#remember if you live long enough to be killed you can be called a saint instead of a coward ! goodnight !

[martyrbat]

hm.

[imaginesmai]

Promises to keep (3) - Azriel

Final part! Thank you for the support, I usually don't post the fics so rushed, but I wrote all the parts at the same time and why keep you waiting? Enjoy it!

Part 1, Part 2

Plot: Azriel and you have been rescued from a living hell, and now it's time for recovery.

Azriel remembered little about the hours following your rescue.

He remembered the calmness he felt when he heard the familiar steps through the hallways, thinking your soft smile was because of them too. He could hear again and again Rhysand and Cassian calling out for you two, and him shouting back – and he could feel the knot on his chest when you didn’t look down the hallway with him. He remembered thinking you were going to black out like the previous times. And then, he heard your heart.

Just before Rhysand and Cassian barreled in covered in blood, Azriel heard your heart slowing dangerously. He tried to keep you awake, and felt his whole word crumbling when, after Rhysand pushed past him to look at you, you closed your eyes.

Azriel remembered little about that day, only the feeling of your hand in his through the recovery.

Madja had been a saint through all of it, enduring his screams when he woke up thinking you were back in the cell, and you weren’t in his arms. She didn’t comment about the burns on your hands and the burns on your soul. She didn’t complain when Azriel and you were laid in the same bed because he couldn’t bear to have you out of sight.

She was a saint, and Azriel would be forever grateful for it.

Through conscious and unconsciousness, he healed slowly but firmly. Not as much could be said about you, whose wounds had yet to close and power to return. He laid his broken body next to you as he healed, and prayed each time he was awake that you woke up to one last promise.

“I’m sorry it took us so long” Rhysand confessed that night, only the moon illuminating the room. Azriel was laying on his side, staring at your motionless face. “We should… I’m sorry”

“I don’t blame you” Azriel croaked out.

Rhysand had yet to know the full details of what happened, and the lord guessed he would never know them all. The way Azriel’s eyes had been haunted, the burns on your hands, let him know enough. He couldn’t let go of the guilt of not arriving sooner, but even his was insignificant compared to Azriel’s.

When he wasn’t staring at you in silence, he looked ready to break down the world for what had happened.

“There was a male. Tall, black eyes. He knew about her powers. Made her use them” his voice was rough with unuse, sad and regretful. “Did you find him?”

“If he was there when we arrived, then he hid well. We killed everyone left” Rhysand was silent for a moment, debating whether he should tell his brother what he knew.

“I want to know it” Azriel’s hazel eyes briefly left your face to look at him. “Don’t you dare to hide it. Tell me”

“We didn’t find him, but… when you were taken, we used everything we had to find you. There was no trace, no smell, that could tell us where they had taken you” he swallowed hard, thinking about the first hours of panic and chaos. “But Lucien… he recognized the magic left on your cabin. Knew where it came from”

“Where?”

“The continent. It was the same magic he found when he went looking for the Vassa” before Azriel could press further, he continued. “I can only theorize, but if you say he survived her powers, that might had been Koschei”

“He’s here?”

Azriel rose on one arm, no sign of discomfort from his wounds. Rhysand didn’t know if it was prudent to tell Azriel about Koschei, because his brother looked ready to travel back to the continent to find him. He could only guess what he would do if Feyre was in that bed.

Koschei had appeared not so long ago and had showed interest in Azriel’s powers. He had taunted the Illyrian, angered him until he had shown him a part of his shadows. And still, Azriel knew it was a blessing that Koschei wondered about him and not about his mate. It seemed, that blessing had been short-lived.

“Y/N’s powers… we had been lucky until now. If Koschei has Vassa in that lake, Y/N would seem like a perfect complement”

“But we were careful” Azriel interrupted him, now sitting in bed. “When he came, she was away and didn’t come back for a month. Why now? Why does he know about her and her powers? Did someone betray us?”

“Or he smelled her through Vassa” Rhysand shrugged, as if he hadn’t been breaking his mind for the last month trying to understand what went wrong. “You can try and guess, for now, the only thing we can do is keep her safe”

The bond stilled in his chest for a long second, and Azriel looked down at you. Peacefully sleeping, you looked like an angel. He had seen the carnage at the cell. How, body after body, had melted when your light infiltrated through their pores and broke through. Each patrol sent your way had met the same fate. The last ones, when your power was on the verge of giving up, had been the most grotesque.

All of that had been because of him. You had refused to acknowledge your power for centuries, had dismissed any chance of training it in fear of repeating what happened the night your parents were murdered. And you had finally done it for him. The man who couldn’t keep your hands safe from the fire.

Rhysand’s hand on his shoulder startled him, and he looked up. The high-lord, like everyone else, was worried about him. About what he ate and drank, how much he slept and talked. He was regaining his mobility back little by little, but whatever time he could spend off the bed, he stood by your side.

Azriel willed himself to smile for his friend, his brother, but nothing came out.

“Thank you” he chose to say, for lack of better words. “For coming for us”

“Try to sleep”

The high-lord left with silent steps, Azriel watching each one of them. And when he was out of the room, only your quiet breaths breaking the silence, he promised himself he would find Koschei and burn him down to ashes.

-

You woke up two days later, and Azriel was almost fully healed by them. He still couldn’t fly or run, but his body was healing.

The first time you opened your eyes, he was in the kitchen for the third time since you came back. He felt your emotions through the bond and almost drained himself too when he winnowed back to your rooms.

For the next hours, Madja overwatched your recovery and gave you instructions about what to do now. Rest a lot, eat a lot, drink a lot. No big movements, no straining yourself, no powers. As if you would willingly use them again. No sex too, she declared with a sharp look at Azriel, who didn’t bother looking back. He listened to her instructions with neat attention and was close to kneeling before her in gratitude.

Once your friends had given you half-hugs and heartful apologies, you were left alone with Azriel. Madja hadn’t even left the floor when you tried to stand up.

“What do you need?” Azriel pushed your shoulders back with a scoff. “Madja told you to take it easy today. Don’t move until she comes back tonight. Do you need water? Food?”

“A hug would be nice”

You tried giving him a small smile and Azriel breathed through his nose. The tension on his shoulders dropped a little, his wings fluttering. After a second of consideration, he sat on the cushions next to you and dragged your body to his side. Any movement of his wings was painful and itchy, but he swallowed the discomfort and draped one across your back.

Your now bandaged hands fell on his chest, and the relief Azriel had let himself feel since you woke up died down.

Last night, he had finally opened to Cassian about what had happened. His brother had hugged him tightly, almost painfully, as Azriel cried onto his shoulder. The physical recovery would only be a part of a long journey, Madja had said that morning, before you woke up. What Azriel had endured in and out of that cell would haunt him for a while, but Azriel refused to let it take him away from you.

So, with a sharp breath, Azriel looked away from your hands to your beautiful eyes.

“You look good” you admitted. “How are you feeling?”

“Leg’s fine, nothing more than a medium limp now. Madja stitched it up and the skin has regenerated with her tonics. It feels… weird, but it’ll be alright” Azriel explained, eyes locked on yours. “And the wings will heal, too. I can’t promise you flights across the Sidra anytime soon, but Cassian can take you”

“You just lost half of your appeal” you chuckled.

The sound brought a smile to his lips. When you were with him, when he could stare into your eyes for hours in the safety of your home, he could pretend nothing had happened. A bad mission that had left him sore, not his worst nightmare come true.

With your head resting on his shoulder, you let the warmth of the morning heat your body. You were sore, too. Your back and arms hurt, your chest shook with each breath and your legs were cramped. Above all of that, you felt the crushing void of your power in your soul, restoring itself little by little.

Azriel seemed to know all of that from just staring at you, and his gaze saddened.

You had talked about that possibility before – about someone finding your powers, wanting to take advantages of them. When you first met him, it was political talk. The dangers of you staying in the court, the ways they could assure your protection, techniques to avoid you ever being noticed. As the years passed, those talks developed into feelings.

Into the fear of someone finding you and taking you away from Azriel.

You looked down to your lap and fidgeted with your fingers. The new skin felt strange against the bandages, but you didn’t complain. Not when his hand covered yours and he brushed a careful finger against the bandages.

“Don’t say it, Az” you sighed, feeling the apologies build in his mind. “It wasn’t your fault more than it was mine. I don’t blame you and that’s all. Please, don’t say it”

“I need to. Just one time” he admitted. “Let me say it one time, and you won’t hear it more. Let me get it out of my chest before the guilt consumes me”

You pressed your thumb and index finger together, stretching the bandage. You knew what he wanted to say, and you hated that he felt the need to apologize. Azriel had offered his life again and again in that cell for you without ever letting you argue against it, and would do it once more. But through the years, you had gotten to know him, and you understood that he needed that.

So you nodded without looking at him, and felt his chest widening in a breath.

“I am so, so sorry, because they did that because of me. Maybe they knew you wouldn’t let them touch me and were ready to…” his voice trailed and he silently pointed to your hands, not ready to say it. “And I’m sorry you had to use your power. I tried to shield you from it, my love. I’m so sorry I failed you”

Failed you

Long ago, when you first realized your feelings for the shadowsinger weren’t common, Azriel had made you the first promise. That he would keep you safe from the people who hurt you, that he wouldn’t let anyone force you to use your powers. Those had been empty promises, that you had needed in the dark nights of the first years.

Azriel had kept that promise, that impossible promise, during centuries. There had been others that had tried, people who knew about you and found where you were. And each and every threat was eliminated before they could reach you.

You knew that Azriel would have rather died in that cell that even think about you using your powers to free him. You thought briefly about the devastation on his face when he had realized what you had done, for him. It wasn’t disgust, or fear. It was self-disgust and failure on his part.

Shadows gathered around the bed when you looked at him once more, raising until you could look at him comfortably. His hand steadied you at your lower back, the other still holding yours. You didn’t need to shove your emotions down the bond, as they all were shining in your tearful eyes.

“I’m sorry too I wasn’t strong or brave enough to get us out sooner. That you had to get through all of that and he still knew” you confessed, trying to keep your voice loud and clear. “I’m sorry because I failed you too. I promised I would keep them hidden and I didn’t. Azriel, I would…”

You paused for a second, and let yourself soak in the love that seeped through his hazel eyes. He knew that, just as he couldn’t and wouldn’t blame you for that, you couldn’t and wouldn’t blame him. Love made you powerless, maybe reckless, but it was your love was the axis of his world.

A slow smile formed on your lips at the next words.

“I would have burnt that place and myself down for you. And there’s nothing you can say or do to change my mind”

“And I would have endured each beating for you too, with a smile on my face”

They were sad words, ones neither of you wanted to hear. But your love had gone through worst and would endure more. You were a dangerous person, not just for yourself but to others around you. Your powers drew a target on your back, and no matter how hard Azriel scrubbed, it wouldn’t go away.

And Azriel’s feelings, his devotion to you, would always put him at risk. Both you had learned to live with that and would continue to do so.

“I don’t expect you to keep every promise we make” you told him, squeezing his hand softly. “You promised me once that you would love me with your last breath and thought. And I promised you that you would hold my heart till the ends of times. That’s the only promise I care about”

Your wedding vows, made fifty years ago, brought tears to his eyes. He remembered his family gathered together for the event, the once in a lifetime feeling that rocked his body when he saw you walking down the altar in that beautiful dress. The words of the priestess were dull and incoherent as he looked at you, so beautiful and magnificent.

He had known by then that you would be his ending, that there would be no one after you. All that waiting had been worthy the moments he set his eyes on you, and each second by your side reaffirmed it.

Azriel leaned forward until you were inches away, your smiles matching.

“I promise you once more than I won’t ever stop loving you, my love, not even when my heart stop beating”

He closed the distance between your bodies and kissed you, closing another promise that he intended to keep, no matter what.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

Let me know if you want me to do an Azriel taglist!

Azriel taglist:

@boygeniuses10

Promises to keep taglist:

@historygeekqueen

[arabaka]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ angel x sex devil!fem!reader. CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ !!! somnophilia (kinda, you're technically awake). thigh fucking. slight belly bulge. slight cervix fucking. WORD COUNT: 2.6K PSD CREDIT !!! MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI !!!!!!!（ ꐦꉺωꉺ)つ

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ a prequel of sorts to this fic starring aki !!!

Sunlight creeps through your bedroom window, but just barely; the curtains are drawn and still, echoing the silence that's fallen over the rest of your sanctuary. It's unlike your surroundings to be quiet and your halls to be bare. Not for this long. 

To think, you'd be reduced to this: a sniveling lump surrounded by silk bed sheets you no longer feel entitled to. You'd be pissed… If you had the energy to spare.

Is this what being on the brink feels like? What it feels like to have all the cards dealt and not a single winning hand to play? And all because a squadron of Public Safety made a deplorable showing in battle and got wiped out, but not before calling for your aid. You made the wrong choices, bartered your power to simpletons masquerading as knights, and are now paying the price. You can't remember how you perished in your last run about, but you know one thing. It couldn't have been worse than this.

You have one option at this rate. Just one.

"Makima…" Your attempts at barking orders are slurred, "If you’re gonna wanna keep me around, you better send your finest. Now.” Look at you. Groveling before Public Safety. The embarrassment could kill you.

“Oh?” A snide answer for a pitiful prayer. “That’s no way to talk to get what you want.” Makima is quick to put you in your place. She always does. “I’ll send someone.” The seconds she takes to speak feel like hours to you as you lay, shivering and curled in misery, that her answer doesn’t provide the immediate relief you foolishly thought she’d give you. What’s worse, you just know Makima is smiling on her end of the call.

The click of the phone sends you straight to sleep, your body finally collapsing now that the weight of survival has been lifted off your shoulders. You can fear whatever Makima will have in store for you another time. For now you’ll slumber, dreaming of all the possible suitors Makima could be sending over. You hope it’s that Hayakawa Aki you’ve been hearing about.

When the doorbell rings, you aren’t there to receive it. When the second chime echoes your halls, you don’t even stir to hear it. The third press of your doorbell goes unanswered, just like the others. “Makima,” Says the voice outside your door, “She’s not answering.” 

“That’s what the key in your pocket is for.” 

So he steps through your door and takes the spiral staircase that can only lead him to you. You live so differently from him, the number of rooms in a single hall intimidating for the devil that only has a single space in the Public Safety building to call his own. You intrigue him. You always have but he’s never gotten close enough to experience your power. Now you’re just a few steps away, the door to your bedroom open just a sliver and he feels his chest tighten.

You see, because unlike his name, Angel is no saint. He’s a devil and just like any other, has inclinations that are a little malicious, a tinge corrupt. Makima’s proposition to him had been simple, but he saw it as an opportunity. A chance to experience a pleasure he’s seen play out on those internet videos humans love so much. Not to satisfy a craving but rather, a curiosity. And who better to help him than you, the notorious Sex Devil?

Angel doesn’t know what to expect from you though and he’s thought about it the whole car ride over. The last thing he anticipated, however, was to find you fast asleep in bed, flat on your back and dressed only in a satin robe. Now, Angel usually doesn’t have his eyes wander. He never feels compelled to. But here, he’s following the outline of your form, starting with your face and thinking how deceptively innocent you look. He can’t say the same for the rest of you; your robe, which looks fancier than anything in his closet, hugs your body so tight, it’s divine. You leave almost nothing to the imagination, even your nipples tent through the thin fabric and your legs, slightly parted, make the bottom hem of your clothing ride up your thighs. 

Angel exhales, keeping his breath low, and inches towards you at the end of the bed. His fingers drum pensively on his leg before reaching out for you, just for a touch. Your skin is sleek, soft and feverish. He thinks you’ll wake up but he catches your chest rising and falling at the same, slow pace so he grips your ankle a little tighter. Not rough, just firmer. He thought about waiting for you, figured that would be best but god, whatever effect you exude is so potent his head is swimming in dizzying lust. 

He’s never felt like this before, at least not that he can remember. It’s so foreign, feeling this desperate for sexual satisfaction and it’s making Angel act in ways so unbecoming of one with his visage. He swallows the lump in his throat, climbing onto the bed with you, in front of you and sitting on his knees, without a second thought. 

Angel’s jacket slides right off and soon joining the heap of clothes on the bed beside you are his tie and belt. What am I doing? He thinks but can’t stop himself. Numbed hands start to pluck at the button on his slacks and then his zipper and before long, his pants are bunching around his knees. He dips into his briefs, throat tightening when he starts to fist his swollen cock to you. His eyelashes, long and dainty, flutter together as his eyes come to rest on your face, your features so soft and delicate as you rest. Your lips are supple, tempting. But he’s so fixated on your legs, on the fat of your thighs that he’s fisting his cock to them before he even realizes it. 

He’s never quite touched himself, not like this and certainly not with anyone in the same vicinity. His dick becomes harder with every pump, Angel’s breath sharpening and jutting his hips to his own hand at the newfound, glorious relief. He continues like this for a while, first being satisfied just jerking off to the sight of you asleep but he touches you once, palm running up your leg and realizes that he can feel better. You can help him feel better.

Gently, he bends your leg. You don’t bat an eye. Then he bends the other. You’re still passed out. He manages to dock your legs over his shoulder, one hand keeping your ankles nice and stable while his arm comes to wrap around your thighs, drawing you nice and snug against him. He takes a peek at you. How have you not woken up yet? Biting his lip, against all rationality, he sticks his cock between your raised thighs and shudders from the compression. His head falls, crimson locks coming to frame his face as he rolls with the waves of pleasure that come from grinding into your thighs. The friction you’re giving him is luxurious, the way you grip and smooth over his cock making his lids heavy and his jaw relax. He dares to quicken his momentum, forgetting all about how wrong this is, how awful he is for doing this because you just feel too good to deny.

That is, until you pipe up. “I didn’t take you for a thigh guy, Angel.” You watch, entertained, as Angel stumbles back in surprise though you keep him standing with your feet digging into his shoulder and your tail hooking around his waist. 

“You were awake? Why didn’t you say anything?” Angel asks, shame contorting his lips to a frown and sullying his tone. Blush dusts his cheeks, almost as red as the hair that trails down his body

Gracefully, you lower your legs, parting them to put Angel in the center, your center. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world, you answer, “I wanted to see what you’d do. Felt good, huh?” The red hue starting to bloom on his cheeks answers for him and you giggle, staring at Angel with a bright, mischievous glint in your eyes. “You wanna feel even better?” Your tail, uncoiling from Angel’s frame, rises, the pointed tip slowly drawing up to his neck and then his chin. His lips part for a shaky breath, goosebumps rising all along his skin from your immense allure.

Your tail wriggling excitedly, you declare, “Then you better finish this. C’mon, you’re not going to let a fellow devil die here, are you?” 

And that’s how you get the Angel Devil dressed down to nothing, his petite and beautiful frame now on full display as he stands at the end of your bed. There isn’t a mark on his body, not a shred of evidence that he’s been through war and turmoil. He’s flawless as far as you can tell, like a statue crafted for the gods. “You’re so pretty.” You say, transfixed by the shroud of his wings and the halo that glimmers brighter than anything you own. 

Your thighs squeezing him by the waist, he quickly melts back into your plush skin. His member, still stiff and laid over your pelvis, aches for your touch. Moving over your compliment, he states, “I’ve never done this before.” You get chills from this admission, gaze flickering from his cock to his eyes. “Do you want to?” You ask and when he responds with an assured but wispy, “Yes” you immediately follow up with, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

On the heels of your command, Angel winds his hips back, breath stagnating as he positions himself. He lingers on the sight of your pussy, on the shine of arousal that lies over your folds. You’re so pretty, your words echo in his head but now he’s thinking of saying that to you but his mouth is so dry he doesn’t think he can manage it. The lewd picture has his cock throbbing in his hands and you’re clearly enjoying his attention, hearts in your eyes for the devil before you. 

“I’m going to put it in.” Angel’s voice is hushed as he starts to close in the gap between the two of you, his tip prodding at your entrance tentatively. He gasps at the wetness that immediately meets him, his cockhead already slathered in your juices before he's even gotten an inch in. You watch as Angel's member, long and slender with an upward tilt, starts to slide into you and it’s the most relief you’ve felt in a while because where Angel lacks in width, he makes up for in sheer length. 

You sigh in pure bliss as you feel him dig into you, carve his name into your walls with the forked veins that surround his dick. The pressure of him prodding against you, the curve of his cock dragging along your insides in a way that is both thrilling and surprising, both have you taking your bottom lip in your teeth. You tremble as you feel Angel move further in with still so much to go, your thighs clenching around him and you squeak softly when the tips of his feathers tenderly brush the side of your foot. 

Angel grabs your thigh and bores his nails into your flesh as his pelvis bumps against yours, finally settling the last inch inside you. He grunts so faint you almost miss it. He feels a light film of sweat developing over him, a chill running down his spine when his cock throbs in you and he can literally see it bulging in your belly. 

This was nothing like the videos he’d seen. This was vibrant. It was overwhelming. Your cunt grips him so well, so firm that every little twitch is felt and it makes his whole body rattle. He fights the heaviness of his lids, the urge to just sink into the gratification of it all, and pulls back, only to jam himself back into you almost immediately. How you feel is just too enticing, he can quickly see why some humans are addicted to this. 

His thrusts into you are slow and methodical, like he’s savoring every second. Angel doesn’t want to forget how much your walls cling to him as he pulls out, only ever going so far as to have the head of his cock right at the edge of your entrance. He rolls his hips hard, rocking your body and the mattress with every dip. Angel’s hand slides down your thigh almost lazily as he lurches forward until his face is right above yours. 

For the first time, you’re able to see just how striking Angel’s gaze truly is. The crimson in his eyes is bold and alight with a carnal passion, making your stomach flip and serves to intensify the pressure building up in your core. He’s gorgeous, his beauty so ethereal you could easily spend your time admiring his features. It’s a shame he’s just like you, a devil, otherwise you’d have reason to crawl to him time and time again for sustenance (and fun while you’re at it).

Your first kiss with Angel is an accident, his lips crashing against yours when he starts to pound into your pliant pussy with rigorous force. His lips are thin but as soft as they looked. The kiss is awkward at first, Angel having no recollection how the rhythm of a kiss goes but you guide him, show him how to move his mouth by example and Angel learns quickly. His kiss turns tender, his lips meshing against yours while maintaining the pace at which he’s stuffing you with his cock and the combination has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your brain starts to feel fuzzy when his tongue manages to slip past your lips, hesitantly licking into your mouth before you reciprocate and the kiss turns messy. 

“I think,” Angel murmurs against you, “I’m going to– going to cum soon.” He trips over his words, a heat falling over him that draws sweat beads over his temples as his movements into you become frenzied and manic. His hips jutting wildly, you feel his cock fill you more, even feeling him smash against your cervix and because you moan, he’s only encouraged to deepen his thrusts. He’s determined now, to hit that sweet spot because the noises you make are so beautiful and all for him. Angel has to admit; he’s drunk off you and greedy for you. He can feel his release building at the base of his shaft, his balls winding tight until he feels the build up of pleasure explode and crash over him in waves. You meet him with a similar reaction, the plug holding your orgasm back popping and washing him with your essence.

You cry and whine as he continues to ride out his climax, spilling his cum so far into you that hardly any spills out when he leaves you. That’s good, you need all that you can get. You breathe in deeply, a renewed vigor flooding your veins. It’s the most alive you’ve felt in days. You open your eyes, vision landing on Angel’s hand, still prominently grasping your hip while his thumb rubs circles over you. Your skin is colder without his touch, Angel finally withdrawing after lingering in the quiet for a minute or so. 

“Soo,” You rise to a seat on your knees, still naked while Angel is back in his suit and tie, “What did Makima promise you? For doing this?” 

“Oh,” Angel nearly forgot about the added bonus, “She said I could have all the ice cream in your fridge."

Well. You're going to give him what he was promised, aren't you?

[thelovelyruin]

𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖞.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘 : toji x fem reader

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖓 : you’ve been cheating on toji with his best friend while he’s away on business.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓 : smut, angst, porn with plot, vaginal sex, praise, love, cheating, manipulation, teasing, fingering, edging.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖙 : 3.5K

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗 : inspired by lyrics from pretty by the weeknd.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘 : hello lovelies, thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoy it, if so, follow me for more. au revoir!

18+ MDNI ADULT CONTENT

You will never feel this pretty, and you will never feel this beautiful, when I make it there.

You’ve been looking back and forth between your phone screen and the terminal for the past ten minutes, awaiting his arrival. Anticipation overtakes you, happy to see him after all these months. Another project, he says, but all you hear is another period of loneliness. Fortunately, Gojo told him he’d take good care of you. Well, he surely did. Much, much more than he was supposed to. How long has it been now? 2 months? All you know is that this little fling didn’t start immediately after Toji left for France, despite Gojo giving obvious signs of romantic and sexual attraction. You fought the urges as long as you could, until one night when you missed Toji a little too much, at least that part of him that could satisfy your sexual greed. And who was there? Who didn’t leave you for months at a time, with nothing to hold but the pillow that held his scent? Unfortunately for Toji, that scent was fading, and that lust was growing. You remember that first night, it had been raining particularly hard, due to a hurricane passing through.

“I don’t think you should drive in this weather, it’s raining cats and dogs out there.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I guess I’ll take your couch for the evening then.”

Expectations can kill a simple man, a simple woman.

It wouldn’t hurt right? It’s not like you two were sleeping in the same bed together. Until you couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night, and Gojo was just so conveniently awake. Skin on skin, sweat on sheets, you two couldn’t get enough of each other. Endless nights of defiling the bed you and Toji once shared. You really felt bad when you’d get a text from Toji first thing in the morning, telling you he misses you, he hates the time difference, and how bad he’s trying to finish up work to get back home to you. You’d go to the balcony and call him, Gojo still sound asleep in your bed. Toji would tell you all about the sights he’s been able to see and the foods he’s been able to indulge in, and it hurts particularly bad when he’d send you pictures. Like the one he took in front of the Eiffel Tower, or the one in front of the Louvre, or the ones he sends you when he stays up till 4 AM to have phone sex with you. And he lives for those calls, waiting patiently and forcing himself to stay awake, while you were, well, what were you doing? Arguing with Gojo, of course. You knew you should’ve ended things the second he told you he wanted you to break up with Toji.

I try to master the art of that far away love.

“How can you say you love him if I'm railing you every other night, huh? That doesn’t sound like love at all, but you don’t give a fuck, do you? As long as you get your rocks off, you don’t care who you hurt.”

“Oh, you’ve got some nerve, fucking your best friend’s girlfriend. Don’t think you’re a goddamn saint, Satoru. You act like I told you to catch feelings for me. I mean, what did you think was gonna happen? I’d leave Toji, and me and you would run off and get married and have a little house on the hill with a white picket fence and a nuclear family? Give me a fucking break. I told you from the beginning this was just sex.”

But that argument was days ago, and you hadn’t talked to him since. The distance between the two of you really opened your eyes to what you had done, and things became so real when you got that call from Toji telling you he was finally coming home.

I've been living on the road and you've been living all alone, at home.

"Hey babe, know you’re probably workin, but I got good news. The project’s wrappin up and I get to come home. Be in tomorrow night, Gate C, 11 PM."

Attached was a photo of his boarding pass, which caused your emotions to crumble you down and swallow you whole. Running around for the past few months with another man, and now here Toji was, plane landed, and you were waiting for him at the gate. Like a good girl.

As long as you know that when I land you’re mine.

You peer out the car window and finally see him walking out, you could’ve sworn it was a mirage. He wore that sweater he knows you love so much, muscles stretching the fabric, with a pair of black jeans to match. The moment he laid his eyes on you, he began to rush towards you. You give him a wide smile, opening your arms as he brings you into a full embrace, nuzzling your face in his chest and neck. You took in his scent, tobacco and a musky cologne, the scent was intoxicating. He loosens his grip on you so he could get a good look at your face and of course, you’re crying. What type of girlfriend would you be if seeing him after all these months didn’t bring you to tears? Gently, he wipes them away, kissing you softly with a hand on the back of your neck, pulling away to meet his lustful eyes. With a quick sweep, he picks up his bags, walking to your driver’s door to open it for you, then to the trunk to put them in. As you get into the car, you notice you’ve gotten a text from Gojo, which you don’t even bother to read, just switching your phone to silent and swiping away the notification. Toji opens the passenger door, startling you out of your mission to pretend Gojo doesn’t exist. You give him a weak smile and turn the car on, putting your phone in the cup holder. He comes over the seat to give you a kiss, buckling his seatbelt and putting his hand on your thigh. All of a sudden, you’re touch deprived and that damn hand is the stimulus you needed, the itch Gojo you can't scratch. You drive the car and attempt to act as normal as possible, head flowing into overload with all these emotions. Lust, regret, love, guilt, the list goes on as Toji gives you a concerned look.

“What’s up baby? Look like you’re thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’.”

Then, it all hits you. Toji didn’t deserve this. Here he is, being the good boyfriend he always was, while you drown your sorrows in another man. To say the most while saying the least, you were a goddamn whore. You knew it, but that wasn’t gonna stop you from pretending that things never happened.

“Yeah, baby. I’m alright, just happy to see you is all.”

“Yeah? You missed me-”

'Cause I see fear in your eyes. You've been living out your life.

The two of you are interrupted by your cell phone screen illuminating the cup holder. Toji reaches down to grab it and your fucking life flashes before your eyes. Was this it? The moment you’d been putting off? The inevitable? You give a small sigh as Toji reads the notification, and you feel your heart sink when his smile fades a bit.

“Gojo wants to know if you’re still mad at him? You guys get into an argument about something?”

“Um, yeah. Nothing too crazy, just over who was gonna pick you up from the airport.”

“Why would you guys be going back and forth about that?”

“Well, he didn’t think I should be out this late, but I insisted because I wanted to see you as soon as possible.”

“Oh okay. Looks like you got your way huh?”

Girl, I hope he made you satisfied.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Then, you give him one of those saccharine smiles, acting like nothing was wrong. The car ride went normally after that, the radio playing softly in the background as Toji went on about the project he was working on. But you, you were spaced the fuck out. Mind blank as you revel in the comedown of the fear you’ve been accumulating for so long. You were snapped out of your haze when you felt Toji’s hand begin to move upwards, his lustful eyes on you like a wolf that needs to satisfy its hunger. Your breath hiccups as his hand travels beneath your jeans, starting to rub your mound through your panties. He does it painfully slow, obviously teasing you, noticing the way your eyes start to flutter and your skin is getting warmer. And you think you’re gonna go crazy, as he picks up the pace just to take his hand away. Toji then gives you one of those little chuckles he does when he knows he’s got you all worked up, smirking and getting comfortable in his seat, trying to pretend that you don’t see that tent in his pants getting higher. Finally, thank god, you think to yourself as you arrive at your apartment. Toji gets out of the car and walks to your door, giving you his hand to climb out of the seat. He gives you a little kiss on your forehead, then proceeds to get his bags out the trunk. You begin to mentally prepare yourself for what’s about to come. You’re practically edging yourself with thoughts of finally getting touched by your boyfriend again. You unlock the door to your apartment and you both walk in, locking the door behind you. In one fell swoop, Toji dropped the bags and pinned you to the back of the door, lips taking your mouth like a starving man. You moan into the kiss when he pulls your legs up to wrap around his waist, hands supporting your lower back as he carries you to your bedroom.

Somebody told me it was pointless for me to come back into your arms.

With a swift motion, Toji lays you back onto the bed, towering over you as he begins to take his top off and unbuckles his belt, throwing it to the floor. His hands, calloused and warm, begin to undress you starting with your shirt, taking the time to kiss your chest as he pulls it over your head. And as your arms fall back down, he’s already on you, feverishly sucking and biting the skin of your breasts, snaking a hand behind your back to free them from their captivity. As your breasts fall out the bra, he takes a nipple into his mouth, massaging the other in a way that has you mewling soft moans into the air. 

But only so much can keep a woman warm.

Toji finds his way down your body, kissing and licking the skin of your torso as his fingers hook under your pants. He pulls them down fast, then comes down to your panties, which are having a hard time covering how obviously wet he’s made you. But he’s not gonna give you what you want quite yet, instead leaving hickies up and down your thighs as he sees you bucking your hips into the air, practically begging to be touched. He gives a sly smirk as he brings his lips to hover over the fabric of your thong, taking in your scent that he’s missed for so long. A thumb comes up to rub your clit through the fabric, making you squirm and plead for him. Once he’s satisfied with how frustrated he’s made you, he pulls your panties off, coming once more to your clit, giving it a soft lick. His eyes are on you now, and he thinks you look so fucking pretty for him. All hot and bothered, wrapping your fingers in his hair and attempting to push his face down.

And he can't make you feel this pretty. No he won't make you feel this beautiful.

Toji brings his lips to yours, beginning to eat you. His tongue works its way in and out of your pussy, nose rubbing against your clit. His arms come up to wrap around your thighs, keeping you in place as he devours you like a mad man. And you swear head has never felt this good, the way he’s eating you, no, consuming you, Gojo’s tongue could never compare. And you make him so happy when you pull at his hair, riding his face as he brings his fingers up to explore your pussy. His fingers pump in and out of you at a rate that drives you crazy, making that feeling build up inside you. Toji knows your body all too well, time hasn’t gotten in the way of his knowledge at all, cause he sees that pretty face you’re making when you’re trying to contain yourself, and the way your mouth opens into an O as his fingers find that special spot inside of you. You’re begging, praying, he lets you cum and doesn’t decide to edge you. Your eyes meet him as you whisper to him that you’re about to cum, that fire inside you about to go ablaze. There he goes, smirking again, sucking harder and faster, picking up the pace as you melt against him.

“So then, cum for me baby.”

And with that, your body betrays you, that feeling you tried so hard to contain snaps and you’re seeing fucking stars, gushing cum on his fingers, saturating his lips with the juices he’s craved for so long. The wave crashes, the cup spills, and you’re putty in his hands, moaning his name out into the room so beautifully that he swears he might die. He brings himself up to get a good look at you, wiping his face of your essence. You look so god damn sexy, the light of his life, the fire in his loins. You were just so goddamn perfect. Toji’s good girl.

We've been living in a cold, cold world, a cold world.

You’re watching him with anticipation, it feels like he’s taking years to undo that damn zipper. And just as you're seconds away from ripping his pants off, he’s stripped them off and thrown them to the floor, his boxers shortly behind. You’re practically in awe of him, physique on full display, everything from his chest to his, well, your one way ticket to a second orgasm. He’s back on you now, kissing your neck and leaving love bites as he positions himself. You’re driving him crazy, the scent of you, the look of you, the feel of you, as he slips inside you slowly. He feels your hands come up to his back, nails digging into the skin there as you brace yourself for his shaft, reveling in the feeling of being stretched open again. To be fair, it’s not like Gojo didn’t have good dick. It just wasn’t Toji’s, wasn’t even in the same fuckin ballpark. 

But at least I have you to rely, even if for a short time.

Toji pushes inside you fully now, groaning in your ear as he begins to fuck you slowly. The slow strokes are sending you into oblivion, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Once he’s satisfied that he’s prepared you enough, he picks up the pace, breathing on your neck and whimpering as you take him oh so well. And he feels like your pussy was made for him when he pulls out to slam his hips back into you again, and you're screaming out his name like your life depends on it. You can’t bear to look at him when he gives you that look, like he’s gonna take you, take everything you have and you’ll give it to him, because you're his and you know it. No man will ever make you feel the way Toji does, not when he’s rutting his hips into you at a threatening rate, pulling whimpers out of you left and right. Then, there’s that goddamn look on his face again, because he knows he’s fucking you so hard and so good that you’ll be his and his only. Fuck anyone else, he was fucking you here and now, and there’s that feeling again, body craving to cum all over him. He knows you’re close, and like clockwork his thumb comes down to your clit, rubbing it to take you higher and higher. You’re losing your goddamn mind. So many months of wanting, needing, yearning, for Toji’s touch and here it was, lulling you into a haze, mind all fuzzy from your inherent need to cum. With a couple of deep thrusts, he’s got you right where he wants you. You throw your head back into the pillow, arching your back and scratching the skin on his shoulder, trying to find something to grip on as your body cums for him. You’re spent, giving him everything you have to give, singing his name like a lullaby that’s pushing him right where he needs. He’s moaning and groaning like crazy, hand gripping the headboard as he loses himself in your pussy. It’s like a firecracker for him, cumming in the pussy he’s missed for so long, hearing your squeals as he cums inside you. His body falls over yours, careful not to hurt you, then falling to your side, gasping for air. The two of you are a sticky, sweaty mess, cum surely all over the sheets. In that moment, you forget. You forget your regret, your sorrow. You forget the cheating. You forget your mistake. You forget Satoru Gojo.

There are certain things that I've come to understand.

Toji pulls you into his embrace, nuzzling your face against his chest and wrapping your arm around him. As he pulls the covers over the two of you, all you can think about is ending things with Gojo. You knew what you wanted and it was Toji. Who else would hold you like him? Satisfy your cravings? Surely not his best friend. And as you feel his hand begin to rub your back, you feel yourself drifting away, into a plane of existence where there’s only you and Toji, and nothing could ever compare to the feeling of his love washing over you.

“I know you fucked Satoru.”

The words you never wanted to hear. A wave of guilt washes over you, pulling you under the water where you're damned to accept the consequences of your actions. You freeze, unsure of what to do or say next. Surely you won’t bring your eyes up to look at him. How could you? You knew you couldn’t bare to see the hurt expression on his face when you actively admit to fucking the person he entrusted to take care of you in his absence.

“He sent you that text earlier, nearly lost my shit when I read it.”

“Toji, I-”

“Wanna know what he said? He said ‘I know you’re probably still upset with me, but I’d be lying if I said I didn't miss you, especially that pussy.’ I can’t make this shit up.”

Said you fucked another man, finally I knew this day would come.

“How long?”

“Two months.”

“You gotta be fuckin kidding me. Do you want him?”

“I, I, um-”

“Answer me, do you fuckin want him?”

“Toji! Of course not, the only man I love is you. He was just, just a thing to fill the void. I promise, it just happened, I never wanted to hurt you!”

 But baby, I won’t cry.

Toji groaned, bringing his hand to his face in defeat. You were crying now, straight word vomit, saying anything to get him to forgive you. But you know you fucked up. You fucked up bad. And now Toji is gonna leave you. Leave everything you’ve built together, all because you couldn’t keep your legs closed while he was gone. But, despite his anger, he brings a hand up to your face to wipe your tears, arm slinking around your waist as he pulls you back down to his chest, letting out a deep sigh.

“Just please tell me you won’t see him anymore and I promise I won't leave you for that long again. But cheat on me again and we’re fuckin over.”

“I won’t, Toji. I promise.”

"Quand une putain de colombe chante sa chanson, c'est tout ce qu'on entend. Les jours défilent comme de la ficelle dans le vent. Embobiné dans ma toile, je les dévoile à nouveaux. Souffrant d'un cœur brisé. Une douleur très profonde. C'est là où je l'ai aperçue. Seule.”

𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 : “When a fucking white dove sings its song, that's all we hear. The days roll by string in the wind. Tangled into my web I reveal them again. Suffering from a broken heart. A very deep pain. This is where I saw her. Alone.”

♱ the song used in this story is pretty by the weeknd. 🖤

♱ masterlist.

♱ all fics playlist.

𝖆𝖚 𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖗, 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖞𝖗𝖚𝖎𝖓.

[sassy-cass-16]

hate to put a downer in the tag but is anyone else majorly disappointed in s&b season 2? it feels like the show was rushing to get to all the "important bits" without giving them the weight and buildup they deserved. they front-loaded the entire plot of Crooked Kingdom and got to the ending of Siege and Storm in, like, episode 2. And that ending... holy shit, that sucked.

No white-hair-Alina, no orphanage happy ending for her and Mal, no mention of Alina's full-ass cult. Does no one remember the girl with suns tattooed on her face??? I do. she was cool. And what the fuck is up with David dying in the assault on the Fold? He wasn't supposed to die until Rule of Wolves, it makes no sense why they pushed his death to this season. They're clearly expecting to get a season 3, based on the ending with the Crows (which is, inexplicably, the hook of the book that came before the one they adapted for this season????) so why would they not expect to play David's death out the way it happened in the book? And, again, why the fuck did they front-load the plot of Crooked Kingdom? Why is Kaz's most famous scene just kind of tossed in the middle of the season with no actual narrative buildup? Why does the show feel like Matthias, of all people, needs to have beef with Pekka Rollins??? Those two characters have exactly nothing to do with each other--iirc, they don't even interact in the books. It feels like the writing team just sat around a table and went "ooh what if" until they wrote enough words to fill in a script. I can't tell if Leigh Bardugo gave all of this her blessing, or if she just looked away too long and they went rogue on her.

(side-note, killing the king and Vasily at the same time wasn't a great choice. the scene in the book where Nikolai looks his not father in the eye and tells him to get out, or he'll be charged for his crimes against Genya is such a good moment of catharsis for her character, and the queen isn't in enough of the show for her little replacement scene to fill that gap.)

And I know I've mentioned this before, but the Darkling's death in the show is robbed of its weight by the way the show treats the name Aleksander. It's tossed around so flippantly that Alina's final extension of respect for him--calling him by the name he had when he was innocent--feels like she's just... saying goodbye. She's using the name he's had this whole time, rather than specifically calling him Aleksander as a show of respect for the dead. The Darkling is supposed to be a tragic character--not likeable by any standard, he's thoroughly and truly the villain of the Grisha Trilogy, but you're supposed to understand that at one point, he was innocent. At one point, he could have done something good. His death is a reminder of that, in the books. In the show, all you really feel is relief that you don't have to listen to his manipulative dialogue anymore.

Honestly, the season doesn't suck. It's not bad (I have some extra gripes about the sound design but that's definitely a budget issue and not really anyone's fault), it's just disappointing. There were some bits I really did like, too!! Every scene with Genya in it was absolutely incredible, the show did her so well. The humour in this season was consistently good. Show-Wylan lives up to his book counterpart very well. And the subplot with the saint in Shu Han was really well-done, even if I do wish the show had kept the original catalyst for Jesper using his Grisha powers. I know the show can do the books justice (the two Nina and Matthias scenes in season 1 that are literally word-for-word accurate come to mind as examples), and I do want there to be a season 3 so I can find out where they're going with all this. I was just expecting better. I'm sure people who haven't read the books, or are more forgiving of "high-budget fan fiction" style adaptations will really enjoy it, and that's not bad by any means.

Idk. I was just hoping for something the show didn't want to give, I guess.

[sylvienerevarine]

Fic: A Night At The Theater

You guys remember Falura, the slave girl who the Nerevarine has to find as a bride for an Ashlander chieftain? I love her and have decided she and my Nerevarine, Sylvie, are besties. So I have written about them.

(Tagging @bravelittlescrib for being foolish enough to encourage me)

--

Life in the Ashlander camp was far from luxurious, but Falura had grown to love it. She loved the warm, cozy interior of her yurt; loved the children tossing their guar-hide balls back and forth on sunny days; even loved her new husband the chieftain, who was rather pompous but at heart a very kind man. It wasn't the easiest of lives, but it was far better than slavery.

The Zainab camp was remote, without much excitement save for wild animals and storms, and Falura was prepared to spend the rest of her life settling village disputes, raising children, and never being surprised.

Until Sylvie came back.

It had been months since Falura had seen the red-haired wood-elf- and back then, Sylvie hadn't yet been the legendary Nerevarine, the hero of the province. She'd been a scruffy adventurer desperate to prove herself as the fulfillment of all those ancient prophecies.

Still, she had delivered Falura out of slavery and into her peaceful new life, and in doing so had established herself in Falura's mind as the greatest hero of the era. Since then, Sylvie had slain the evil Dagoth Ur and become beloved by all... and yet here she was, back in Kaushan and Falura's yurt, behaving as though nothing had changed at all.

"Falura, Kaushan, darlings," Sylvie said, plopping down on one of the bedrolls. "It's been too long, hasn't it? You have no idea how much I've missed you. I can see things are going well here- I always knew you two would be a wonderful couple."

"Always an honor, Nerevarine," Kaushad said, with gruff fondness. "Can't say I thought we would see you again."

"After all the help you gave me? Why, they couldn't keep me away. And Falura and I grew so close on our journey that I simply had to check on her."

"So... what have you been up to since your great adventure?" Falura asked hesitantly. Great adventure was putting it mildly, but Falura didn't quite feel up to saying since you killed the devil.

"Oh, I've been here and there," Sylvie replied. "Traveling, exploring. Been spending quite a bit of time in Mournhold lately."

"And what's in Mournhold?"

"Shopping, mainly. And doing a bit of work for the royals," Sylvie said vaguely. "But mainly the shopping. The clothiers there are fabulous."

She dragged out the a in the last word: f-aaa-bulous. Falura was never quite sure if Sylvie's posh accent was real or affected. She'd asked once, to which the Nerevarine had responded: "Darling, you think I know? I have no memory of my education."

(Sometimes, Falura wondered if Sylvie's amnesia was somewhat affected as well. Being a polite lady, she had never asked.)

(Nor did she ask about Sylvie's new scars, none of which could have come from shopping.)

"But never mind me," said Sylvie, after a brief pause. "In fact, I came here to see if you'd like to go to the theater."

"The theater," Falura repeated slowly.

"In Vivec, specifically. Apparently Crassius Curio- he's a Hlaalu lord, you won't know him- has written a play about little old me," said Sylvie, as though all of this was perfectly normal. "He's an old friend, sort of, and I felt I simply had to support him. The play's called Saint Sylvie Moon-and-Star, which apparently some people find sacrilegious, but knowing Crassius it'll simply be ridiculous."

"It does sound like fun," said Falura hesitantly. "But it's quite a long journey, and I hate to leave my husband..." She cast a questioning glance at Kaushad, who looked highly amused.

"Oh, go on, old girl," he said. "No harm in your having an adventure now and again. Go show those Vivec snobs we've got style in the Ashlands as well."

Sylvie clapped her hands together delightedly. "It's settled, then," she declared. "This is going to be such fun!"

--

Saint Sylvie Moon-and-Star was to be performed in Vivec's newly-constructed theater, established in the Hlaalu canton by Lord Curio himself. It was by far the grandest building Falura had ever been in, and as she and Sylvie settled into their plush red seats, she was torn between awe and homesickness.

The curtain rose on a mock prison cell, where the heroine languished on a bed waiting to be freed. The actress playing Sylvie was rather shorter and plumper than the Nerevarine herself, but she'd managed the iconic hairstyle: short, red, dramatically flipped up at the ends.

"That's got to be a wig," Sylvie murmured. "Still, it's a nice one, so I'm not offended."

All seemed well for the first hour of the play, as Player-Sylvie fought ancestral ghosts and charmed ancient wizards. The mood changed abruptly, though, when Player-Sylvie encountered Adamantius Hlasko, a licentious nobleman whose vote was necessary for Sylvie to become Hortator.

"And how, my sweet blossom, do I know you're worthy of being our Hortator?" Adamantius asked Player-Sylvie, who seemed smitten with him. "Such a delicate creature as yourself may not be up for such a hard task."

"Why, sir, you underestimate me," said Player-Sylvie. "Just on the way here I slew ten ghosts and six bone-lords!"

"You know," said Adamantius, "some call me the bone-lord."

Player-Sylvie giggled and blushed. "And why do they call you that, sir?"

"Ah, my little duckling," Adamantius replied with a leer, running a finger down player-Sylvie's cheek. "If you wish to become Hortator, I would be more than happy to show you."

Falura let out a shocked laugh, which she cut short at the sound of an irritated huff next to her.

"I am going to kill that man," Sylvie growled, her accent suddenly sounding much less posh.

"I assume that's not what really happened?" Falura asked cautiously.

"Of course not! That son of a blighted rat, doesn't he know I have a reputation to uphold? It was bad enough that Crassius insisted I kiss him in exchange for his vote. If people thought I seduced my way into becoming Hortator..." Noticing annoyed looks coming from nearby spectators, Sylvie let out a quiet noise of frustration and shook her head. "Never fear, Falura, I will be avenged."

--

The play came to a close an hour later, the curtain closing to thunderous applause. Sylvie seemed to have perked up by the play's ending, which depicted her slaying the villainous Dagoth Ur after cheerfully saying "So long, darling! No one's going to miss that hideous mask."

"I don't think I did say that in real life- I was much too frightened," she'd confessed in a whisper. "But I would have if I'd had my wits about me."

As the curtain fell, Falura wondered if Sylvie had forgotten her vow of revenge. She received her answer when a man, barrel-chested and brown-bearded, raced up to the two women in the theater's lobby.

"Crassius," Sylvie said with a tight smile. "Well, well. How very nice."

"Sylvie, dumpling!" Crassius exclaimed. "How delightful that you could come to our little play. I did try to stay as true to your marvelous story as possible..." He was cut off with a loud thwack, as Sylvie's Wraithguard-gloved fist met his cheek.

"Splendid writing as always, Crassius dear," Sylvie said with a bright smile, while Crassius was still groaning in pain. "Care to get dinner, Falura?"

[andarthas-web]

Baba Jaga’s Bitch

The phone rings, and rings and rings as the sirens howl in the streets below and Viggo prays to every saint he can remember that his call will go through.

After what seems like hours pressed into mere minutes, the ringing stops as the phone is picked up and he starts talking immediately, not even bothering with as much as a hello, because this is too important, too fragile, and he can't risk the only chance he might have.

"Aurelio just told me what happened. What was done to you. And I know it's bad, but listen John, he is the last thing I have of his mother. Please John. If not for my sake, then for hers."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, another thing that takes far too long and leaves him dangling and then…

"What are you offering?"

He breathes a short sigh of relief, starts talking, he's laid this out in his mind before he called, planned it, and yet, his hands are sweating and he needs to adjust his grip.

"How long does a dog live John? Ten years? Twelve?"

There's no reply and Viggo knows he's about to start babbling, but then, John was always a patient and careful listener, even when his superiors were drunk and rambling, even when the bullets were flying. It's one of the things that made him so dangerous.

"All this John….it doesn't have to end in blood. At least….not too much of it. Iosef has wronged you. And I know there is not enough money in the world to set this right, but maybe…maybe….Are you familiar with the irish legend of Cú Chullain? Guy killed someone else's dog, and to make it right, the guy had to take the place of the dog, protect the house, play fetch, I don't know. And I was thinking. I was thinking, maybe Iosef can be your dog. For the next ten years or so. Just…don't kill him. Don't maim him. But everything else is fair game. Maybe he can repay his debt to you that way. Maybe you can teach him to do better. To not….disrespect people like you. To be a good boy."  

He shuts up, feeling like he's offered too much and not enough at the same time, and at the other end of the line, there's just this awful quiet that rings louder than an death-knell, but John hasn't hung up yet, and his heart is stumbling like a wounded soldier returning from war, not sure if he'll make it home.

"Thirteen."

"DEAL! We have a deal. Meet me at The Continental in one hour? I will have Winston set up everything up so he can register the Marker. And I will deliver my son to you personally tonight, if that's alright with you?"

"Alright."

The line clicks, the call ends, and Viggo lets out a deep breath, shoulders dropping, and then he heads down the stairs. Avi comes to meet him up at the bottom, greets him, updates him on the success of the negotiations that finished up without him there, because his idiot son called him to complain about Aurelio disrespectin' him, not realizing how badly he messed up, much, much more than the usual drama, more than Atlantic City, and the worthless little с��́ка doesn't even know it yet.

He's not rejoicing as he should, not as jovial as he should be after such a victory, and Avi notices, finishes with a "Congratulations. Sir?", confusion thick in his voice.

"Find my son. Take him up to my office. Make sure he does not leave. I will be back in two hours.".

He turns, the "Good work, Avi." he throws over his shoulder little more than an afterthought.

[almaqead]

"The Pinions." From Surah 18, Al Kahf, "the Force."

We now know the experience in the Kahf is a part of a water cycle that is named by the Quran as a way of changing the objectives of life from those of basic instinct to those which support all of civilization.

Kafh is where one surpasses the dogs at the door, the "pressures" necessary if we are to become Sheikhs, or saints who are entitled to own property on a permanent basis.

Kahf is the very same place called the Shule in Judaism in which God explained the Covenant to Abraham. Muhammad explained it again to the world in Arabic. We continue his analysis below:

18: 60-76:

"And ˹remember˺ when Moses said to his young assistant, “I will never give up until I reach the junction of the two seas, even if I travel for ages.”1

But when they ˹finally˺ reached the point where the seas met, they forgot their ˹salted˺ fish, and it made its way into the sea, slipping away ˹wondrously˺.

When they had passed further, he said to his assistant, “Bring us our meal! We have certainly been exhausted by today’s journey.”

He replied, “Do you remember when we rested by the rock? ˹That is when˺ I forgot the fish. None made me forget to mention this except Satan. And the fish made its way into the sea miraculously.”1

He replied, “Do you remember when we rested by the rock? ˹That is when˺ I forgot the fish. None made me forget to mention this except Satan. And the fish made its way into the sea miraculously.”1

There they found a servant of Ours, to whom We had granted mercy from Us and enlightened with knowledge of Our Own.

Moses said to him, “May I follow you, provided that you teach me some of the right guidance you have been taught?”

He said, “You certainly cannot be patient ˹enough˺ with me.

And how can you be patient with what is beyond your ˹realm of˺ knowledge?”

Moses assured ˹him˺, “You will find me patient, Allah willing, and I will not disobey any of your orders.”

He responded, “Then if you follow me, do not question me about anything until I ˹myself˺ clarify it for you.”

So they set out, but after they had boarded a ship, the man made a hole in it. Moses protested, “Have you done this to drown its people? You have certainly done a terrible thing!”

He replied, “Did I not say that you cannot have patience with me?”

Moses pleaded, “Excuse me for forgetting, and do not be hard on me.”

So they proceeded until they came across a boy, and the man killed him. Moses protested, “Have you killed an innocent soul, who killed no one? You have certainly done a horrible thing.”

He answered, “Did I not tell you that you cannot have patience with me?”

Moses replied, “If I ever question you about anything after this, then do not keep me in your company, for by then I would have given you enough of an excuse.”

Commentary:

We just discussed the water cycle in the mind now Muhammad discusses the thoughts. Thoughts are like vessels above and below the level of the sea. At the level of fish, they can move up and down all around. They are captured and salted to serve as food for a long haul but they are not easy on the gullet.

Still we will eat them if we remember to pack them in preparation for the trip across the sea, another term for meditative discernment, to be yoked to the Spirit of God as inexorably as He is yoked to us within the body and all living and unliving things.

No one would board a ship with a hole in to cross two seas, nor would they do it without proper provisions, nor commit a murder expecting a prophet to wait and see if they were going to take the journey seriously, but Moses said he will.

This parable explains the pressure found in the utter emptiness of sleep in the Kahf. Complete freedom requires detachment from the mind, the senses, the Quran, from God Himself. Only when we are in the deep, all alone, can we understand what Moses was trying to accomplish. It is an experience like being trapped at sea without food or drink on a sinking ship with a murderer.

The passages have too many metaphors and symbols in them to completely decypher so we must use the Values in Gematria to understand what aspect of reality life Jibril was explaining can be found in the Kahf to Muhammad with 100 % accuracy:

v. 60: Moses said to his young assistant. When life meets imposition, we need God to tell us what to do. For this we need to consult the scripture then we need to figure out what it means. The Number is 10802, יףב, yiff, "to levy the burden of fate."

This entire section pertains to what is called a Tania in Judaism, "a stipulation." When life meets the Kafh, certain assumptions are modified. It is the absence of the modifiers that caused the loser to forgot his fish and bore holes in his boat. As a Talmud written in Arabic it makes sense the Quran would contain many Tanias.

v. 61: They reached the point where the seas met. The meeting of the seas is where the Dua and the 'llm meet in the Kafh.

The Number is 11048, יא אֶפֶסדח‎, ya epsadh, "the pinions", "where God meets the field and good and evil functions become known."

"The noun שד (shed) is commonly but erroneously translated as demon. It's a loan word — from Assyrian, says BDB Theological Dictionary, where the sedu is a protecting spirit. It's undoubtedly from Babylonian, says HAW Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament, where the shedu is a demon, either good or evil.

HAW further submits, "In Mesopotamian thought the shedu was a supernatural protective power for whose presence the gods were invoked," and makes the observation that, "Good and evil are in the moral, not the metaphysical". In The Religion Of Israel, Y. Kaufmann writes, "When the gods of the nations are called shedim it is not meant that they are evil spirits, but that they are insubstantial shades, 'no-gods,' with neither divine nor demonic functions".

Our noun is used in the Bible only two times: Deuteronomy 32:17 and Psalm 106:37, both in conjunction with the act of sacrifice and in the latter case, the sacrifice of children.

Note the similarities between the nouns:

שׁד (shed), meaning demon;

שׁד (shad), meaning breast;

שׁד (shod), meaning havoc.

The divine name Shaddai may be inspired by the shedu, and note that the shedu was depicted as the familiar winged bull, and that the name Abir (another important divine name) is connected to the noun אבר ('eber) meaning pinions and the verb אבר ('abar), meaning to fly."

Unless Tanias are properly understood the verse or Mishnah they modify and their Gemaras are considered invalid knowledge.

Fates door always swings both ways. The etymology says this in terms of angels and devils, of flights that go up and down. Bear this in mind:

v. 62-63: Do you remember why we rested by the rock? The Number is 14539, "to shine, argue." The assistant's naive state of mind must be argued to the same level of expertise as the master, then the student must be able to perform like him, otherwise the master has lost the argument and the verse is not valid.

Within the Kahf one must know the way and be able to sail back and forth on one's own. This is the Tania, one cannot stay in the cave, within the study of the Quran all day, one must leave the Kahf and let the light in.

v. 64-65: No one made me forget but Satan. Satan means to turn left when one should turn right. To forget when one should remember, to be wicked when one should be a Sheikh. The Number is 10955, י'טהה‎‎‎, y'taha, "together you are in ruins."

v. 66-67: There they found a servant of Ours, to whom We had granted mercy from Us and enlightened with knowledge of Our Own. Moses said to him, “May I follow you, provided that you teach me some of the right guidance you have been taught?”

The Number is 14666, ידו‎וו‎‎, "by His Hand."

We cannot enter or leave the Kafh with our soul in hand in the company of others. Each of has the burden of reading, believing and understanding what we are taught about the Quran and finding our own soul. We can learn the Quran together as a human race, but the Kahf, which is not a pilgrimage is performed in darkness and silence.

v. 68-69: He said, “You certainly cannot be patient ˹enough˺ with me. And how can you be patient with what is beyond your ˹realm of˺ knowledge?” Moses assured ˹him˺, “You will find me patient, Allah willing, and I will not disobey any of your orders.”

Throughout the Quran, Allah says there are things which we know and things which we do not know: the things we do not know are the hole in the boat.

The Number is 13837, אגחגז‎ ‎ ‎‎"I will laugh, I will giggle."

Quran 83:34:

The day the just triumph over the wicked, Allah will laugh: But on that Day the believers will be laughing at the disbelievers,as they sit on ˹canopied˺ couches, looking on. ˹The believers will be asked,˺ “Have the disbelievers ˹not˺ been paid back for what they used to do?”

Justice and fairness are absent from this world. These are some of the things about which we do not know. Some of us know about it, most of us do not.

2: 216:

"Fighting has been made obligatory upon you ˹believers˺, though you dislike it. Perhaps you dislike something which is good for you and like something which is bad for you. Allah knows and you do not know."

Fighting and arguing, and all the plotting and incorrect interpretations of the Torah and Quran have turned mankind against the grain of the Religion. Not only do we disobey it, we are opposed to trying to interpret them correctly because this means corrupt persons will die. They are the dead boy in the parable above; a naive spoiled child that does not make the grade.

Persons who subscribe to matters of importance to social justice, however, God will suffer these. These he will allow to board the Ark and sail over the Great Flood. If the Ark were to leak and sink the principals of government dependent on it would not find their way into our lives. So what kind of fuckup argues against it? The arguments named above must always favor the contents of the Ark.

v. 70-71: He responded, “Then if you follow me, do not question me about anything until I ˹myself˺ clarify it for you.”

So they set out, but after they had boarded a ship, the man made a hole in it. Moses protested, “Have you done this to drown its people? You have certainly done a terrible thing!”

The Number is 9947, ז‎טטד‎ ‎‎, zttd, sadad,

"The unused verb צדד (sadad) probably meant to turn away or shun. In the Bible only the noun צד (sad) is used, and it means side (of a person, town, mountain, and so on)."

= “Distance yourself from a bad neighbor, do not cleave to a wicked person, and do not abandon belief in retribution.”

v. 72-74: He replied, “Did I not say that you cannot have patience with me?” Moses pleaded, “Excuse me for forgetting, and do not be hard on me.” So they proceeded until they came across a boy, and the man killed him. Moses protested, “Have you killed an innocent soul, who killed no one? You have certainly done a horrible thing.”

The man always kills the boy this is how time and nature works. In the same way the soul kills the man during the Kafh and brings him back to life when he understands the emptiness of the Deep and the meaning of life outside of it.

The Number is 8866, ח‎חו‎‎ו‎, "They showed up."

Persons who believe in God and the Religion stand up to tyrants and do what is right, they protect the innocent:

4: 135:

O you who have believed, be persistently standing firm in justice, witnesses for Allāh, even if it be against yourselves or parents and relatives. Whether one is rich or poor, Allāh is more worthy of both.1 So follow not [personal] inclination, lest you not be just. And if you distort [your testimony] or refuse [to give it], then indeed Allāh is ever, of what you do, Aware.

v. 75-76: He answered, “Did I not tell you that you cannot have patience with me?” Moses replied, “If I ever question you about anything after this, then do not keep me in your company, for by then I would have given you enough of an excuse.”

There is a human axiom that makes us think we are going to live forever and we can handle all the power, privilege, responsibility and also being helpless, tyrannized, and oppressed in ways in which we can't.

We need to meditate, study, contemplate and think about the ways in which mankind is overwhelmed and over or under privileged that do not make sense, certainly those which are corrected or stipulated by the Quran.

Bear in mind the authors and audience of the Quran were for the most part naive about the Torah and the Bible which were infants at the time Muhammad wrote it and were discussed only in forums by men who had access to scarce written material. These stories of Moses and his mission to turn former slaves into land owners, farmers and cosmopolitan folk were explained by Jibril to the Prophet so his people could benefit from the same transportation mechanism as their Jewish ancestors.

The Number is 13527, יג‎ה‎בז‎, the hawk, in Islam is a trained bird that leaves its owners hand and returns with the prey. This is the Tania of the Kahf, the mind has to be trained by its owner to learn the Quran leave its pages and launch itself in search of a way of life that fits the world order explained within its pages.

The very idea of this is associated with men who believe in the Messiah:

From Ma'idah 110:

(Call to mind the time) when Allah will say, “O ‘Īsā, son of Maryam, remember My blessing upon you and upon your mother; when I supported you with the Holy Spirit. You spoke to people while you were still in the cradle and when you grew to middle age. I taught you the Book and the Wisdom, the Torah and the Injīl. You created from clay something in the shape of a bird, then you blew on it, and it became a bird by My leave. You cured those born blind and lepers by My leave.You raised the dead by My leave. I kept the children of Isrā’īl away from you when you came to them with clear signs, and the disbelievers among them said, “This is nothing but a clear magic.”

We must now "sail the sea", come across a turbulent time we have made for ourselves by allowing persons who are insolent, deliberately naive and crooked be as a horrible scourge against the rest of us.

The Quran says we can change this, we can grow and store enough food, plug the holes in interpretations in the Law and the laws and save the lives of the innocent and the willing if we obey a few simple rules: do not allow corruption, do not fight, do not be wasteful or stingy, protect the traveller and seek swift terrible justice whenever needed.

Without these pinions, ways of elevating our status, we do not have a Quran or a religion or very many prospects for a long life on this world.

[bykalopsia]

faiz 21-30 notes

they um. really kneecapped yuka's character huh. (tbh this happened in the last batch of eps i think i held on to hope for too long) inoue you will be dealt with. expeditiously. like in orphnoch trio stuff she's really just There and her only relevance is to be a kaido-bot or sometimes keitaro remembers he likes her too and that's it. boooooooo *throwing tomatoes* booooooooooooo

chewing on kitazaki chewing on kitazaki chewing on kitazaki..... for episodes i was like "they keep mentioning this guy and not showing him am i just making up a guy bc i'm having a hard time getting their names down???" and he finally appeared and like eighty gears clicked into place. he was like made in a lab for me. it's real fucking dire.

also i think sawada and kitazaki are the first orphnochs where i'm like "oh yeah wow you are a threat to the general populace" bc the other lucky clover members are so preoccupied with the belts and dealing with nonviolent orphenochs that they don't really seem to be attacking people? comparatively sawada and kitazaki's methods sort of remind me of the grongis but like with less whimsy / established purpose. (the scene in the club? jesus christ?)

kusaka's reaction to finding the underground ryusei academy implies that it wasn't always under smart brain so that makes me wonder how tf it got under there or if there's some memory shenanigans going on (my guess is memory shenanigans)

the stuff about the delta belt is really like "i definitely won't be corrupted by the amulet!" core. also they really keep outdoing how cartoonish these fucking bikes are. holy hell.

ALMOST FUCKING FORGOT TO TALK ABOUT KUSAKA'S. ISSUES. he drops the "she's the only one who can be my mother" and we've just SAT WITH THAT FOR EIGHT EPISODES. LIKE. *looks around* ARE WE UNPACKING THAT AT ALL. like i get that that the president rounded up all these orphans to (probably) do orphnoch experiments on them or whatever and it's really more strange that mari is as well-adjusted as she is than it is that all of the rest of them have Problems but this is A Lot. AND HE STILL LIVES IN THE SAME HOUSE AS THE REST OF THEM. idk man mari needs to start killing people she's a saint.

also i can't believe we got rid of the whole takumi and yuji don't know the other is the horse orphnoch / faiz thing and then immediately replaced it with perhaps an even more annoying iteration of that. like i can't believe i went to sleep on ep 29 thinking "wow i really assumed this whole not knowing each others identity thing would go on for way too long but they knew when to cut it short i'm surprised" only for it to immediately be thrown in the garbage when i pull up ep 30 the next morning. tbf it's my fault for getting my hopes up really. anyways praying this wraps up quick bc while i am usually more than game for kusaka's general assholery this one is maybe toeing the line a bit for me.

also formally apologizing for calling takuma semi-competent in my last batch of notes. it's way more entertaining now that he's just vaguely a nuisance after getting dogwalked by delta. please keep escaping seemingly assured death in the future it makes me so happy <3

not enough smart lady......... crying............. clawing at walls......

current faves: takumi, mari, basically every lucky clover member other than murakami

current curiosities: 1) wtf happened at the reunion (obviously) 2) are we going to revisit the belts the former president was making underground and what those are 3) i legitimately forgot about the whole orphnoch king thing until it was rementioned in this batch of episodes so whats that about 4)

[stargazeraldroth]

I do indeed know the Gin Lore!!! If you wanna look yourself, the creator has a blog on tumblr for him and his AUs (Siiversans), and! If you look at Dreemurr-Skelememer’s Gink tag on their blog (which, speaking of, they! Are the creator!!!), they have some cute stuff, too! They even made them an adorable ship child named Sterling, it’s all so cute- And! Gin/Ink is actually canon to the AU, I believe! Though not to Ink’s story, they take care to mind Comyet’s boundaries.

Long story short (though I can try and explain more, if you’d like!), he’s an AU Sans that was on the verge of death as a child, only to be taken in by a spirit (his version of Gaster), and this, he lived! Unfortunately, a single touch of a human would kill him, aaand guess what’s in his AU’s story? Guess what happens to him.

Now, imagine you’re Ink, right? You’ve met someone you’ve fallen in love with, enough so that, in some universes, you have a child together, and he loves you in turn, and it’s great! But he’s going to die. You know he’s going to, it’s in the script, and you can’t interfere, even if it kills you. Even if you hate yourself for it.

(I have many feelings on Gink if you can’t tell-)

Anyways, moving on- I was thinking of rejection sensitive dysphoria, but! Looking up reflex sympathetic dystrophy, I think that could fit, too! I am sorry that you have problems like that, though- I won’t press, but I hope things get better for you soon! As for Ink- He really is going through it here, huh. And of course he wouldn’t believe them- They’ve already lied to him once, and betrayed him in the one of the worst possible ways, how could he ever trust them not to do that again? Of course, they’d argue that they needed to, he doesn’t know what’s best for himself, if he would just trust them this will all be okay! And it’s just. Not a good time.

Oh trust me, you’re good, I also project that onto him and damn near wrote autistic instead of artistic-

I imagine that the period of time after they rescue Ink and before he really starts to let himself heal is just. A lot of Cross carting him around on his back or in a princess carry, and coaxing him into eating or drinking something.

Error is the embodiment of having no idea what the fuck he’s doing when it comes to other people, it’s hilarious and I wish people leaned into that more. And besides! Error has haphephobia, Ink is an artist and likes brushes, clearly this is the best possible solution to the problem!

I do know that clip, and I do believe it would be accurate- Truly, Error is the Godzilla Threshold of the Multiverse (as is Ink, though he’s, uh. Indisposed, at the moment), and it’s only made better by him being. You know. Error. I do agree though, I wish more people used his manbaby, tantrum throwing self without turning him into a martyr or a saint or a god or something. People can write what they want, obviously, but I just.- He’s so fun like this! And I honestly wouldn’t even call him truly evil, either- I’ve always viewed him and Ink and being on opposite ends of the Chaotic Neutral scale, you know? And it also plays into my own, largely divergent forced god AU… But I’ll not get into that (though of course, I can explain a bit if you’d like?), this’ll be long enough, haha. Just! I like talking about this!

Something of a Monkey’s Paw, now wasn’t it? And! Yes, I do believe he doesn’t remember anything from his AU- It really does make things worse for him, the poor guy. He’s suddenly got emotions that he can’t properly process because he isn’t familiar with experiencing them like this, he’s in the worst possible place, and he can’t hope they’ll drain away eventually, because it’s coming from a soul. And hell, who’s to say the Overwrite didn’t edit his soul so that he couldn’t destroy it again? Him dying like that wouldn’t be hat Blue and Dream wanted, after all… As for Broomie… Um. Uuuhhh. Fuck, I’m sorry best brush, maybe Cross or Core rescued it???

I adore the idea of Shattered and Ink together, just. Interacting. In happier, healthier universes, usually, or at least one where Ink isn’t a victim of like, kidnapping, but things like this are Also fun and nice to think about, even if Ink wouldn’t agree (again, the poor guy-). Though it is funny to think that Shattered just. Bundles him up in his tentacles on his back. It’s a funny image to me- But! Humor aside! I’m always a sucker for the idea that AUs and stories being destroyed- Or wrongly edited, in this case- Cause him pain, but even if it didn’t, I think the shock (and emotional pain) would unseat him enough for them to restrain him.

The three of them get locked in the Doodlesphere to the relief of Blue and Dream- Clearly this is the Ideal Protection Scenario! And the dread of Ink- He would like out now, please and thank you creators!!! It’s probably a lot of them chasing him around the islands or space or however you interpret it of the Doodlesphere while he runs screaming and tries to hide.

Nightmare… Man, what would he even be doing, here? Would he feel any pity for Ink, or does he just think this is all hilarious?

I am eagerly awaiting to add Gin/Ink to my list of ships, but I don't know anything about their dynamic. Spill all the juicy, juicy lore that you can, Anon! I probably won't get the chance to actually go looking anytime soon- both because of laziness and other things I actually have to do. But now that you mention it, I think I've actually seen something for Gin before- I don't know if this is part of his story, I think it was more of an Ask thing, but he got deleted by Error or something??? And Ink woke up from it, so it was a nightmare??? Error. My man. My manbaby. One of my favorites. What the hell did you do this time?

Why not give him both, Anon? Why not give him both? I think the rejection one would be the most applicable to this situation, actually, now that I'm thinking back on it.

I love that image. Cross just being a pillar of support for Ink during all of this. Lord knows they could both use someone to truly confide in.

"Error is the embodiment of having no idea what the fuck he's doing when it comes to other people" that's a whole mood. Me too, Error. Me too. Even without the part about other people. I never know or understand what I'm doing, even when it's something I told myself to do lmao. He tries to cheer Ink up with his puppets, to varying degrees of success.

I don't mind people turning him into a god, I'm guilty of that myself, I just get mostly irritated when people make him a saint and make Ink the epitome of all Evil & Sin. Especially because I'm finding more and more people on TikTok who actually believe the Balance and Error's "saintly" behavior is canon to his character (then again, it's TikTok. What did I expect?) Ngl it's getting to the point where I'm questioning if the canon lore changed or not. Like- correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't Error destroy the AUs because he pretty much just... doesn't like them?? He doesn't think they should exist??? I'm not trying to sound like a btch or like I'm trying to control what people write, I would hate myself if I ever became like that, but I do wish I could find more stuff that uses a not-so-righteous Error, y'know? Let my man be in the wrong! Let him throw a temper tantrum! Let him destroy for the sake of it RAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!

(Feel free to talk about your AU if you want to, Anon. I can't promise that I'll give good commentary or anything, but I can listen/read whatever you say!)

Smh Anon, you forget about the real star of this show: Broomie /j. The thing is, Broomie is kinda like Ink's legitimate other half. They've been together since Ink first got splashed with the paints, and it's like an even closer friend than Dream would've been. So for Broomie to suddenly be gone, with no sign of returning... on top of everything else, he basically just had his Best Friend murdered.

Oh yes! I love the idea of Shattered and Ink having a healthy, friendly dynamic! Unfortunately, that does not happen here. Dw Anon, Ink's used to this kind of torment from me. Just ask @lix88888 about it if you're really curious. I'm sure she has a few favorites out of my tormenting episodes. If there was ever a time when Ink was praying for the Creators to have divine intervention, this is it. Every time, he's just gonna get caught because there's nowhere he can escape to. Maybe he can hide for a good while in the beginning, no one knows the Doodlesphere better than he does, but they're going to find him eventually.

Nightmare's basically like us: he's watching all of his go down and eating some popcorn. This is peak comedy to him! And their corruption- especially Dream's! What a twist!

[leahblackk]

Rough patch

(Not my gif whoever did it thank you and I’m sorry)

Summary: A rough patch could break your heart, and break your lover’s too.

Warnings: fighting, mentions of divorce, mentions of blood, wounds, panic attack, car accident.

Couple: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Taglist: @ssavanessa22, @angstyalex, @doctorspenceryeet, @all-tings-diego and @cance1medaddy

If you wanna join the taglist please press the key🗝

Where do you start telling a story? Telling moments and events when you haven't been capable of processing, of coming into terms that what is happening right now it's not just a dream, a nightmare or anxiety chasing you, feeling it so close that sometimes you can't even breathe, you can't take a break. It's coming, and it's coming for you. 

The feeling of being chased and wanting to hide is one very common in Y/n's life, you could say she felt it as she feels any other common, human feeling. And she hated it, she felt weak, she felt like a coward, she felt powerless. 

Y/n hated fights, hated confrontation. She was a very sensitive human being and emotions stuck around for a while, doesn't matter how strong they were or how long it happened, they always ran through her mind. She would forget where she left her keys, but she wouldn't forget hurtful words, not even how hard she tried. 

Being married to the love of your life might be a common dream, goal, desire people have. The crave of a happy ending and a “they lived happily ever after”. What they don't tell you is that not everything will be happy after the credits scene comes on your screen, not even in the after credits there is a scene that warns you. Not at the end of the book. You have to face it for yourself. 

Y/n has been loving Spencer Reid for longer than she can remember, maybe fifteen years when he had his baby face and was a small genius, or maybe longer than that. Of course, the old myths always say you love your twin flame, your soulmate even years, decades before you get to meet them, your souls being attached to each other before your eyes ever landed on them. But at this point she doubts if Spencer is her true twin flame, soulmate, partner forever… her lover. And if he truly was, then why did she suffered so much? Why did they make each other miserable? 

And it wasn't only her who was suffering, she could see the tears in his eyes everytime they fought, even if he tried to hide it. Let's be honest, neither of them were perfect and they have hurt each other. They have said words that digg as profoundly as knives, as burning as a pure flame, as broken as shattered glass. 

Spencer was a genius for everything but love, and that was because love didn't come with an instruction book, step by step of what they had to do to save their love. Spencer knew all the countries in the world and their states, Spencer knew the name of every great person and their great contribution to humanity, he knew all the maths and physics to ever exist, however he didn't know how to make his wife stop crying at night. And it broke his heart. 

And Y/n on the other hand, she wasn't a saint either. She had made him feel bad with their fights, she had made him think, and she didn't want to. She wanted to stop that, she wanted just to wrap her arms around him and tell him that it didn't matter how many times he made her cry, she would always love him, but the woman had a stubbornness and pride among her bones.

So did the genius. 

Pride could be the silent killer. slowly killing that thing you love the most, silently and without any warning. 

Spencer, oh Spencer. He knew almost everything, but he didnt know how to save his marriage, he wanted to. He wanted to be hers once again, being called her love and having her arms wrapped around him, but he couldn't. Maybe she hated him and if she did, did he deserve it? He had made her cry, yes, but, would that be enough to turn love into hate?

After all, they always say, from love and hate there was just one step, did he take it or did she?

He wasn't sure anymore.

He simply did not know. 

…

Spencers hands worked through his stack of paperwork, one he decided to take home as he was simply tired of the work environment, even though his home wasn't as pleasant at the moment and he didn't want anyone talking to him, and apparently that was what his wife has been doing for the last couple of days, something he knows he has earned. He hasn't been much of a husband and her silence, even if it hurts him, he knows he deserves it, of the hurtful words he had said and the way he's been acting lately.

He shakes his hand in shame of his own self, he can't believe the way he has been treating the person he once claimed as the love of his life, so cruelly, and with everything but love. He just-he doesn't have words.

He sighs as he lays back on his chair resting his arms on the sides and sighing. He brings his left hand to rub his eyes. and then he hears the door of his studio being open. He looks to the way; His wife. 

She's holding papers, Spencer sighs thinking it is more work. 

“We need to talk…” she says looking at him. 

She's willing to talk, to fix this. And so is Spencer, but he's too stressed.

“Not right now, Y/n,” he briefly says and goes back to work. 

Even though hearing her voice again is delightful to him, he's just too stressed and he doesn't want to say mean things to her again. 

Y/n tries to keep her patience but being around Spencer lately hasn't been the best way to do so, “Well at least one of us is willing to be the bigger person and discuss this,” she says with venom in her voice.

And there she goes again. 

Spencer turns his head around looking at her in disbelief. Is she the bigger person? He definitely knows the answer. 

The doctor chuckles without humour, “You the bigger person? Yeah let's discuss that because for what i know you've been running away from this talk way long enough when i've been wanting to discuss it, and now miss ´everything is done whenever i say’ wants to talk about it?” 

There he goes. Speaking without thinking of his words first. 

Spencer's words travel to her ear and to her heart, breaking another piece. Piece by piece has been falling the last few months, with words of anger, digging into the skin. 

She scoffs and turns around wanting to leave as soon as possible. 

“See? This is what I'm talking about,” Spencer lets out. 

She holds the papers in her hands with strength, wrinkling it in the process, and she turns around with tears falling down her eyes.

Spencer holds his breath in seeing her hurt, but full of anger, expression. He regrets his words wanting to take them back, and his words might not be the only thing he will regret.

“You know what, Spencer Reid?” She says, wiping her tears with anger. 

Spencer doesn't have the time to reply as she was speaking again, “I'm tired of this,” she lets out. 

Spencer gets scared at the sound of her voice, she sounds so sad and defeated, because of him. It hurts his soul more than anything else would and will.

“Y/n i-” he tries to speak. 

She shakes her head, “I can't do this anymore,” she speaks. 

Spencer frowns, do what? Their relationship? Is she seriously giving up when he wants to keep fighting for it? And then, his worries fade away, rapidly turning into anger, pure vivid anger. 

“Oh yeah so you’re gonna run away like you always do, huh? Why can't you face your problems like a grown up, Y/n!”

“Oh well, i hope this is mature enough for you,” Y/n says before walking a few steps ahead putting the papers on his desk, the wood making an impact with her hand. 

And before he gets the chance to do anything else, to even ask her about those papers laying in front of him, she stormed out, anger being visible in all her. 

Spencer sighs watching her go, knowing he fucked up once more. Maybe he could fix it, and if he could how would he? 

The answers were in front of him, yet, he didn't know that at the moment. 

His curiosity itchy like a sweater claimed and screamed for him to look at the papers, but something inside of him wanting for him to take his time, and if he could, not open them at all. Spencer frowns once more, and takes the paper in his hand feeling the weird sensation of the material and the nervous feeling setting down in his stomach. He carefully looked at the words, and his heart stopped just like his life had. 

Divorce papers. 

They were divorce papers. 

She-no, she couldn't, no she couldn't just- or would she?

“No,” Spencer mutters under his breath.

No, no, no. This can't be happening, she can't. She can't be asking to break the promises they made on their wedding day, no she can't be asking to permanently stay away from him. Yes, he has been an asshole, but he's her asshole. 

Did he take things too far? Did he actually hurt her so badly she didn't even want to try? 

No! He loves her too much, she's his whole life. Spencer can't even imagine a day without her and now a whole life? No, they are soulmates, twin flames even. They're meant to spend the rest of eternity holding hands, she can't be doing this, it's not fair.

He feels like… he feels. 

He feels like his world has come down, shattered, destroyed with his heart. 

No, this can't be happening, he keeps saying over and over like a sacred mantra. 

No, there must be something he can do, this is not fair. 

It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair. 

He feels like time has frozen around him, he can't even move. He can't think straight. 

He looks at the papers again, reading them through. No, no no no. 

He looks where he is supposed to sign, but he can't… and apparently neither can she. 

Spencer rubs his eyes trying to see if his vision and lack of sleep is playing tricks on him, but no, she has not signed the papers. She has not signed the papers. 

That means… Does that mean he still has an opportunity? 

Hope grows in his chest, and he gets up. He's decided to fix this. 

He grabs the papers and starts walking through their home, but before he gets to the door he receives a phone call. 

He frowns. 

“Hello?” He answers, his voice with evident confusion. 

“Doctor Spencer Reid?” the voice of a woman on the other side speaks.

“Yes?”

“I speak from the hospital, your wife, Y/n Reid has been in a car accident. We need you to come to…” the woman gives the direction of the hospital but he can't hear. He can't hear anything but a pitched noise hurting his ears, and breaking his soul. 

This… this can't…

Spencer's breathing gets more erratic, in and out, in, in, no, no out, and, no, out, and in, no.

He can't do it. He can't, he doesn't know how to breathe. 

Spencer puts a hand on his chest trying to calm himself down, but he can't. Hot tears stream down his face but he can't acknowledge anything around him. 

Y/n… his… his, the love of his life, his wife.

“Come on Spencer you gotta wake up this is just a nightmare, this is not happening, this is a nightmare,” he says. He sits on the floor and rocks gently back and forth, “Wake up, wake up, wake up,” he repeats closing his eyes with force, but no, this is real. This is not another nightmare, this is real. 

The woman keeps speaking on the phone asking if he's alright, how can he? How can he? How can he? How can he be alright?

He hangs up and with shaky hands searches for a phone number, but he can't find it. He looks up and down three times until he sees it, and without thinking twice, he calls. 

One.

Two.

Thr-

“Hey pretty boy!”

He doesn't answer. 

Morgan, she… Morgan, he tries to speak, but his voice fails and he can't get anything out but tears. 

“I'll be there in five minutes Spencer, it's gonna be okay, everythings gonna be okay,” Morgan says, hearing his frantic breathing.

He nods even if Derek can't see him. But he's not entirely sure of his words. 

Minutes pass, and Spencer's breathing gets calmer, but he doesn't, he waits for Morgan but it feels hours away until he hears a knocking. Without thinking, he gets up and opens the door. 

Morgan looks at him and his soul breaks, his little brother suffering so much.

“She… she-uh, she,” Spencer struggles with words. 

“It's okay Spencer. You got this,” Morgan encourages, Spencer wipes his tears and Morgan can see his shaky hands. 

“Y/n got into a car accident,” he lets out, and like reality hits him, he starts crying.

Morgan without thinking twice embraces him, “She's gonna be okay, she's strong, she got this,” he says. 

Spencer nods, he knows she's strong but even strong people can bend, can break, can give up.

Derek can't help but let tears out of his own. He has so much love for Y/n, he can't just believe it.

“We gotta get you to your woman, you can't just stay here. She's gonna be upset when she wakes up and you're not there by her side,” Morgan says, leading Spencer out the door.

They arrive at the hospital, Spencer asking for her and him just getting a “we will give you further information once we have,” apparently she was in surgery and Spencer's nerves couldnt calm down. 

Morgan sits next to him, waiting for him to talk, without pressure, just waiting.

And he does. 

He sniffs, “We had a fight… we've been fighting a lot and I said hurtful things, and uh, she wants to get a divorce,” Spencer confessed.

Morgan frowns, he didn't know about that…

“No one said marriage was easy, and that's the point, it makes you stronger, it makes your bond stronger. And you love each other…” 

Spencer shakes his head, “I'm not sure if she loves me anymore, what if i lose her forever?”

Morgan puts a hand on his shoulder, “It's Y/n Spencer. The woman who looks at you like you hold the stars and the moon, she looks at you like you were the whole universe, she loves you, and you love her, you have to tell her that once she wakes up.”

“What if she doesn't?”

“It's Y/n, she won't leave without pulling up a fight.”

Spencer chuckles, “My stubborn girl,” he says as he looks down to his left hand, playing with his ring. He feels peace then. Every little trace to her brings him peace.

He sighs and lays back on the chair, putting his hand close to his chest. 

…

“Family of Y/n Reid?” A doctor with long, dark hair speaks. Spencer stands up. 

“I’m her husband,” he says, nervous all over again. 

The doctor softly smiles at Spencer, “You got a strong fighter right there,” she says, Spencer frowns making his confusion evident, “There were complications during the surgery, but she fought through it, she's gonna be alright, just needs a lot of rest and care but nothing too complicated, she's sleeping right now but you can come inside so she doesn't wake up all alone.”

The young doctor feels like he can breathe again, leaving a strong sigh out of his lips, tears of relief wanting to spill out, “Thank you, thank you so much,” he says. 

The doctor just smiles and gives Spencer the number of her room, and he carefully walks towards it, letting Morgan know the news first. He plays with his wedding ring making his way to the room, and once he's outside he breathes in and out. 

He feels so much relief, even with the tension of not knowing if their marriage could be saved, but Spencer prefers not having her as a wife, even though it hurts his soul, than having her six feet under ground. 

He looks at her, bruises and cuts all over her skin, and he can't help but feel guilty. He lets the tears spill out finally, and he sobs and sobs while walking closer to her, he grabs her hand and kisses it, she feels cold, not giving her usual warmth, but he doesn't care, he will warm her up. His thumb caresses the back of her hand and with the other hand he takes the hair out of her face, “My sweet girl,” he lets out with a sob. 

He gets closer to kiss her forehead, “Im sorry my baby, i'm so sorry,” he apologises against her skin. 

He brings the chair closer to her bed, not letting her hand go, and he sits watching her breathe. He wants to speak to her, apologise and tell her he still loves her, but he wants to wait once she's awake so she can actually hear it. 

He keeps kissing her hand, caressing his face with it from time to time. He's tired, but he wont sleep until she hears him out. 

Spencer feels her move and he looks up to her, her eyes softly opening and closing, adjusting to the light, and she lets out a groan out of pain, his heart aches. 

“Angel…” he lets out. 

His angel. 

She looks next to her, he's there, holding her hand. She lets a few tears out, he's there. 

“Oh baby, what's wrong?” Spencer says, caressing her cheek. He doesnt wanna see her upset anymore, ever again. 

“You're here,” she lets out. 

Spencer's heartbreak, letting his tears out as well, and they both cry and sob, Spencer kissing her all over trying to make it stop.

“Of course I'm gonna be here,” he whispers. 

“I'm sorry,” she lets out. 

“What are you on about?” he frowns, “Why are you apologising?”

“The fights, the hurtful words… the divorce papers.”

He shakes his head, “You have nothing to apologise for, I'm the one in the wrong. If i didn't make you upset before you went out none of this would have happened,” he cries out. 

Y/n takes a hand to his face, wiping his tears, “No, my love, this is not your fault, okay?”

“Neither is yours,” he says, knowing she would blame herself for it. She nods, “You think we can fix this’?” he asks with fear. 

She nods again, “We can.”

Spencer smiles, kissing her forehead, “I'm sorry angel, I'm sorry for not being much of a husband, I'm sorry for the hurtful words that weren't true, I'm sorry for everything, and I love you, you hear me? I love you with all my heart, you're everything to me and I can't live without you,” he whispers. 

“I love you, and I can't do life without you either. You're everything to me my love you have to know that”

“I know, you know?”

“I know.”

[scarfacemarston]

All Epilogue Journals and Transcription

Note: This does not include the 100% completion spoilers. I really challenge you to read through this and still tell me that John is not as complex as Arthur. They just portray it differently. I’m not saying you have to like him - just that he is so much more than “just a dumb angry man”.  I still encourage everyone to play the game. It’s not the same through here. It’s a beautiful story and ties up nicely. 

Transcript:  Being back in this country made me dig up Arthur’s old journal again. Odd few years wandering. back here, this country that we ran to when things went crazy all those years ago  My mind is full of ghosts. Been a tough few years. Jack don’t like me and Abigail cannot  stand me or is it the reverse?

Killed a feller because he looked at me funny. Abigail wants me to settle down - To what? Everything I’ve tried has gone wrong, for so long now, ad now I’m back in old country. Well I guess the north didn’t turn out so good.

So now I’m a farm hand. Until I lose my temper again, I guess. Working at a place called Pronghorn Ranch. They seem to like me because I’m big and nasty and they surely ain’t. And some local tough guys seem to know they aint. Well I guess Abigail can’t have everything, but she won’t be able to deny I’ve at least got a normal job.

Pronghorn Ranch ^

I’m not much of a rancher but I can still give a big mouth a good smack. Abigail still seems to despise me. Jack ain’t sure but I reckon he aint none too keen.

She’s a gone - she went a - She went and left me. Gave me enough warning, I suppose. She weren’t wrong, I’d leave me, if I could. What now? No son, no woman and a no good rancher on a no good ranch. These rich bastards, the Laramie want old Geddes  dead. If I had a brainI”d go work for them. But I kind of like Geddes.

Good news - I now own a ranch. Bad news, I now have Uncle with me. Or is it the reverse? If he don’t shut his mouth, I’ll paint this place with his blood. I bought a dumpy bit of land for Abigail and she ain’t here.  Instead I get Uncle.

How the hell did this happen? I got the worst of all things. I miss Abigail. I’ve been a proper fool for longer than I can remember. FOR ALWAYS.

Went to Saint Denis with Uncle because Charles Smith was there and in trouble. Charles had taken to boxing and did not seem to be in too much trouble after all, until we stumbled into some local gangsters who wanted to shoot both of us But not he’s here and I’ve got a completely different family to the one I had a while ago. Not sure what to make of that.

This countryside is full of some of the worst scum and maniacs I’ve ever come access. Guess we fit right in. Went to buy lumber t build a new house. Got jumped by some local gang everyone is terrified by. A hand Charles had hired got himself killed. Wonder if these bastards will bring trouble  and how much.

Saw Sadie Adler again. Guess I thought she’d been dead. Maybe it’s just me that’s been dead. I don’t know. Was good to see her. She’s a bounty hunter and  suited to the work. Saw her put a knife clean through the hand of some big old boy she was fighting with. Ain’t seen her since she and Arthur saved Abigail and Arthur saved my life. We headed north and she  turned to this line of work

Built ourselves a place to live - never thought I would say those words. Now I just need a family and a way of paying off these debts. Went off bounty hunting with Sadie, who I’d met again after all these years, and whole thing turned crazy. Thank god Abigail weren’t around or she’d have skinned me herself.

Abigail and Jack came back. Whole of my life suddenly makes some kind of sense. If only I could pay off these damn debts - and if only I could have been a different man all these years I wasted being a fool.

I’M GETTING MARRIED. She thinks I’m a real fool and she’s right, only she don’t know quite why I am a fool.

We got married and we danced and Uncle made us laugh - and Jack seemed real happy. Sadie left, after she fixed herself up. Charles went off hunting something or other as I knew he would. Uncle ain’t going anywhere. Saw Dutch, damn near broke my heart again after all this time. Wanted to kill him, but I didn’t. Saw Micah was never gladder to see a man die. Whatever peace and happiness I can find in this world, I  know it’s a better place with him out of it. Storyline finished. 100% Game completion journal entries not included here - but in separate post. 

[shurisneakers]

harmless (x)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, anxiety, smidge of angst, mentions of violence

Word count: 7.8k (i went overboard. clearly.)

A/N: as well all know, i am a humanities student writing science geeks. if any of this sounds unrealistic or nonsensical, it’s because it is and i am honestly too exhausted to research data privacy and AI so here’s my take on how STEM should work i.e. the power of friendship  <3 major shoutout to @iamlittlesparkler for the idea for this chapter!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

“As you know, we have a busy week ahead of us.” 

Coffees line the conference room table, pens click against the stacks of paper that settle in front of various agents and the smell of deodorant mixed with post-training sweat lingers at the back of the room like a disgusting witch concoction. 

“The annual parade is coming up and since there are a few security threats, SHIELD has been asked to step in. Therefore, all of you will be working security this week, possibly even at the parade.” Murmurs broke out in the room the minute this was said; mostly from first year field agents who were way too excited to have earpieces and fingerless gloves. 

Bucky, on the other hand, doesn’t think much of it. They’ve dealt with threats before, most were declared empty the minute it got out that SHIELD or the Avengers were involved. It’s the 12th one that year. 

“That’s only if we don’t catch it first,” Steve continued. “Our first priority is precaution. The tech and analytics teams are working on it. However, if you see anything suspicious, bring it up with Director Fury. He’s going to be around to make sure we’re not overlooking anything. Do you have any questions?”

More whispers erupted at the mention of Fury’s name. Wait till they realise he lives up to his name when they accidentally manage to set him off just by existing incorrectly.

Bucky smirks at the thought.

“You can leave then.” Steve straightens up as chairs shuffle against the carpeted floor, over twenty people leaving the room.

“And remember, if you see an eagle today, be sure to stand there and thank it on behalf of Steve for its service. Freedom! Liberty! And whatever else,” Tony calls out from the corner of the room, earning a sigh from the captain. Others only snicker as they close the door behind them.

“Thanks.” Steve stares at him stone faced, bemused at the symbolism that had been bestowed upon him.

“Gotta keep the patriotism high.” The only ones that remain are the official team. Bucky thinks that he should have left with the other agents but apparently, it was rude and not a good show of team spirit.

“How serious is this threat anyway?” Clint has his head face down on the table, hand holding his to-go coffee cup so it doesn’t fall over. 

“We’re not sure.” Steve finally takes a seat on the chair in front of him. “It’s the biggest event we’ve had this year, wouldn’t put it past them.”

“If it’s those Welsh kids again, I’m gonna punch a hole through their house this time,” Clint warns, voice muffled through the furniture. 

“It’s not them, we checked.” Nat had her leg up on the armrest of Clint’s chair. “Tech team’s been working overtime to figure it out.”

“You have anything that could help?” Sam sends a nod towards Tony.

“I got a few things but it’d take a while to put it together.” 

“Didn’t you learn quantum physics in a night?” Wanda’s picking apart a cookie into pieces, chewing slowly.

“Thermodynamic astrophysics,” he corrects her. “Quantum science took lesser.”

Bucky scoffs slightly at the brag, eyes still trained on the table in front of him. Maybe if he made no noise, they would forget he’s here.

“Yeah, so this should be a piece’a cake.”  

“If your cake was somehow made out of a highly specified tracker that somehow doesn’t violate the data privacy of the entire world while analysing millions of terabytes worth of information, then yeah. A piece of it.”

“What he means to say-” Bruce interjects, “-is that we’re trying. It’s just taking longer than usual.”

“Well, the parade’s this Sunday. Think it’ll be done by then?”

“Hey FRIDAY,” Tony crosses his arm over his chest. “How many hours have I slept this week?”

“Three and a half, boss.”

“How much more will I be getting?”

“From previous experience, about six.”

“Yeah, we can get it done.” Tony looks back at Steve. 

“Ask someone on the tech team to help you out.” Everyone was well aware of Tony’s bad coping mechanisms and how futile it was to get him to change his mind about it, but they still tried.

“They’re too busy.” Bruce pressed his lips into a straight line. 

Bucky tunes out at this point. If he could help, he would have reluctantly chimed in by now, but he couldn’t. 

“So what now?” Sam rips Clint’s doughnut into two, keeping one half for himself while leaving the other to the latter who still hadn’t lifted his head up from the table.

“I actually asked Fury if I could call in an external to come help,” Tony pipes up. 

“And he agreed?” Nat raised an eyebrow.

“After he realised I wasn’t going to leave his office until he said yes.” He pulled out his phone, rapidly typing out a message before hitting send. “It didn’t take too long.”

“Do we know this person?” Steve asks a little suspiciously.

“Well-” Bruce sneaks a glance at the broody man on the chair, “-kinda.”

Everyone can tell Bucky isn’t paying attention by the way he’s glaring holes into the plant. He doesn’t mean to, it just so happens that it looks like he wants to kill it. Nobody tends to bother him during meetings, knowing well and fully that he did not care.

“You’re about to.” Tony jumps up, making his way to the door to pull it open.

Bucky perks up. An open door means they can leave, right? He can go watch The Bachelor? He’s not sure what everyone was talking about, but if the meeting was over he could go ask Wanda who was always kind enough to help.

“Our newest recruit,” the billionaire announces, quickly adding the next part, “on a trial basis.” 

Bucky looks at the door.

His jaw drops open.

“No,” he says loudly, posture immediately stiff as a plank. 

“Hello to you too, Barnes.” You roll your eyes before sending a small wave to everyone else. “Hey everyone.”

“What are you doing here?” He looks like he’s seething. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot about our date.” You cross your arms over your chest in defiance. “You told me 3 o’clock, you player.”

“What is she doing here?” He whips to Steve for an answer.

“Hey Y/N,” Sam greets with a smile on his face before Steve can reply.

“Sam Wilson, good to see you again.” You grin.

“Right back at ya, sugar.” 

Wanda looks amused, Clint finally lifts his head off the table at the mention of your name while Nat takes her feet off his armrest, and Steve’s body relaxes when he realises what’s going on. 

“Okay.” Tony claps his hand. Bucky shoots daggers at him. “As you all know, this is Y/N. She’s going to working with us this week.”

“This is ridi- how did you even find out about her?”

“Aside from the fact that she’s all you talk about?” Clint snorts. Bucky shifts his glare to him. It was bullshit and an exaggeration and Clint was going to get a shoe up his ass very soon.

Your grin only grows bigger.

“We saw one of the repulsors she made some time ago,” Bruce answers his question like the sane person that he is. “Tony’s had her in mind for a while.”

“Repulsors? How on ear-” Bucky connects two and two together before turning to Sam. “You. You got her this job.”

“Sam’s my best wingman.” You send him a small heart made from your hands. Whether the pun was intentional or not, no one would know.

“Don’t look at me, I had nothing to do with this idea.” Sam raised his hands to brush off the blame.

“You’re a villain,” he points out loudly.

“I’m a saint.” You raise your hand to your heart in mock offence. “I have done nothing wrong in my life, ever.”

“Listen, Robocop,” Tony interrupts your conversation, bringing the attention back to him, “I cleared it with Fury. He’s the boss here.”

“Fury doesn’t know-”

“What don’t I know?” The atmosphere of the room changes the minute he saunters in. 

With an eyepatch on his face, gaze sharp and a long black coat, Nick Fury puts Bucky’s dark outfits to shame. Not like he was competing. 

Bucky doesn’t continue his sentence. Nick’s imposing presence loomed at the doorway, putting a stop to the ridiculous arguments that were beginning to boil. Instead, he looks at you, only to find your attention trained on the man of the hour.

“Nicholas,” you half cheer from where you had shifted to in the middle of all the commotion. 

Nicholas?

Nicholas?

No one had ever called him Nicholas. 

“Y/L/N,” Nick addresses in return. “Been a while.”

“You haven’t come to the lair in months, Nick.” You pout at him. “I even sent you an invite.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrows. Since when are you on such good terms with Fury? Since when was anyone on good terms with Fury?

“It must have gotten lost in the mail,” he fires back, “Or maybe it’s because I just happen to be the busiest man in the damn country. Take your pick.”

You roll your eyes, muttering something under your breath, but the good natured smile on your face shows that you didn’t take any of his passive- or straight up- aggressiveness to heart. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I was interrupting your little tea time.” He looks around the rest of the room with an edge in his voice. “Don’t you all have work to do?”

“We do,” Tony interrupts, holding up his hand before pointing to Bruce and you. “Everyone else just sorta sits around and looks pretty.”

“I’m gonna go talk to the organisers, see what spots are most vulnerable.” Steve stands up. “You coming?”

“Yep,” Sam responds, flicking Clint’s shoulder to drag him along. “Come on, man. When was the last time you took a shower?”

“I’ll go see what the kids are up to in training. They’re probably flying off the handle right now.” Natasha brushes off crumbs from her lap. “Barnes, you in?”

Bucky silently shakes his head, eyes focused on you as you introduce yourself to every Avenger who walks out of the room, sharing a small fist bump with Sam.

“I’ll do it,” Wanda volunteers instead, finally leaving behind only the Science Bros, you and Bucky in the room with Fury. 

“I’ll give you a tour of the lab.” Tony beckons and you nod, following him. “New eyepatch, Fury? Prada, I assume?”

“Stark,” Nick says curtly. 

Bucky stares after you, arms still folded across his chest.

“Any problem, Sergeant?” 

Other than the fact that his arch nemesis was now working with his friends, no, not really. But that did seem like a pretty big one.

“No,” Bucky mumbles instead, getting up from his place finally.

Apparently, no one else was worried about the possibly lethal combination of you and Stark, even with Banner there to dilute it. 

Fine.

Guess he just has to observe you the whole week.

Well, half a week. It was Wednesday. 

He observes inconspicuously over the rim of his coffee cup. He has a newspaper spread in front of him at Bruce’s table. 

It’s not suspicious. He’s been there multiple times to sit in silence with the scientist who occasionally tinkers with something while engaging Bucky in tidbits of conversation. He finds it calming, refreshing even

Today he has an agenda. Everyone knows about it too. 

“You know he’s staring at you, right?” Bruce looks up briefly from the giant blueprint laid in front of the group. 

Tony had been dragged away to get a proper meal into him after he stayed up for 36 hours straight with caffeine keeping his system running. 

“He has a tendency to do that.” You’re looking over the plan the three of you had come up with the day before. There were certain changes to be made in terms of efficiency. “Turns out if you annoy him, he stares harder.”

“We’ve heard about the inventions. Inators, he calls them?”

“Yeah,” you point out something on the sheet, drawing a circle around it to come back to later, “only good things I hope?”

“He doesn’t really talk much.” Bruce writes down a small comment against your arrow mark. “But if he hated them, he’d have a lot to say. So I’d take it as a compliment.”

“Would it annoy him if I did?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment, then. Pass me the ruler?” You draw a line connecting two pieces. 

Bucky’s ability to lip read is excellent but he refuses to do it, for privacy purposes. He knew that SHIELD had pulled some strings and had another teacher substituting for your classes the whole week since your other option was to come only after school hours. Anything else about this plan was murky.

“You gonna sit there all day?” Tony looks over his shoulder, following his line of sight.

“I’ve done it before.” He continues to look over the newspaper at you with your finger extended at something on the blueprint as you explained something to Bruce.

“You look like- how do I say this nicely.” He wasn’t going to. “A fuckin’ stalker.”

“I’m supposed to stop her from doing anything evil.”

“Sure.” Tony snorts. “That’s what this is. Should I get you a fedora and sunglasses while we’re at it?”

Of course Stark wouldn’t care; he brought you into this project. It was pretty much impossible to get him to agree with Bucky.

Bucky just narrows his eyes and continues his observation. 

The menu of the cafeteria keeps changing. They like to keep things interesting.

Every time they do, Bucky spends too long staring at the menu, trying to figure out what exactly is familiar enough to order. Vietnamese week had him eating pho the entire duration it stayed.

“You plannin’ on eating anytime this century, sarge?” He recognises your voice immediately. 

He knows what time your break is and he knows that you generally eat lunch in the cafeteria with the science team. Generally, the three of you pour over solutions and debate points all through the meal, and he spends the time getting acquainted with his new, lowkey Instagram account. 

He blocks the Bucky Barnes hashtag the minute he gets an account again. God save his eyes from people asking him to break their back like a glow-stick. However, one afternoon of accidentally watching three cat videos has led to his entire explore page being taken over by them and he’s been trying for three days to get it to stop. 

“Just trying to-” he tilts his head. “-understand what I’m reading.”

“Not a big fan of Greek food?” You join him in looking at the menu. 

“Never really had the chance to try.” Tony and Bruce don’t seem to be in the room, probably pushing aside their meal to work on it as they’ve often done.

“Ah.” You already had your order in mind but you wait there. 

Two minutes later he’s still staring at the menu. He can feel your presence next to him, unmoving. It unnerves him.

“Why are you still standing here?” He cranes his neck to look at you.

“I’m just seeing how long it takes for you to order.” You shrug. “So far it’s been five minutes and forty six seconds. Forty eight now.”

“Go away.” The concept of someone standing beside him, waiting for him to do something reminded him far too much of him trying to bag his stuff at the grocery counter rapidly while other customers waited to pay. 

“Six minutes and thirty seconds. This is just sad now.”

“Your face is sad.” It was pathetic that he had now resorted to this.

It earned a laugh from you. 

As entertaining as it was to be able to get on his nerves by just standing silently next to him, you finally ask, “Do you want a recommendation?” 

He eyes you wearily. “You gonna give me food poisoning?” 

“Not today, no.” You shake your head slightly. “Maybe tomorrow.”

He stares a little longer. You remain unshaken in your offer.

“Fine.” He sighs, stepping aside. 

You tell him that since it’s his first time, you’d get him something basic. He thought it made sense. 

He argued with you when you ended up paying for the both of you, only shutting up when you told him he’s holding up the line and that he could pay you back later. It doesn’t stop his incessant mumble complaining. 

He ends up with gyros at his table and you sitting opposite him with your meal. He asks where the Science Bros are. You tell him it’s Science Hoes now, as christened by Tony, and that they’re in the lab.

“So?” You look at him eagerly.

“What?”

“How is it?” you urge, nodding at him.

He takes a cautious bite, really taking his time with it to annoy your impatient ass. 

“Well?” You raise your eyebrow at him.

“It’s-” he pauses, looking down at his food. “-good.”

“Aha.” You lean back victoriously. “Knew it.”

He likes it. He also knows that this is probably going to be the only thing he orders for the next week unless you had planned otherwise. 

“You’re not eating?” He gestures to your untouched tray.

“Taking it up to the lab. Got a few things to work on and we’re already behind.” You gather up your stuff and get up.

“Uh-” he pauses from practically inhaling the entire thing. He was already halfway done with it. “-thanks.”

“No problem. You wink at him. “Try figuring out what’s wrong with it.” 

You turn on your heel to leave, taking your order with you. He can see your shoulders bobbing with silent laughter. 

He stares down at his plate, swallowing slowly. 

He pokes at it with a fork, lifting up the leftovers to check if there’s anything underneath. Nothing. 

He checks to see if his limbs are still intact or his face was a different colour. Nope.

His stomach twists in worry about what’s going to happen. He still has a bit left but he pushes the tray aside.

The rest of the day he spends supervising you has you occasionally catching his eye, only to laugh. It only freaks him out more.

It takes eight hours of waiting and self induced tests later to realise there was nothing wrong with it. You were just playing with him.

He’s surprised to find you in the rec room when he strolls in with Sam, given that you haven’t taken a break all day.

You don’t share the same surprise... almost like you expected him.

“How long have you been waiting for me?” he immediately asks.

"I wasn’t here for you.” You raise an eyebrow at him. “Heard that Wilson was makin’ an appearance here soon so I stopped by to get a good look at him."

"Take a picture, it'll last longer.” Sam laughs, inserting a dollar into the machine and punching in the code for what he wanted.

"Gladly. Strike a pose, would you?" You grin, raising your phone.

“Maybe when I’m not covered in sweat.” Sam counter offers and you accept with a thumbs up.

“You going to the parade, Sam?” You toy with the can in your hands.

“I’ll be working security, so probably.”

“Sarge?” You take a swig of your drink.

“Huh?” He snaps back into the conversation, putting a stop to the mental list of reasons he was making of why you could be here at the same time as him. He knew your schedule, it wouldn’t be very hard for you to figure out his.

“You coming to the parade on Sunday?” you ask again.

“I guess.”

You wince.

“What?” he asks instantly, curiosity making him a lot sloppier than usual.

“It’s just- you wear so much black.” You gesture to his current getup to prove your point. ”I feel like all the bright colours would vaporise you if you looked at them.”

He doesn’t look amused.

“You know, like Prince Philip.”

“I think I’ll be fine.” He gives you a sarcastic smile.

“You comin’ Buck?” Sam laughs, unwrapping the bar he bought from the machine.

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” Bucky says offhandedly, still glaring at you innocently drinking your soda.

Sam chews absentmindedly on his protein bar as he walks out, amused at the situation Bucky pulled himself into.

“What’d you do?” Bucky asks, studying your body language.

“I bought a soda.” You lift the can to prove your point. “And now I’m drinking it.”

“Why are you waiting for me?”

“I thought I’d return the favour,” you point out. “I’m supervising you.”

“Don’t.” He walks to the vending machine, pulling out his wallet for some loose change. There was a Snickers bar he had been craving since morning that he bought every alternate day. Small joys.

“Why? I have the time.” You take a sip, setting it down with a clang.

“You’re only here for this week.” Bucky counted the coins he had. He’d use a dollar but he was trying to get rid of the jingling in his pocket that made him sound like a fucking clown when he walked.

“Actually,” you begin innocuously, “Tony offered me a full-time position.”

Bucky’s movements stop, hunched over the money in his palm.

“What?”

“Yeah.” You nod seriously. “A full nine-to-five as a researcher here.”

“And you’re taking it.” He shakes himself out of the minor shock to assess the damage.

“I don’t know. I got a lot of things to consider.” The chair scrapes against the tiled floor as you stand up. “But maybe you should get used to seeing me a lot more around here.”

He punches in the code for his Snickers. The row whirs forward slowly.

“See you at the lab.” He hears you discard the empty can in the trash before exiting.

He waits patiently for his bar to drop while his mind internally screams about the consequences of having you work here. You wouldn’t be evil anymore. Unless you were here to steal secrets from the Tower. On the pro side, his weekend would be free again. On the con side, his weekend would be free again.

His bar stops right at the edge of the row. He waits for it to fall over. It doesn’t.

He shakes the machine, suppressing the primal urge to beat the shit out of it when the damn bar refuses to fall.

He punches in a few random buttons hoping that at least it would give his money back.

The little monitor instead flashes a new message across the screen.

‘Have a good day, sarge <3’

Motherfucker.

Captain America looks less daunting up close, you realise. But he is still a very large man with very large shoulders. You know at least four people who would like to scale him like a tree, not that you’d ever tell him.

“Hey, Y/N.” He sends you a small smile when you walk into the room for a mid-week update. A clipboard in your hand, report attached and a few stationery items in case some points needed to be noted done, you look professional and ready.

“Afternoon, Captain.” Tony saves a seat for you and Bruce beside him since you’re on the same project. You almost miss the fact that Bucky isn’t in the room.

He walks in a few minutes late; tall, dark and brooding, immediately bringing the excitement in the room down by 40% by just existing. 

Bucky surveys the room before catching your eye. He picks up his chair with ease and drags it over to where you are, sitting right beside you, ignoring the small cry of protest from an agent whose view he now obstructed. Everyone else just silently shifted over.

“Clingy much?” you whisper at him, eyes still trained on Steve who had waited till everyone was seated to continue.

“I’m supposed t’be keeping an eye on you,” he rebuffs in a hush.

“Well, you’re late. What if I went rogue, huh?”

“Therapy ran overtime,” he mumbles.

“Oh.” You blink. “How was it?”

“Same old.”

“You good?”

He refrains from answering when Steve starts addressing the room but yes, he was fine. He sends you a nod to confirm. 

“This is just a usual checking in. We’ve received all your reports, but just to keep everyone on the same page-”

Bucky logs out mentally. He knows what his job is, he’ll probably lead a division of the security team or join the mission to neutralise the threat in case they find it first. Either way, he’ll figure it out without having to listen to an intern nervously stammer their way through their team’s report. 

On the other hand, you’re not listening either. You were until you saw Bucky’s eyes glaze over while glowering at the window, assuming that he had stopped paying attention when his gaze doesn’t shift.

You should be listening. You’re new here and you should know what’s going on because any bits of detail are crucial to the working of your system. 

Instead, you rip out a sticky note and discreetly place it on the back of Bucky’s metal arm. He doesn’t notice.

You bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling. More post-its from your pile of stationery make their way onto the vibranium, shades of pink, purple, green and yellow decorating his arm like a bulletin board. 

You’re about to contemplate sticking one on his shoulder blade when he whips around to look at you. You freeze, hand in the air with a sticky note. He looks down at his arm, a scoff escaping him in disbelief. 

“Are you serious?” He twists his arm to check the extent of how far you’ve gone. “What are you, six?”

“How’d it take you so long to notice?” You watch as he tugs them off one by one, counting to see how many you had managed to get on there.

“It’s impossible not to zone out in these shitty meetings,” he mumbles, pulling off the last one, crumpling all of them into a ball to throw at you. You skilfully avoid them. 

“Don’t you feel pressure or heat or anything here?” You poke at his metal arm.

“No.” He clenches and releases the fist. “It can block bullets though.”

You snort. “Bet that’s a popular line in bed.”

He rolls his eyes. “I mean, it helps that I can’t feel anything. Sometimes,” he adds the last part as an afterthought. 

“Like when you’re blocking bullets.”

“Especially then.” He nods. 

“Would you ever want to?” you ask casually. “Like if you got the choice, would you prefer having feeling in that arm?”

“I don’t know.” He’s thought about it, but it doesn’t seem feasible in his line of work. He’d like it, though, to feel sand slipping through his fingers and the comforter under his palm. “Maybe when I’m retired.”

“Aren’t you well past that age?”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes. “And pay attention. You’re next.”

“So you are listening.” True to his word, Steve asks about what’s going on with your team. “Traitor.” 

Tony shoots off about how you only had to test it out on a small batch first to see if you could acquire the targeted data without compromising anything else. You chime in about a few specifics, and Bruce more or less just confirms what you both are saying, only stopping to let them know that you’d be finished in a day or two.

Steve nods, moving on to the next committee.

“Did I get a good grade?” you whisper when you lean back again.

“B minus at best.” 

“Fuck you, dude. I was great,” you protested. “It’s definitely worth a gold sticker.”

Someone shushes you sharply. You apologise quietly, whacking Bucky’s metal arm when you see a dumb smirk on his face. 

He narrows his eyes at you. 

You try sticking another post-it on him.

You’re only here for a week. That’s what he’s been told. Over six times, actually, after which he’s been told to go away the next time he asked.

No one’s brought up the job offer so he asks Tony if it was true and all he gets is a dismissive ‘yeah, whatever’. Besides, you haven’t told him if you accepted or denied it yet so isn’t sure if this entire thing is set in stone, per se.

So then why do you have a giant box of your belongings that you’re lugging around the lab, looking to set down?

And why does Tony allow you a table right in the centre of the lab for everyone to see as soon as they walk in?

There are a gazillion trinkets, picture frames and obnoxiously bright stationery that stands out against the dull minimalism of the lab.

“Every single one of these is a fire hazard,” he reports, standing over your desk.

You give him a side glance before reaching over to the side of your desk, pulling up a fire extinguisher and setting it on the table in front of him. “I came prepared, bitch boy.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response. He chooses to look at what exactly you’ve brought with you because it’s a lot.

There are small cards with ‘thank you!’ sprawled on them in uneven lettering, bits and pieces of paper with small cartoons on them, little clay models and other miniature trophies with ‘you’re the best!’ under it.

“Your students gave you these?” He can’t remember the last time he gave his teacher anything other than a headache.

“Sometimes they learn or communicate better when they have something to keep their hands busy.” There’s a certain fondness in your voice that he isn’t used to hearing. “I end up with a lot of doodles and craft.”

“’s nice of them.” He can tell that this means a lot to you. He hasn’t seen it before.

He thinks the little decorations are adorable and maybe he’d keep another fire extinguisher on hand, just in case. 

Until you start pulling out a set of framed photos and his smile drops.

Several collages of Bucky in flower crowns, him with terribly edited backgrounds of beaches and mountains, a photo of him laughing with ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ next to it in an italicised font.

“What the fuck,” he states, grabbing one of them.

You stifle a laugh, pulling out several more to place along your table.

“Where did you fucking get these?” He starts pulling them off the table one by one.

“I don’t think you know how much the internet is obsessed with you.” You set an especially large one of him in a Hello Kitty bowtie right in the centre. He doesn’t miss the star shaped frame you chose for this.

“What is wrong with you?” He swipes that up immediately, looking for a place to discard, possibly burn these pictures. “Why do you even have these?”

“It’s imperative that people know we’re friends.” You bite your lip, bringing out the last thing to annoy him.

“What is that?” A teddy bear with a blue jacket and a grey felt arm stared into his soul.

“A Bucky bear.” Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh. “Limited edition.”

He snatches it along with the fifteen other picture frames, thinly veiled distress and mostly disgust on his face.

“I hate you.”

“But I love you.” You lift the small heart shaped locket you hung on one of the pictures of your class.

You use both your hands to click it open for him, watching his face morph into one of disbelief.

Bucky my beloved, it read on the right with a small picture of him on the left looking intensely disgruntled. He doesn’t bother asking where you found that specific picture of him outside a Burger King at 3am.

He doesn’t even make an effort to take it away this time. He knows that you’ll simply bring up more and more until you drove him crazy.

“You still have to see the Avengers calendar.” You reach for the inside. “I changed all the pictures to you, it looks great-”

He turns around and leaves before you get a chance to flip open the pages.

He wanders around, looking for the best disposal area he can find. He knows there’s a giant fireplace in the common room in the Tower, and for that, he’d have to go up a couple of floors.

He steps into the elevator, chin pressing down on the several picture frames in his hands to prevent them from falling over.

No one sees him carrying a couple of fan edited pictures and merchandise of him. Which was good.

Unfortunately, the doors ding open on the next floor and his best friend steps on with possibly the worst timing ever.

“Buck?” Steve sounds confused. He should be, considering the sight.

Bucky shimmies slightly to get a better grip on his belongings. “Steven.”

Steve glances at what he’s holding.

“Is this,” Steve pauses, trying to frame his words correctly to sound as supportive as possible, “a therapy thing?”

“No.”

Steve waits for a further explanation.

“It’s Y/N’s,” he elucidates. Steve’s eyebrows furrow.

“Why are there so many pictures of you?” He looks at the content in his hands a little closer. “And a bear.”

“She’s evil. And I hate her.”

“Alright.” It doesn’t answer his question but his friend looks irked enough.

The elevator dings to the common room floor.

Bucky turns on his heel to head toward the place to set all the pictures on fire. He saves the picture frames to give back to you though, he’s sure those cost money. But he makes sure every last square inch of the picture with several hearts around his portrait burns to ash.

Bucky knows that by the time Saturday afternoon rolls around, the three of you would have been working for thirty hours straight, scrambling to get the last minute details done.

You’re still at it but he can tell through the adrenaline of the upcoming deadline that you’re exhausted. 

Now he’s grouchy but he’s not an asshole. He’s already done two coffee runs for the team and brought you food when you didn’t show up for lunch. He mumbles something and dismisses it when you call out a ‘thank you’ his way. He considers it a debt repaid for the gyros.

He’s still keeping an eye on you but along with an emergency box of doughnuts for any sugar rushes that may be needed and bottles of water that he occasionally leaves at the corner of the table for you three to subconsciously keep yourself hydrated. 

“Are you sure we checked it?”

“Yes.” Bruce nods.

“Double checked it?”

“Yes.”

“Triple checked it.”

“Yes.” 

You look satisfied enough to move on to the next item. “Pass me the welding torch for a second.”

Bucky has a book in front of him that he hasn’t moved beyond the second page of. He’s more interested in seeing who collapses from burnout first. He has the infirmary on speed dial. 

After another hour or so Tony holds up a silver tablet, roughly the same size as a smartphone, examining it from all sides.

“That’s it,” he states. “The final product.”

You exhale lightly.

“We should name it.” You have your hands on your hips, looking down at it in wonder. Maybe the zero hours of sleep was finally kicking in because you couldn’t believe you were finally done. 

“You got any suggestions?” Tony asks. 

To be frank, no, you didn’t.

“No.”

“Okay, we’ll do that later.” Tony sets it down, not sounding too disappointed. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, tell the team to get down here, please.”

“Yes, boss.”

Bucky jumps off his chair to join you in the lab, leaving the book behind. 

It only takes a few moments for the others to join. Fury and Steve walk in together, already engaged in conversation.

“Greetings.” You clap your hands together. “We did it. We think.”

“We think?” Nick raises an eyebrow.

“We know,” Bruce clarifies quickly, stepping in. “We’re positive it works. We tested it out.”

Tony pulls up the holograph of F.R.I.D.AY’s system, sliding the tablet to the middle of the table.

“Is it secured under FRIDAY’s core?”

“Locked and loaded.” Tony hits the table lightly to signify that it was safe.

“I think we’re ready,” Bruce confirms.

“We better be, or else half the country is suddenly going to lose their internet connection,” you say under your breath.

“What?” Bucky’s eyebrows knit together.

“Nothing,” you beamed, “Okay F.R.I.D.A.Y., run sequence, global parameter.”

“Running sequence,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. parrots. 

There was no going back now. 

From what Bucky can see, Tony looks fairly confident but you have your bottom lip caged between your teeth, chewing on it nervously. 

There are several hundreds of photographs popping up and disappearing within a minute. Everything looks like it’s going according to plan.

The giant holograph of the AI dims. Your face drops when F.R.I.D.A.Y. seems to sputter to a halt. 

No one breathes.

In the midst of the tension, Clint mutters if they should play some background music. It’s followed by a swift ‘ow’ when Natasha flicks him in the shoulder.

You could hear a pin drop.

It suddenly picks back up again, running faster than the last time and the sigh everyone collectively heaves is almost comical.

It runs for a few seconds more before a list of names suddenly pop up accompanied by a series of photographs and geo locations.

“Sequence complete. Six names detected, zero encroachment on public or private databases,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. broadcasted. “Location determined to be Holland. Exact coordinates are computed into the quinjet.”

You let out a small cheer, looping your arm around Bruce, squeezing him in a half hug. He has a smile on his face, dropping his head as he laughs slightly. 

“How dangerous are they?” Tony, however, continues to ask.

“A few prior convictions and a series of similar threats. Danger level determined to be at approximately five out of ten.” 

“That’s not bad,” Steve commented. “Looks like we don’t need the full team there.”

“Romanoff, Barton, Wilson, Rogers can go ahead and take care of that,” Nick finally spoke up. “Everyone else is working security tomorrow, just in case anyone else decides that terrorism is on their fuckin’ to-do list for the day.”

“Buck, assemble a team and go over strategy for tomorrow,” Steve adds on. “Everyone else go suit up, wheels up in thirty minutes.” 

“Fuckin’ Holland,” Sam scoffs, shaking his head. “Of all the places.” 

“What do you have against Holland?” Nat asks as they leave together.

“Just don’t like ‘em.” Their voices grow faint the further they get.

“Hey.” A small greeting from behind you has you turning around.

Wanda stands in front of you and you have to ignore the fact that the most powerful being on Earth is talking to you. 

“Hey,” you say back.

“I just wanted to say congratulations. You did a great job.” Bits and pieces of her accent poked out. She didn’t seem like she was putting in the effort to cover it up as opposed to the press interviews you had heard a few years ago. 

“Thank you.” You smile. “T’was a team effort.”

“Well, we owe you one anyway,” Steve joins the conversation, leaving aside Tony who was still talking to Bruce.

“I wish I was humble enough to turn it down but I’m not.” You laugh. “It’s nice to have an arsenal of superheroes at my disposal.”

Steve looks like he’s going to respond but his attention is drawn towards F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s announcement that the quinjet was ready to go. He shoots you an apologetic look but you sign for him to go on, you’d meet with him later.

You watch as he claps Tony on the back, telling him to go get some sleep and something with more nutritional value than a pizza pocket in him, nodding at Bruce before taking leave. 

“Y/L/N,” Nick stands beside you, looking ahead at the conversations being had as Steve tugs Clint along with him.

“Nicky,” you tease.

“I know at least seven underground prisons I can put you in if anyone hears you calling me that,” he says stoically. 

“We all know you won’t get rid of me.” You shake your head. “Who’s gonna send you a Christmas card then, huh?”

He simply shakes his head, jutting his hand out and offering a handshake. “Not sure anyone here could handle another day of a highly caffeinated, sleep-deprived Stark.”

“Just say ‘thanks’, Nick, geez.” You roll your eyes. 

Bucky watches the entire interaction unfurl; only the body language, not employing the lip-reading ability. 

“You’re welcome.” You let go of his hand, a devilish look on your face. “You know what I want in return.”

Nick gives you a long, hard stare that could probably melt through Steve’s shield before turning around to leave. 

But Bucky doesn’t miss the subtle high-five he gives you while walking out, unbeknownst to anyone else, bringing the biggest grin to your face.

He makes it a point to ask you what the fuck kind of leverage you have over the man for him to play favourites with you. 

You finally collapse at your desk, letting out a loud exhale. You clench your eyes shut, your body finally melting into your chair. You look exhausted.

He’s not sure how to help. You don’t seem like you have the energy to tell him.

Bucky leaves a doughnut and water bottle on the table in front of you before shuffling out of the room quietly. 

He’s certain that he’s spent far too long in Bruce’s lab this week. He liked the man as much as the next guy, but he probably wouldn’t come down there for the foreseeable future. 

You’re at your assigned desk, reading light illuminating the space. Thankfully you’ve cleared up most of your stuff from the table, leaving no more liabilities to fall over in case he walked into the desk. 

“So you’re done for the week.” His voice surprises you. You were scrolling through your phone, slightly hunched over.

“It appears so.” You put your phone down, swivelling the chair to look at him. 

“How’d it go?” He leans against your table, making sure he isn’t using his full weight.

“Well, I slept for fifteen hours straight, so...” you leave him to connect the dots. He’s done the same several times.

“You’re probably gonna need more,” he says, mostly from his own experience, “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Actually-” you reach beside your table and lug your gigantic box of belongings onto the table with a loud thud, “-you won’t.”

He looks at the box that was nearly overflowing with its contents, the majority of the space being taken up by empty picture frames. “I thought you said Tony offered you a job.” 

“He did,” you confirm. “I didn’t accept.”

“Why?” He watches you shift through a few things, adjusting it so that it wouldn’t fall over.

“This whole thing- it’s cool and all, but it’s not what I want to do.” You shrug. “I like teaching. I miss my class.”

He gaze lands on one of the thank you notes sticking out from the corner of the box. “Ah.”

“Back to school from tomorrow.”

“And evil on the weekends?” he prods, dropping a pen into the heap of stationery. 

“Obviously.” You give him a lopsided smile. “Where else am I gonna use all this brilliance?”

You point to your head. He lets out a small exhale in the form of a laugh.

“Speaking of-” You look like you just remembered something.  

You rummage through your backpack and pull out a small container, handing it to him.

“What’s this?” He turns it over, looking for any hidden clues. “Are you proposing again, because I’ve said no-”

“I’m not proposing,” you interrupt, “yet.”

He gives you a deadpan look.

“Open it,” you urge, and he complies.

Two small squares sit side-by-side. They’re slick black, barely bigger than the face of a dice.

“You put one of them here-” You tap on his bicep “-and the other here.” You tap his shoulder, a few inches below his clavicle.

“What does it do?” He thinks it’s like Nat’s little taser things, a nifty little tool that he could use on missions.

“It, uh-” you hesitate “-it allows you to feel sensation in your metal arm. Heat, pressure, texture.”

His breath hitches in his throat. He doesn’t mean for it to happen, it just does.

“You said that sometimes you’re glad you couldn’t because of the bullets and stuff. They’re detachable, so just take them off when you go on missions and wherever it is you Spandex ambassadors go.” You scoff slightly. 

He can’t remember the last time he felt something soft with that arm or used it for something that wasn’t directly related to his job.  

“I’m not messing with what the Wakandans gave you. It’s the most advanced piece of tech out there.” You shrug. “But if you ever want to feel it when someone attaches sticky notes to your arm, this could work. Just thought it’d be nice to have an option.”

He can’t decipher what he’s feeling right now. He looks up at you, only to catch you eyeing him cautiously, assessing his reaction. When you notice he’s looking at you, a nervous smile makes its way onto your face. 

His stomach does a flip. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly. 

“Don’t mention it.” You sound a little relieved, picking up the box that he’s pretty sure weighed a ton what with all his memorabilia in it. “See you next week.”

He doesn’t know how to explain what it means to him. 

Instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets. “What are you doing later?”

“Nothing.” You pause. “Why?”

“Are you gonna watch the parade?” 

“Yeah, probably.” You shift your weight to your other leg to compensate for the box.

“Want some company?”

“Aren’t you heading a security division?” You have to consciously hide the bewilderment from your voice. 

“Yeah. The place I’m stationed just so happens to have a good look into the street,” he explains, toying with the bracelet on his wrist. “Can’t really promise that I’ll be paying attention to it or that I’d even be there the whole time but for the most part...” he trails off. 

“Uh-” You force yourself to shove aside your surprise at his determination, “yeah, sure. That’d be cool.”

He nods. “Okay. See you there.” 

“See you,” you murmur as you walk to the elevator. 

He opens the tiny container to look at the small chips. They’re still there, silently like they don’t change his world just by existing. 

Gosh.

Next part

[chiwhorei]

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬

paring: kenny ackerman x fem!reader

genre: apocalypse!au, smut, dark content, 18+ mdni [cross-posted to Ao3]

word count: 3k

overview: kenny *i-wouldn’t-fuck-you-if-it-was-the-end-of-the-world* ackerman; but it is and you do . . . and you’ll probably do it again. or, if you read beyond the cut and wind up in hell that is legally not my fault.

tags: dymph does sacrilege once again, post-apocalypse au, blood, violence, zombies (only mentions of gore nothing specific), somnophilia, noncon, dubcon, degradation, smoking, insertion, sloppy oral, big age gap aka kenny is a nasty old man and reader is a sweet little virgin.

a.notes: happy *fucking* easter. this is for the smut pile’s apocalypse collab so go give everyone’s pieces a read, everyone has worked so incredibly hard. this is dedicated to @pleasantanathema​, who was both my beta reader and emotional support while stringing this together. here’s to the old man fuckery, cheers.

hymn: the seven deadly virtues - camelot

But stay awake at all times, praying that you may have strength to escape all these things that are going to take place, and to stand before the Son of Man. -Luke 21:36

                                      * * *

Wet.

A sticky kind of wet. Clinging on like thick clay, splattered across your neck— gore and sinew wrapped in a noose. Shades of decaying reds and browns are all you see these days. 

The seeping, molding kind of wet.

The smell is suffocating, the toll of death deep in your bones. You keep moving, you have to. One foot in front of the other, fingers fretting with the cross hanging between your collarbones. Counting your Hail Mary’s distracts from the ache in your soles and the burning feeling that you’re rotting away.

It was slow at first. The end of the world, the crashing, clattering end felt like a slow decent to hell. Pieces of the modern world falling away, the promise of tomorrow, the assurance of a cure. You refused to believe the dead could walk the earth until they were stumbling straight towards you. 

All of us, you think, are rotting away.

“Pick up the pace, kid. Are you trying to end up like the rest of those fuckers?” His voice rings from a few feet in front of you. The brush under your feet is dry, leaves crunching loudly with every weary step forward. 

Kenny always likes to remind you of your naïveté, insults about your rose tinted glasses barked crudely from around a cigarette. Your youth, your optimism, your beliefs-- useless traits in his opinion. What good is God in a world like this.

“Friends. They were our friends.” Your words come out in a whimper, the tone further irritating the man ahead of you.

He stops, turning around to catch your eyes, gaze piercing through the night like a knife. All that’s left of your composure is used to keep from crashing right into his chest.

“Ain’t no more room for friends in this world, baby doll,” a long pointer finger lifts your chin, the slightest touch still bruising, “thinkin’ like that is what’s going to get ya killed.”

Rose tinted glasses, cracked and splattered with blood, fall off and are lost to a world that no longer exists. Kenny let’s up and turns, pulling you farther into the thick brush. You could swear you feel the lenses as they splinter under your shoe.

                                      * * *

Kenny is a vile man. He knows his name isn’t on a reservation list at the Pearly Gates, he’s aware that a sinner lives on borrowed time. 

Nowadays, everyone is living on borrowed time. Even you.

You, he thinks, looking back to where you stumble over a tree branch, far to good for a world like this.

He can’t help but laugh, the absolute absurdity of his current situation. Escaping death by the skin of his teeth, watching any familiar faces burning in the remnants of a camp he couldn’t really call home. People that fought to the bone, melting or devoured or both.

And then there was you, standing in front of the flames, tears falling down the apples of your cheeks, stiff in shock and horror. He remembers the way your lips moved, mumbling a quiet prayer instead of trying to run. Stupid little thing.

It’s not the earth the meek inherit; it’s the dirt.

Was it pity that made Kenny pull you away from an infernal gravesite all those months ago? He’s never the hero of any story. No, it must have been something else.

Maybe it was the way you looked up with teary eyes, silently begging for help. Unwittingly making a deal with the devil. His teeth grind at the memory, the vision of how beautiful you look so completely helpless. 

Kenny leads and you follow, he hunts and you flitch at the sound of an arrow piercing flesh. The small squeak and proceeding thumb of meat as it hits the ground never fails to make you sick. When he’s not hunting for food, he’s hunting something else.

The sounds of death are all the same.

Some days you’re lucky, coming across abandoned hideouts or deserted cars. Snagging whatever hasn’t already been picked over; some ammo, the occasional can of peaches or pack of cigarettes. Kenny laughs dryly everytime, chucking the carton into his bag. Always the cigarettes, never the lighter. Most days, not so much.

Every night, you fall asleep to the flicker of a campfire, lulled by the steady sound of Kenny’s knife as it scrapes against a piece of wood. He’s always the last asleep. The woods are a dangerous place, the possibility of monsters circle at every moment. Under the veil of night, anything could happen. And it does.

He wipes his mouth, settling back into the harsh ground below him with a pleased hum. Your whimpers have settled back into a light snore. 

Kenny is a vile man, and you’re too concerned with the lifeless villain in the shadows that you forget about the one sitting on the other side of the fire.

Three months of waking up to aching limbs and misplaced panties can’t be a coincidence, can it?

                                      * * *

“Well ain’t this something.” Kenny pulls on the door, swinging it open with a loud creek. Your neck strains to look up at dark wood and steepled roof, the tall building hidden by dense forest, you two must be the first people to step inside in months. 

“A church.” You’d find comfort within these walls if you weren’t so positive that God had abandoned this world.

Statues of the Virgin Mary and Saint Joseph are empty behind their stone eyes, shadowed with an unsettling shade of red from the stained-glass windows. The moment is a time capsule, a vision of the congregation of saints bathed in blood.

A chill runs down your back, counting every vertebrae.

You push down the unsettling foreboding, focusing back on the instincts to survive instead of lingering on a religion that you can no longer make sense of.

“Hey kid, over here.” You pick up the pace, quickening footsteps away from holy symbolism and towards Kenny’s voice. You walk into the closest room off a dark hallway and find him leaning against the doorframe. The rooms are getting darker with the vanishing sun, but you make out shelves of cans and boxes, food, blankets, clothes.

“I bet they used this as a food pantry,” Your comment was probably an obvious assumption, but Kenny just hums in response, “there’s enough here to last up months.” 

Good samaritans in the first life are a saving grace is this one. Your cynicism lifts from heavy shoulders for just a moment. The lines between luck and divine intervention are fuzzy at best.

“I saw a well right outside too. Water’s probably cold as ice but it’s better than anything we’ve come across yet.” Kenny’s voice is even, but you swear he cracks a smile.

He was right, the water is cold enough to shatter your bones like ice. You shiver and chatter, teeth threatening to crack, but the feeling of being clean has you dumping bucket after bucket over your head. The grime and grit of your reality running down to seep into the grass below.

There’s no home to run to after the world ends, but water and food is more than you could imagine in recent months. Shuffling through boxes of donated clothes, you find a shirt big enough to sleep in. The fabric smells like moth-balls and dust, but the feeling of clean cotton against your skin is heavenly. 

You find Kenny in the clerical office, rummaging through the priests desk. The sun is replaced with a flight of candles, for the first time in forever, you don’t feel like death is standing right behind you.

“Would you look at that,” Kenny pulls a cigar from the desk, bringing it up to his nose for inspection, “Looks like father had his own little habit.”

Despite yourself, you laugh at his comment, rounding towards the large leather chair he’s settled into.

“Smoking kills you know.” You lean against the desk next to him. Your bare legs brush against his knee, the heat from your skin makes his mouth water.

“I think there’s more pressing concerns than tobacco, kid.”

There’s something different about tonight, even more than just the four walls and roof around you. There’s something about Kenny and the way his stare has followed you all night. You can feel a cord pulling taught, fraying in the middle before it snaps.

“Asshole.”

The plush of Kenny’s bottom lip is close enough to your cunt to be disastrous.  Friendly banter becomes laughing and swatting at his chest like a teenager. Communion wine and tension pulling you into him. The loneliness of this life becomes more apparent the closer he is to touching your skin. When did the man in front of you make your heart race so fast? 

Maybe you’ve always felt this way.

You feel it, the ghosts of last night, the night before. The ghosts of weeks or maybe even months. The familiarity of a touch you weren’t quite awake for. 

Ass arching off from where it sticks to the cherry wood, you want to feel it again. The laving of tongue and mouth against you. The devouring of your most intimate planes of skin, places no one else has ever touched before, places you were saving for your future husband.

The kiss as hot as hell.

“Awe, c’mon now,” His nose nudges against your clit, the movement pulling another cry from your throat to bounce against the high ceiling, “that’s not my name.”

“I’ve been tracing it into this precious cunt of yours every night,” each word is more unhinged than the last, no longer worried about the doe in his sights running away, “Do I need to spell it out for you again?”

There’s nowhere to run, pressed in between his canines.

Dreams of calloused fingers and a wandering mouth are now cementing as memories. The feeling of rough facial hair. The sounds of desperate moans and how they shake against you. 

The way his tongue curls like a signature. 

His mouth is flush against you again, sucking at your aching clit for only a moment before moving his attention to long lashes against your clenching hole.

“You must remember. You were moaning it so sweetly,” he nips at your puffy lips before drawing back. His chin is sheened in your arousal, slick refracting off the dimly lit space between you, flickering candles outline his features with a dance of orange shadows. Kenny’s eyes hold you captive, giving you one more chance to answer.

“What’s my name, kid?”

His tongue breaches you, a set of large, familiar hands keep your legs spread wide atop the desk. 

You remember— of course you do. You remember everything. The name stuck in your head like a broken record. The name you call for in a sleepy haze as your body is dragged into orgasm.

The name that’s spelled against you like a promise.

“K-Kenny please.”

That’s all that he needs, the only thing, if he’s being honest, that he’s ever needed.

“There’s my sweet little girl. Finally using your manners.” Two fingers come up to swipe against your pussy, stopping right before your clit and collecting slick to bring up to your eye line for inspection. You jump when the warm digits drag against your bottom lip, a silent prompt for your mouth to fall open.

Kenny sticks his fingers in, the intent to make you gag is clear but you take it. You’ll take anything he gives you. Your tongue swirls around the intrusion, running against each joint and suckling loudly. The sound is wet and lewd, the spit collecting at the corners of your mouth makes his head spin.

Your destruction, he decides, will be beautiful. 

Kenny’s fingers release with a wet pop. He runs callouses down from your cheek, over the curve of your tits and down your abdomen. Two fingers stop at your pubic bone to trace lightly against the skin in random patterns. 

“Your body is just as agreeable when you’re awake.” His words drip in sin, reminding you exactly how familiar he is with you. All of you.

Both thumbs come down to spread your lips, Kenny can’t help but take a moment-- just a beat-- to stare at your swollen, glossy clit and the quiver of your little hole. Your skin is soft, completely untouched by anyone else. He laid claim to almost every inch before you begged him to.

He sinks from the leather chair, kneeling in front of you. You’re the body and blood as far as a sinner like Kenny is concerned.

There’s a plea stuck in your throat. You want to beg him to slow down, it’s too much all at once, but you know if you cried out-- all you would do is beg him for more.

His tongue is long and flat against you, every swipe is punctuated with a growl. The rumbling from his chest is thrown against your clit like a current through cold water. Sharp, shocking, terrifying.

“Kenny, I- I want,” He sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue against the hood. There’s no words in any language that make sense to you. There’s nothing but his name. 

“Kenny ah, I need, I don’t know how t—”

Your dangling over a fire, trying desperately to jerk away from the lick of the flames. 

“I know, kid, I know exactly what you need.” his breath is heavy and warm in fans across your skin. You're dripping down the sides of his face and onto the cleric’s desk. Kenny is covered in you, open mouthed kisses against the sweetest thing he’s ever had in his mouth. The tangy taste of your pussy mixing with the wine still on his tongue. 

If he spent forever between your thighs, it wouldn’t be nearly long enough.

“Such a sweet little thing, you’re insatiable.” All you can do is nod dumbly, eyes glazing over with a distinct look of teary submission. It’s so new to you, but grinding upwards and catching your clit against his chin seems like second nature.

The primal need for release is much stronger than any prayer of abstinence. 

“What would your little prayer circle think if they knew you spread your legs for a dirty old fucker like me?” Kenny coos against the apex of your thighs. His words knock on the hollow space behind your breastbone.

Your family and friends, the priest from St. Mary’s who baptized you, old man Jaeger from next door— all buried or burned to ash or so much worse.

Anyone you’ve ever loved is dead, maybe that’s why Kenny is still around.

There’s nothing that can hold you back anymore, the control you claw at slips from your fingers like watery silk. There’s no escaping the roughness of his stubble and an evil, serpent tongue.

“Kenny!”

You cum with a shattering cry, the sound ringing so loud in your ears you swear any enemy of the living in a 10 mile radius could hear you. In reality, what escapes is little more than a broken snivel. 

It hurts, muscles aching from the exertion of trying to keep from falling apart. Your body is a hairpin trigger, the comedown feels more like withdrawal.

“There’s my girl, my good little girl.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft, doting while you fall back to earth. It’s a strange feeling, you’ve never found comfort in Kenny before, he isn’t the shoulder you go to lean on. 

But tonight he’s the chin you buck into.

The aftershocks run across your naked skin, already missing the feeling of his touch as he settles back into the cracked leather chair. 

His cock presses into the denim confines uncomfortably, the ache can wait though. Whether this is his last night alive or has all the time in the world-- he’s going to savor the glistening prize nestled between your thighs. Kenny’s fingers find the cigar where it lies next to your knee, bringing it up to examine while you squirm at the cold night air against your wet cunt.

“No one will ever make you feel as good as I do,” both legs kick out, falling to dangle on either side of his knees in surprise as the cigar comes down to trace your outer lips. He presses the tuck inwards, pulling out slightly so you cry out. The harsh texture of the wrapper mixes with the most minimal of stimulation, causing tears to clump in your waterline. 

“Why don’t you think of a way to repay me, hmm?”

You push past the heaviness in your muscles, sitting up to meet his incredulous stare. Kenny sticks the cigar between his teeth, striking a match from the desk drawer to light the cap. The cigar is stale, cheap tobacco. But every drag now tastes like you.

“I- I could try to--” Words are left unspoken on your tongue, even now, the intonation is poison in your throat. 

You expect Kenny to laugh at your bashfulness, instead, two fingers come up to curl around the Rosary around your neck. He drags you forward, exhaling smoke into your parted, quivering lips. You try your best not to choke. 

He pulls the cigar away, ashing it carelessly on the floor.

“Use your words, kid, tell me what you want.” His words are sleazy but his voice is soft around the edges. Prompting you to shuffle onto his lap. His free hand rests in the small of your back to keep you steady.

“I want--” Fuck, your voice feels like it’ll fail, you take a moment to breathe, “I want you to fuck me, Kenny.” 

Your plea is rushed, so quick to hit his ears he almost misses it. There’s no hiding anymore, there’s nowhere else in this world but the private quarters of a long-dead clergy member. The space between you and Kenny is foggy and tense, only inches between lips.

There’s no more penance in this world, no more time to sit and atone for his sins with prayer. The soft, syrupy feeling of your cunt wrapping around his cock is a slice of heaven, cut out and stolen right from the sky. 

“I thought you’d never ask, doll face.” 

✞ all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[weird-profiterole]

⚠️T/W The following post contains disturbing content such as child abuse & murder.⚠️

Why Gilles de Montmorency-Laval, alias Gilles de Rais, was a child murderer ?

Let's start with the beginning, meaning, with the childhood of Gilles, because it's very important to understand how the very first French serial killer grew up.

Gilles was from a very rich and important family, he had a little brother, René, and their parents died when Gilles was around 10. So he and René had to live with their grandfather, Jean de Craon, who raised them. You have to know that when you were from a noble family, you learn how to fight at a very young age and it was pretty common children had armours to get used to wear one later.

Why is the fact that Gilles and René living with their grandfather, important ?

Because he was a very cruel man. Not only he treated his servants and people terribly, but also his grandkids, especially Gilles, who protected René only aged of 5 at that moment.

Their grandfather was on top of a very large fortune but as anyone can be, he wanted more. So he married Gilles to Catherine de Thouars of Brittany (who was his cousin).

Gilles did comply, not really having a choice and thankfully, his grandfather died not long after that. So that's how Gilles was now at the head of a very large fortune AND a lot of lands in Brittany (this point is very important for later)

So at this point, you may think that Gilles should be alright, maybe he grew up with a bad example, but now it's fine.

Well, it would have. But we are in the middle of the Hundred Years War.

Gilles, being a nobleman AND picking his side to be with the French army, left Brittany to go to the King's side, at Chinon (middle of France). At Chinon, he will meet someone who will change his life forever : Joan of Arc.

You have to understand that the Kingdom of France was ruined (because war is expensive and the previous King was crazy and lost his mind) and Gilles was the richest man of the Kingdom, so you better have him in your side for obvious reasons.

Charles VII, future King of France, assigned Gilles to be the bodyguard of Joan. And he took that responsibility at heart.

Was Gilles in love with Joan ?

You may think that he obviously was, but no. However, he really admired her. He saw her as a Saint and would protect her at any cost.

They were the closest companions during war, from the beginning until the end.

Joan's death.

The death of Joan was the crucial point in Gilles' changing personality. If he was known as a very loyal and chevalresque person, he was now a prey to his internal demons.

When Joan died, his heart was so broken, he didn't believe in anything anymore, because the English dared to kill a Saint and the French King did nothing.

He stopped being in the army and went back in his lands in Brittany, and this is where our story of mass child murderer Gilles de Rais starts.

Back in Brittany, Gilles spent his money like crazy, he created a lot of festivities along with the Joan of Arc celebrations in Orléans that are still held nowadays. And as you can imagine, those stuff were really expensive, so he started to sell his lands little by little and reclused himself in one of his castles, where he met a guy (aaaand don't freaking remember his name dammit) who will be his close confident and the one who will drag Gilles into the dark side for good. This man said he was able to invoke demons who will bring them fortune, and one especially was called Baron. Gilles might have been attracted to this one demon because his noble title was Baron.

At first the guy said that he only was allowed to see the demon, and he would ask Gilles to give stuff to invoke it (yup, even you you start to understand the trick, but not Gilles). Alchemy was starting to raise in popularity and Gilles was really into it.

At first, they were animal sacrifices. But soon enough, the guy (damn that annoys me I can't find his name) asked the sacrifices to be greater, way more greater. Innocent human beings, meaning children.

So Gilles started to kidnap orphans, kids who will miss to no one. But that wasn't enough, so he started to hire young boys from poor families and obviously, they never came back. After a while, people were starting to worry, and fear rose in Gilles' lands.

People started to complain against their own lord, which was like, freaking exceptional. But, nothing was made against him, because he was an important person.

Remember when I told you it was important Gilles had lands in Brittany ? Here is why.

He owned lands at the frontiere of English / Bourguignon possession, and a lord wanted them so bad, because it was a key placement, strategically speaking, (let me remind you Gilles had quit the army, so he was neither on French nor English side anymore) but since he couldn't get them, he decided to trick Gilles and seal his fate.

After many provocations, Gilles decided to get back at him and that foolish man entered a church where the other lord was, armed.

At that time, entering a church with weapons, whenever if you were a peasant or the King, was a great crime that could cost you to be beheaded.

So Gilles was arrested. BUT since he was a very important person, was only punished by taking away part of his lands, like the one drawing the frontiere.

Did it stop there ?

No.

People being envious of his possessions, like the King (yes, you've read it right. But not Charles VII, it was Louis XI, his son) wanted Gilles to be put under a trial. His accomplices, (the guy who was supposedly in contact with demons and his henchmen) all witnessed against Gilles de Rais (to obviously save their lives and they were under torture) and it was the best opportunity to finish Gilles off. They described the gruesome things that happened in Gilles' castle, from the kidnappings schemes to the sacrifices. (I deliberately will spare you the details, because it's very disturbing) and Gilles denied at first.

But after several weeks of captivity and torture, Gilles de Rais admitted his crimes, and was recognized as guilty and was hang up to death. (Which is really surprising, because nobles were beheaded, the hanging was only for peasants)

However, even in the investigations during that time AND nowadays (yes, the case was opened and current technologies used to solve that case) no children skulls were found in Gilles castle or in the area. The cold case of Gilles de Rais was opened and diligently studied, and like four or maybe five decades ago, Gilles was recognized innocent by the French Republic.

Did Gilles has children ?

He had a daughter. Despite his crimes, her mother and her, never suffered from his reputation and Gilles old comrades in arms made sure his daughter would have a comfortable life.

What happened to Gilles' fortune after his death ?

A small part of it went to his wife. The rest to the Kingdom of France.

If you have questions, don't hesitate to ask, I will do my best to answer depending of my knowledge

Tagging @yanderepuck because Tumblr doesn't want me to tag Lulu.

[edenmemes]

misc poetry sentence starters

❝  one gets so used to one’s own horrors, one forgets how they must seem to other people.  ❞ ❝  you remind me what love lives in this skin.  ❞ ❝  you are the most phantom-like of all; you are a mere dream.  ❞ ❝  i’m not telling you a story so much as a shipwreck—the places floating, finally legible.  ❞ ❝  the world was made so we can find each other in it.  ❞ ❝  the night isn’t dark; the world is dark. stay with me a little longer.  ❞ ❝  i want you desperately. i want your strength and your softness, your hands, all of you.  ❞ ❝  is that too much to expect? that i would name the stars for you?  ❞ ❝  against your cheek my hand is warm and full of tenderness.  ❞ ❝  the world grows green again when you smile.  ❞ ❝  your share of pains would fill a sea.  ❞ ❝  i’m so stuck on the ‘was’ of people.  ❞ ❝  what i love in you is your power of loving, a bit wild, a bit primitive, but absolute.  ❞ ❝  i like figuring you out. you are so human and puzzling.  ❞ ❝  the unwillingness to try is worse than any failure.  ❞ ❝  you wanted happiness. i can’t blame you for that.  ❞ ❝  i did violence to my own heart.  ❞ ❝  i don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth.  ❞ ❝  like a magpie, i am a scavenger of shiny things: fairy tales and dead languages.  ❞ ❝  and here you come with a shield for a heart and a sword for a tongue.  ❞ ❝  you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry.    only the sun has come this close, only the sun.  ❞ ❝  sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof you’ve been ruined.  ❞ ❝  when will it cease, this monstrous rage of yours?  ❞ ❝  i will plant my hands in the garden. i will grow, i know, i know.  ❞ ❝  i had it all and i want it back again.  ❞ ❝  i don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.  ❞ ❝  we are two reflections that cross swords with each other.  ❞ ❝  as for me, i am a watercolour. i wash off.  ❞ ❝  do you dare send me away as though you were were waiting for something better?  ❞ ❝  my dear, you are in danger of being burned by your own flame.  ❞ ❝  i am three oceans away from my soul.  ❞ ❝  you, occasionally, glimmer with a light i’ve never seen before. it frightens me.  ❞ ❝  i went to sleep last night so i could see you.  ❞ ❝  even the eyes of gods must adjust to light. even gods have gods.  ❞ ❝  how much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?  ❞ ❝  it does me no good to be good to me now.  ❞ ❝  i may look alright, but if you were to look more closely you wouldn’t find a single healthy bit in me.  ❞ ❝  i must clothe myself in other worlds.  ❞ ❝  suffering is the privilege of those who feel.  ❞ ❝  sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine.  ❞ ❝  the vigor, the fire, that enables you to love and create. when you lose that, you’ve lost everything.  ❞ ❝  i can be bold, because i have you with me always.  ❞ ❝  you are shaking fists and trembling teeth. i know: you did not mean to be cruel. that does not mean you were kind.  ❞ ❝  not that i want to be a god or a hero, just to change into a tree,  grow for ages, not hurt anyone.  ❞ ❝  i laughed today. for a second i was unhaunted.  ❞ ❝  you are sunlight through a window, which i stand in, warmed.  ❞ ❝  there’s something electric in your blood.  ❞ ❝  you say you are broken,   but broken mirrors like you create the most beautiful patterns of light.  ❞ ❝  time doesn’t obey our commands.  ❞ ❝  i love you quite passionately, and with a touch of tragedy.  ❞ ❝  to feel anything deranges you. to be seen feeling anything strips you naked.  ❞ ❝  i love you --- like a storm bursts overhead --- i must confess it; all the more fiercely because you burn and bite.  ❞ ❝  and i have seen rivers, not unlike you, that failed to find their way back.  ❞ ❝  i am less a god now that you’ve touched me.  ❞ ❝  your words are gentle; but my blood runs cold to think what plots you may be nursing deep within your heart.  ❞ ❝  you said i killed you --- haunt me then.  ❞ ❝  your soul is frail and solemn, loyal and spring-like.  ❞ ❝  you look like you’ve eaten the sun, like you drank so much sunlight you’re drowning in it.  ❞ ❝  strangeness is a necessary ingredient in beauty.  ❞ ❝  you will hear thunder and remember me.  ❞ ❝  ever think it’s possible for us to be happy?  ❞ ❝  and i would wonder across all the deserts of this world, even after death, to search for you.  ❞ ❝  since we’re bound to be something, why not together?  ❞ ❝  i am ashes were once i was fire.  ❞ ❝  this mouth will destroy you the moment you mistake it for something soft, for something that is yours.  ❞ ❝  it’s no easy thing to bear, the weight of sweetness.  ❞ ❝  kill the light! i’d rather wallow in the dark.  ❞ ❝  i have thought of you often since the darkness.  ❞ ❝  with your presence the sun becomes irrelevant.  ❞ ❝  there is no god left in this skin. there’s just the ash. just the ash.  ❞ ❝  open your eyes, look more sharply, see me as i am.  ❞ ❝  what the hell is tragedy? i am.  ❞ ❝  i’ve got a lot of feeling for you. you’re kind.  ❞ ❝  how beautiful it is, how beautiful, that glow before the stars break.  ❞ ❝  so much to do today: kill memory, kill pain, turn heart into a stone, and yet prepare to live again.  ❞ ❝  i am myself. that is not enough.  ❞ ❝  i may be mad, god-seized, but i will stand outside my madness.  ❞ ❝  my power, which to me is still a curse ---  ❞ ❝  ocean sea with its caressing swell; it has so often cooled my heart.  ❞ ❝  do you bathe in perfume, and dry yourself in light?  ❞ ❝  i like you; your eyes are full of language.  ❞ ❝  let me tell you what i do know.    i am more than one thing and not all of those things are good.  ❞ ❝  you are the cause and the cure --- both.  ❞ ❝  i have kisses for the back of your neck.  ❞ ❝  your beautiful glance is unbearably cruel.  ❞ ❝  we might meet again, someday between dreams at dawn.  ❞ ❝  suffering is a terrible fire; it either purifies or destroys.  ❞ ❝  lately it hurts more to imagine you are a stranger rather than a destroyer.  ❞ ❝  and i say to myself: a moon will rise from my darkness.  ❞ ❝  since you walked out on me, i’m getting lovelier by the hour. i glow like a corpse in the dark.  ❞ ❝  i will not whine. i will obey and be forever still.  ❞ ❝  you move like the moon.  ❞ ❝  my eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears.  ❞ ❝  in your eyes, the fires of twilight.  ❞ ❝  do not haunt my soul; i have done well forgetting you.  ❞ ❝  i am no one. i cannot love. it’s in my blood.  ❞ ❝  you’re wearing your armor to protect your heart. who can blame you? it only makes sense in a world like this one.  ❞ ❝  you are not real. you are a dream of a dream.  ❞ ❝  there are so many things i’m not allowed to tell you.  ❞ ❝  i am indeed a shameless, evil-minded and abominable creature.  ❞ ❝  come this evening --- i am eager for stars.  ❞ ❝  i am on fire with that soft sound you make, in uttering my name.  ❞ ❝  i want you mostly in the morning when my soul is weak from dreaming.  ❞ ❝  to me you are the desert and the sea; everything secretive.  ❞ ❝  i thought i was wounded to the core but i was only bruised.  ❞ ❝  it is a dead heart. it is inside of me. it is a stranger.  ❞ ❝  i live --- but i’m mutilated.  ❞ ❝  if there is a light then i am going to swallow it.    if there is a god then i’m going to make him cry.  ❞ ❝  i am condemned to be a saint or a monster: unable to be the one, unwilling to be the other.  ❞ ❝  you will open your wounds and make them a garden.  ❞ ❝  i come home --- and i feel like a ghost returning its haunt.  ❞ ❝  i planted roses, but without you they were thorns.  ❞ ❝  everything inside me is in revolt.  ❞ ❝  how this darkness soaks me through and through.  ❞ ❝  give me my robe, put on my crown; i have immortal longings in me.  ❞ ❝  say something dangerous like i love you.  ❞ ❝  listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?  ❞ ❝  in times of crisis, we must decide again and again whom we love.  ❞ ❝  breathe the scent of little, earthly things. let the twilight touch you.  ❞ ❝  my heart is just like the ocean, has storm and calm and tides.  ❞ ❝  you became for me a sacred being, not to be touched save in adoring thoughts.  ❞ ❝  gods are stubborn. so am i.  ❞ ❝  is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?  ❞ ❝  there’s something soft in me. i killed it and it’s rotting.  ❞ ❝  beware. beware. there is a tenderness.  ❞ ❝  half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. real gods require blood.  ❞ ❝  i’m alive. like a wound, a flower in the flesh, the path of aching blood is open within me.  ❞ ❝  you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth.  ❞ ❝  i have it in me...to scare myself with my own desert places.  ❞ ❝  my mouth still houses century-old magic.     in my ears i hear a ringing and singing and no god.  ❞ ❝  keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice.  ❞ ❝  i’m full of poetry now. rot and poetry. rotten poetry.  ❞ ❝  this skin is sick with loneliness.  ❞ ❝  memories are sharp. they bite. i have spent most of my life trying to grow a thicker skin just to make sure i would not bleed out whenever i felt those teeth scrape up against me.  ❞ ❝  i wonder if i will ever find a language to speak of the things that haunt me the most.  ❞ ❝  after fury, what do you do with the remains?  ❞ ❝  come on, dance with me. the earth is spinning. we can’t just stand on it.  ❞ ❝  let’s admit, without apology, what we do together.  ❞ ❝  try to find the right place for yourself. if you can’t find it, at least dream of it.  ❞ ❝  it takes grace to remain kind in cruel situations.  ❞ ❝  i am too full of life to be half-loved.  ❞ ❝  today you want nothing because wanting comes too close to feeling.  ❞ ❝  there’s nothing more terrible, more alluring, more mysterious than love.  ❞ ❝  heavenly wine and roses seem to whisper to me when you smile.  ❞ ❝  my soul is devoutly and wholly under your spell.  ❞ ❝  will you see the human in my being?  ❞ ❝  if i had a flower for every time i thought of you…i could walk through my garden forever.  ❞ ❝  part broken part whole, you begin again.  ❞ ❝  i don’t know if love’s a feeling. sometimes i think it’s a matter of seeing. seeing you.  ❞ ❝  i wonder which will get you killed faster, your loyalty or your stubbornness?  ❞ ❝  whether you come as a lover or an exeutioner, i am ready to receive you.  ❞ ❝  i think i understand your longing. it looks so much like mine.  ❞ ❝  i’ve had so many knives stuck into me. when they hand me a flower, i can’t quite make out what it is.  ❞ ❝  i like the sea: we understand one another. it is always yearning, sighing for something it cannot have; so am i.  ❞ ❝  do i not live? badly, i know, but i live.  ❞ ❝  something of you stuck with me. a splinter.  ❞ ❝  i clung to your hands so that something human might exist in the chaos.  ❞ ❝  sometimes i shut my eyes, and shut my heart towards you, and try hard to forget you because you grieve me so, but you’ll never go away. oh you never will.  ❞ ❝  my golden love, if only you knew, what precious honey you are for me.  ❞ ❝  i had an old wound once, but it is healing.  ❞ ❝  always this in-betweenness, this almost, this it might be that...  ❞ ❝  when i close my eyes, i see you. when i open my eyes i want to see you.  ❞ ❝  dark as it is --- you see, that little flickering, is the light of my soul.  ❞ ❝  am i a monster or is this what it means to be a person?  ❞ ❝  i am talking about evil. it blooms. it eats. it grins.  ❞ ❝  sapphires are those eyes of yours, ravishingly sweet.  ❞