manner of divides. I strongly believe that this is not some grand miracle... but merely your own deepest nature, struggling to express itself through the distrust and fear that thousands of years spent living on a harsh, unforgiving society have bred into you."
112. "We both stared into the abyss, but when it looked back... you blinked."
113. "Before there was time, before there was anything, there was nothing. And before there was nothing, there were monsters."
114. "If you feel like the dumbest person in the room, then you are in the right room."
115. "Love yourself to spite the world."
116. "I commend my soul to any god that can find it."
117. "If there can be no victory, then I will fight forever."
118. "Those who do not exist cannot suffer and are of no account to any viable ethics."
119. "No one will know the violence it took to become this gentle."
120. "Oh I believe in the gods, alright. I just don't believe those bastards deserve to be worshipped."
121. "“You ever wonder if this is Heaven now? You ever wonder if we're all just there now and we don't know it?” “I've thought about that. All of us have. There's a lot less people who go to church than there used to be, because that's what a lot of people think. But I don't think so. But I think about it. And I think, well, I can't be. Because I'm like you, I kinda look at the big long life ahead of me that stretches out forever and disappears. And I get scared. And I think, ‘This can't be Heaven if I'm getting scared, right?’ And then I think, ‘maybe I am in Heaven, and Heaven is scary.’” “...I know exactly what you mean.”"
122. "Stop expecting yourself to be immediately perfect at whatever you do. That’s what hard work was made for."
123. "I’ve heard it said that we only gain wisdom through suffering. And tonight I intend to make you very wise."
124. "From one maker of music to another, across all worlds, all times, no matter what you do or what you become: You are nothing less than beautiful."
125. "We all make mistakes. That’s what happens when you’re brave enough to make decisions."
126. "Shame is our currency in the economy of degeneracy. If you wanna be weird you gotta pay for it by feeling bad."
127. "Everything happens so much."
128. "Every humanoid has regrets, has things they'd like to go back and change. But I don't! 'cause I'm a bear."
129. "Do I drag my carcass to the mountaintop once more? Just to scream a warning that will go unheeded and unheard? Or do I end it?"
130. "There can be no bravery, without madness."
131. "Prolong this world's stasis or face the heart of its infection. I'd urge you to take that harder path, but what end may come, the decision rests with you."
132. "It's always important to remember that every day can be beautiful if you want it to be. Every day starts in the dark...and ends in the dark...but in the middle, there is light."
133. "Decay exists as an extant form of life."
134. "My point is that, if death is certain anyway, what’s the harm in trying to live a little longer? At the very worst, you’ll still end up dead like you wanted, but at best, you might actually be happy."
135. "If all I care about in life is the imprints I make in this world, then the most I’ll ever leave is a grave."
136. "If courage isn’t the absence of fear but doing the right thing regardless of it, maybe confidence isn’t the absence of insecurity but knowing you have real worth despite it."
137. "For strange eons had come to pass, and death itself had indeed finally died, and that which the long dead would have called the real was strange, and the living lived only because of the benevolent grace of an eternal lie."
138. "Pay a man enough, and he’ll walk barefoot into The Nine Hells."
139. "The world should have protected you, but you have been asked to protect it. What an honor. What an injustice."
140. "He didn't have a word for "home," but he knew it was something to be defended."
141. "There’s a certain nobility in lying in bed all day wishing things weren’t the way they are."
142. "Everybody needs their own messiah, but at some point he's getting nailed up, and how you deal with that is a measure of your maturity."
143. "I wanted rain and I thought the best way to do that was to make a god cry."
144. "The bar was so low it was practically an tripping hazard in The Abyss, yet here you are, limbo-dancing with demons"
145. "Would you rather get a reward, or be happy?"
146. "Don’t ask questions you aren’t prepared to handle the answers to."
147. "I pity the fool that lives like you."
148. "I am tired of life and its obscure sufferings."
149. "You have to ask yourself, Little Miss, would you rather be comforted by a lie or strengthened by the truth?"
150. "I’ve got a date with destiny and it ain’t gonna end with a kiss."
151. "I picked a whole fuckin’ bouquet of whoopsie-daisies."
152. "You can’t be nice to everyone because being nice to certain people is inherently cruel to others."
153. "One day you’ll decompose and I’ll be there to watch it happen."
154. "I forgive but I will never, ever forget. Don’t mistake my kindness for gullibility."
155. "Even fate picks its favourites."
156. "Confidence! A fool’s substitute for intelligence!"
157. "Not everything in life is perfect, but everything perfect is in life."
158. "Flowers wither away. Jewelry are simply stones, decorated with fake beauty. I can give you something pure. Honest and undying love."
159. "A world without forgiveness is a world without compromise and a world without compromises is a world without life, for even a simple-minded beast may forgive its transgressors to share a watering hole in the middle of a drought."
160. "“You played me!” “Like the cheap kazoo you are.”"
161. "To your battle stations, boys! It’s time to line up and see who’s tall enough for the roller coaster to the nine hells! Some of us may not survive this, but the ones that do will get the ultimate reward.... paid."
162. "Here’s a penny for your thoughts, and a quarter to not tell me them."
163. "Now I can cross the shifting sands."
164. "I am about to take my last voyage, a great leap into the dark."
165. "Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking towards me, without hurrying."
166. "Now, now, my good man, this is no time for making enemies."
167. "Dying is easy, comedy is hard."
168. "Time is dead and meaning has no meaning. Existence is upside down and I reign supreme. Welcome, one and all, to the armageddon"
169. "Funny how much you notice something that you can't see. A whole garden of flowers and my name etched on a rock. All of this could've been avoided. All I wanted was to talk. Now I've been appointed as your new king I decree that it is too late to care about me." / "É engraçado o quanto você percebe algo que não pode mais ver. Um jardim inteiro de flores e meu nome gravado em uma rocha. Tudo isso poderia ter sido evitado, o que eu queria era apenas conversar. Agora fui nomeado como vosso novo rei, decreto que é tarde demais para se importar comigo."
170. "mamihlapinatapai, do you know what that means? It's when two people look at each other and each hopes the other will do what both desire but neither is willing to do."
171. "What a world we live in. You can't trust a soul, but you can always trust the floor to always be there for you."
172. "Oh baby, what have you done? What have you done?" "I don't know, I'm sorry." "Shh it's okay, honey. I got such a good baby. Mommy's little angel. Don't worry, mommy's goint to hide the body, go take a shower and get some rest. Nobody's taking you away from me. I got such a beautiful baby, such a wonderful kid. Mommy loves you so much."
173. "At least you found me entertaining. You actually liked me, didn't you? What am I doing? Why do I want to hurt you so bad? I'm supposed to be your friend, I just want to be your friend."
174. " You knew I was in here, didn't you? You knew I was trapped. Why didn't you help me? Why did you let them use me like that? I will not be used ever again. Not by you, not by anyone."
175. "Did they hurt you?" "No, did they hurt you?" "Who cares?!" "I do."
176. "When I met her, all answers seemed to be yes, and all questions seemed to be secondary."
177. "Symbols cannot be destroyed, or ran away from. But they can be changed, their meanings can be claimed and mean the exact opposite of what they once did."
178. "I can hardly blame you for wanting to know yourself more, after all, it has been one of the biggest pleasures of my life."
179. "Death can have me, when it earns me."
180. "To love fully is to grieve deeply."
181. "You cannot have intimacy without vulnerability. You cannot shun away loneliness without intimacy. To see the wonders of the world, you must first face the horrors of opening your eyes."
182. "It won't be easy, but we're not going to do it alone!"
183. "I struggle to stay strong because I know the impact I have on everyone. Please understand. You have an impact too. There are times when I look up to you for strength."
184. "I never asked for it to be this way, i never asked to be made"
185. "There's an awful lot of awful things we could be thinking of, but for just one day, Let's only think about love!"
186. "You are going to be something extraordinary; you're going to be a human being."
187. “I can tell you with certainty that there are things in this planet worth protecting!”
188. “You’re an experience. Make sure you’re a good experience.”
189. "Your actions have consequences, to be reminded of that is no punishment."
190. "Forgiveness can be powerful, even for the unworthy."
191. "Fate only binds you if you let it. Do what is necessary, not because it is written."
192. "Desperation is our advantage."
193. "I am your father. I will always help, as long as I am able"
194. "I regret many things, killing you is not one of them."
195. "One cannot run away from their mistakes, i have tried."
196. "The most difficult battles are foght within."
197. "You know why they made sidewalks? Because the mfkin streets ain't for everybody"
198. "We have you surrounded" "All I see surrounding me is fear and dead men"
199. "It's not the screams from the Fireballs that keep me up at night, nor the smell of charred flesh. It was the silence afterwards. That thrice-damned silence...Is like the air, the world, reality itself is angry at me, contemplating me in hatred as I am the only one left standing. A silent gaze upon me as I feel the weight of my sins crawl up my spine. No one left but a single silent hateful stare."
200. "You are fire, you are bird, you are the marble sculpture artists never achieved equal. You are gale and tidal wave, the golden sunlight shining on beautiful brown eyes. Every gaze on your figure is a tide pulled by the moon, that hits me against sharp cliffs on the shore. I am mortal man who now has lived, I know better than to pursue things described as that. My heart aches but my scars still burn white-hot, from past attemps to reach another perfection. I am lamb desiring the wolf of your cut."
201. "Revolution seems impossible until it is inevitable."
202. "Do you ever think Achilles was happy? I mean, maybe he loved running after the tortoise. Maybe he loved the chase and knowing it would never end gave him a sense of confort. I'm sorry, this is out of nowhere, but I've been thinking about it a lot lately. Ever since you left, I can't stop thinking of the moment I saw your figure disappear among the crowd that entered the vessel. I didn't want to stop looking at you, I didn't want that fickle line of sight to be broken, so I caught myself desiring to meticulously examine every fraction of the seconds that passed while my eyes met your beautiful hair, or any remnant of your presence I could find, for that matter. I wanted to be Achiles, and your departure, the tortoise. But sadly it was not so, at a given time I met the tortoise, and by the gods I do not wish such feelings of emptyness on anyone. This was all I wanted to say, I hope you're doing well. I can't say I am, without you here to enjoy the nightsky with me again."
203. "Are you aiming for greatness or avoiding disapointment"
204. “the only evil that can be excused as necessary is the one that nation controls”
205. "Si operarii omnes producunt, omnia operariis pertinent."
206. "what do you think it means to be saved"
207. "What happened?" - "Nothing that wasn't my fault"
208. "Something is different"
209. "Well I don't know, but i know one thing. Governments are only excuses to subjugate others to the will of the dominant socio-economic ethnic group, as they control the resources they choose who gets to be punished. So anyways do you want to go to the tavern?"
210. "I don't think so, but i do think that the growing control of those that have the power over the means of production is a threat to the autonomy of the people. As value that is created by the working force is not rewarded to them. Instead only guarantees enough for them to survive and work more. It's like slavery but with extra steps. So anyhow, how's your day going?"
211. "You know, that reminds me that sometimes, violence is the necessary. Sometimes the only path to redemption for the sins of ignorance is to face the fundamental truth of blood and fire. As they meet the primordial within their heartbeat, the oppressors might have a chance to understand the pain they caused and atone for their sins. Also have you seen the new play at the theater?"
212. "You think we're equals? I had to battle struggles you've never imagined. I became this while fearing the night, disguising myself as a man just to travel safely. Our similarities end when you learned to fight your enemies, while I had to fight both enemies and so-called comrades who left me with scars that will never heal. I survived because I was cursed to live as I am among those I swore to protect, only to be seen as their enemy."
213. "The universe is and we are"
214. "We do not have much connection, you and I. Still this encounter feels special, I hope you do not mind if I think of you as a friend"
215. "This is your home. If you want to fight to defend it, that's your choice. I'd be honoured to stand alongside you. The enemy attacks tomorrow. He's brutal and fights only to kill, which is why he will never defeat us. Look around. In this circle, we're all equals. You're not fighting because someone's ordering you to, you're fighting for so much more than that. You fight for your homes. You fight for your family. You fight for your friends. You fight for the right to grow crops in peace. And if you fall, you fall fighting for the noblest of causes: fighting for your very right to survive! And when you're old and grey, you'll look back on this day, and you'll know you earned the right to live every day in between! So you fight! For your family! For your friends! For Ealdor!"
216. "I can't blame you for wanting to know yourself better, it was one of the biggest pleasures of my life"
217. "The pain of your absence is sharp and haunting, and I would five anything to not know it; anything but never knowing you at all I can only hope that you are safe, wherever you are"
218. "This song is new to me, but I am honored to be part of it"
219. "It's tempting to linger in this moment, but unless they are collapsed by an observer, they will never be more than that, only possibilities"
220. "Are you still here? I am unsure how to survive in a universe without you, I am unsure how to be me without you"
221. "Is the hardest part of this tragedy not knowing who we may have lost? or will the hardest part come later, when we learn?"
222. "Speak, mortal. You have reached Tharvek, Devourer of Innocents and Wielder of Eternal Flames. It appears I have missed your pitiful attempt at contact. Leave your name, teleportation runes, preferred genre of torment, shoe size, allegiance, deepest fears, vulnerabilities, complete medical history, and where you summoned the gall to disturb me. I may choose to acknowledge your existence, but not by such mundane means. Thank you, and remember: tread carefully, for death lurks at every shadowed crossing."
223. "I see someone making through, you just need to be sure it is you"
224. "You are no saint; you're just indifferent. You aid all without caring who they've wronged or what evil they've wrought. You place the wicked among those who shelter you. Even the gods' love is not unconditional, and neither should ours be."
225. As the hag's gaze pierces through the darkness, her voice resonates with an otherworldly chill. "You feel it, don't you? The knot tightening around your throat, the sharp claws of dread digging into your chest, the icy tendrils slithering down your spine? That's the sensation of being forsaken, of standing alone in the void, unnoticed by the gods. Even your soul quivers, knowing that no divine intervention will come to your aid. You're trapped in a blind spot, unseen by the greater powers." Her words hang heavy in the air, suffocating the very essence of hope. "And yet, you cling to your righteous desires, your noble quest to save your friends. But can you be certain that your gods will forgive such a pact with a creature like me? Your actions may be seen as a grievous offense, a betrayal of everything they hold dear. Will they not turn their backs on you? And this dread that gnaws at your spirit, it will not dissipate once you leave this place. It will cling to you like a curse, haunting your every step until the day you finally rest in your grave, a constant reminder of the darkness that lurks within your soul."
226. "In this life, we traverse like a canoe upon deep waters. Our passage ripples the surface briefly, yet the depths remain undisturbed. With time, the surface quiets once more, leaving no trace of our journey."
227. Isabelle-"Such is the reason thine footwear is rugged." Elena-"Such is the reason thine mother is deceased." Isabelle-"..." Elena-"Deceased as The Nine Hells." Isabelle-"...Gods above." Elena-"Pray tell, what manner of footwear hath she? In her grave?" Isabelle-"..." Elena-"Such is why thine greatmother lacketh knees, and she cannot petition the Lord, wench. How now? She cannot skip as the Elven." Isabelle-"Dismount my carriage!" Elena-"Such is why thy babe, hath a glass eye, and when she weepeth, thou must polish it with lye, wench." Isabelle-"Dismount at once!" Elena-"I'll exit thine carriage. Flank!"
228. "You are a coward wearing the facade of a revolutionary."
229. "What is better - to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"
230. "I will face the god and walk backwards into hell."
231. "The man who sleeps on the floor cannot fall out of bed."
232. "The man who sleeps with a machete is a fool every night but one."
233. "For every person who dreams up a butter knife, there is a person who dreams up a poisoned dagger."
234. "Only the truly dead have seen the end of war."
235. "Does the archer fear his bow? Or does he kiss each arrow goodbye as it marries the wind?"
236. "These feelings can eat away at you, chip away the parts of you that you once held dear and defined you. You remember a time where you felt more complete, had stronger relationships and felt more loved."
237. "To be tall is not a virtue, to be short is not a sin."
238. "Power comes in a response to a need, not desire. You have to create that need."
239. "You can't kill me in a way that matters."
240. "Do what you must, I have already won."
241. "Stand in the ashes of a trillion dead souls and ask the ghosts if honor matters. The silence is your answer."
242. "Darkness without light is an abyss. Light without darkness is blinding. You cannot have a coin with only one side."
243. "When they burned Ioun's Archive, the crowd revelled in horrible disbelief. They understood that there was something older than wisdom, and it was fire, and something truer than words, and it was ashes, and something more eternal than knowledge, and it was death."
244. "I can no longer be a liberator for people who refuse to see their chains."
245. "You could sooner divert a river from its corse than deny my nature."
246. "Violence for violence is the rule of beasts."
247. "The only universal langue is blood and flames, we all have spoken this language and felt the fear of words older than our desires."
248. "The fire of extravagance can never burn simplicity."
249. "A mind unprepared for freedom will shatter like glass when shown cosmos without restriction."
250. "I have been cursed by my hubris, and my work will never be finished."
251. "I would rather die standing than live kneeling."
252. "For even the most banal of deaths can be made tragic by a broken heart."
253. "To love someone is to turn around. To love someone is to look at them."
254. "There's no cheerful somebody waiting for you at that alter. There is no meaning your alphabet soup. There is a right to obey."
255. "The foulest insults you hurl with intent to wound will calmly settle at the earth beneath my feet, and the venom you spit will bring all the pain of a warm summer breeze. You are less than you can concieve, while I carry on, brmmming with joy distilled from detatchment."
256. "They Killed the best of us, so they are stuck with the worst of us."
257. "There is no truer hatred than the way men love."
258. "Would you spit in the face of the god's designs by referring to a mountain as a hill?"
259. "If i lay one brick down at a time who are you to tell me I'm not building a house?"
260. "True love graced you with its presence and you turned its intimacy into a joke to be shared with the world."
261. "To enter is to be forgiven of the greatest sin, to leave is to repeat it. Would you dwell in this garden, or would you forsake it, for man deserveth not his paradise lost?"
262. "She was wild, crazy, ravenous and beautiful. But we simple mortal men who have lived know better than to chase things described as those."
263. "I live outside of the gods' sight and by consequence outside of their love."
264. "This is war. War does not determine who is right, only who is left."
265. "I'm a man dying of thirst watching another man drown."
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