#she’s dying and she’s alone and she’s afraid and she is begging to not become the next white whale.

[carefulfears]

Saw your tags on leiascully's memento mori fic...

...how dare you. it was such a nice weekend and now i have to lie down again (metaphorically) to process my cancer arc thoughts.

To quote Morticia Addams: Do it again.

sorry but i have to lie down physically to process my cancer arc thoughts like…it’s very much scully’s version of mulder’s abduction arc realizations in the way that like, it’s this confrontation of truths that they didn’t need to confront before, but that it’s too late to know now.

mulder only knows how to conceptualize love in absence; during her abduction, he was drowning in the brutality of it. how familiar it was. how much it hurt, and why.

scully only knows how to conceptualize love in responsibility, in dedication; in memento mori she’s completely alone in that hospital, trying to be the strong one and figure it out herself, and she’s writing page after page after page to him. that moment where she writes that it’s been 24 hours since she had written to him because she’d just been too sick. she was writing to him all day, every day. trying to follow him, somehow.

“mulder, i feel you close, though i know you are now pursuing your own path. for that, i am grateful, more than i could ever express. i need to know you’re out there if i am ever to see through this.”

she begs forgiveness, she pleads grace, she asks for courage; she only writes of hope in consistency, that he should have his own path, that perhaps she’ll have the strength to someday follow him.

in elegy, her therapist asks “do you feel you owe it to him to keep working?” and scully says “no.” she says “i guess i never realized how much i rely on him before this.” she says “he’s been a great source of strength that i’ve drawn on.”

(i guess i never realized that i need him, to survive) and she cries as she says it.

every realization, every appreciation, is something to mourn. she’s never realized, just how much it all means, and it’s too late.

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty-Three

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Angst, some suggestiveness

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

There was stillness. A few hesitant gasps. A churning inside your chest like an ocean brewing up a storm. Pieces of Koschei fluttered in the air, landing on your skin like bits of ash until all that was left were the chains of teeth spooled on the ground in bizarre memory of the death god who’d worn them. 

“Y/n,” Azriel gasped out, struggling to his knees. Sweat lined his brow and dripped from his temples. Blood flaked off his caramel skin like rust.

You could smell the iron on him and identify which stains belonged to which fae warrior. You could tell from one breath how they’d died. The dark mark on his thigh had come from a Spring court nymph run through with a snapped femur bone. The splatter on his cheek came from the Winter court Spymaster who’d been beheaded protecting his High Lord. There were a dozen marks for a dozen bodies, and you could hear their last words echo in your ears.

And there were prayers — so many prayers — being spoken and whispered and screamed throughout the world. Funeral songs. The sounds of weeping and twisted-tongue prophecies all competing to drown out the pleasant hum of the mating bond. 

Your skin boiled. The winter chill struck your body and let off steam. You looked down at your hands and saw your palms begin to crack and splinter, light pouring outward just as Ione’s had. Suddenly, you didn’t feel so powerful. 

Azriel sank his sword into the ground, dragging himself to his feet.

Don’t let her go into the mirror. Elain had warned him. She may not come out. 

Her haunting words froze Azriel to the core. He’d tried to decipher her prophecy, but vague and misleading as they could be, he’d let her warning fade into the background. Now that he was here, it was so painfully clear.

Don’t let her go into the lake. 

But he had let you go…and you’d gone for him. 

To protect him. 

To save him. 

Because you loved him. 

Now he needed to do everything in his power to save you. 

The world was a sharper place. Colors shook on different wavelengths. The air was tainted by new flavors. You could hear it when a human boy a thousand miles away coughed and breathed his last. You could hear his mother’s weeping as his body went cold. 

But worst of all, when you looked your father and Lucien in the eye as they propped each other up, you could see their deaths as clear as the clouds in the sky. As if their futures had been inked onto their cheekbones. It was a bloody end, as would befall all High Lords. 

You were afraid to look at Azriel when he finally staggered over to you, all but collapsing in his arms. He brought you both to the ground, drawing you into his lap and cradling your face like you were the most precious thing in the world. Fingertips glossed over your temples. Across your cheeks. Over your hot and cracked lips that spilled starlight over his hands. 

“Az—” You whispered, tears dotting your eyes and slipping down your cheeks in paths of gold. “I’m sorry—” 

“Don’t you dare,” Azriel all but growled. “You are not dying on me today.” He grabbed onto the bond, holding you to this plane of existence with desperation. Like a kite about to drift away. It was through the bond that you heard a smaller, more frightened voice beg, “Don’t leave me here alone.”

You were his mate. His mate. This male who’d become your best friend and your home was now your mate. You could have lived a thousand lifetimes with him and been happy. But no amount of time would have left you satisfied. You would have always been greedy for more. 

Another minute. Another second. 

You coughed and the blood that dribbled down your chin was liquid gold. 

Was this all you’d be given? A handful of confusing months and less than an hour together? A mating bond left incomplete? 

You wondered if this was how Bethsevah had felt when she’d consumed this power. Whether the same stubbornness had compelled her to hold on so that Koschei’s magic might die with her, or whether her promise to Thanatos to live and have her children had finally convinced her to let go and bury what remained in the lake.  

But the lake was no longer an option. In order to kill Koschei you had transformed the very nature of the magic you’d consumed until it belonged to you. You felt it inside your chest — inside your very soul. It was yours. And it was killing you. Like a flame that would soon run out of fuel to burn.

“You’ll be ok, won’t you?” You asked, leaning your head against his chest. You heard his heart beat frantically in your ears and for a moment, the rush of blood through his veins helped dim the choir of weeping and singing. Even now, Azriel was bringing you peace simply by existing. 

Helion and Lucien looked to Azriel as he held you, silently begging him to do something. 

Anything.

“Azriel,” you gasped, eyes fluttering, “It hurts.” 

“I know, Y/n, please just hold on a little while longer,” Azriel begged as more cracks appeared up your arms and across your chest, unfurling like leaves in spring. 

He scrambled to think of something as the bond roared with desperation. You would know what to do in his position. If your mind weren’t being driven to madness by a thousand voices you would have come up with a solution ages ago. You with your brilliant theories and your Librarian training and— 

Azriel choked, angry tears dripping from his eyes onto your cheeks where they crackled and turned to steam. 

You were his best friend. 

His home. 

His mate.

His mate. 

His—

“I always thought that mating bonds must be some special extension of that. Magic that’s not the same, but perfectly complementary.” 

“Like the difference between two sets of keys, versus a key and a lock.”

“Maybe? I suppose that’s not a terrible analogy to make, but I’m not sure.” You’d shot him a smile more radiant than the sun, “You’re beginning to think like a Librarian, Azriel.” 

Azriel saw the bond stretching before him like a bridge of moonbeam on a cloudless night. It looked like a future where he would always be wanted. Always be loved.

He hadn’t taken you to the seasides of Summer. He hadn’t brought you to meet his mother. He’d never asked for your hand in marriage or seen you in a wedding dress or accepted the bond. All things he so desperately wanted to do. 

All things he wanted a chance to do right. 

He saw the bond stretching before him, and barreled down with only one thought in mind: he would not lose you today. 

It was difficult work crossing the bond before it had been accepted. At times the path felt secure beneath his feet. Sometimes it felt at risk of disappearing entirely. But you were waiting for him. He’d never forgiven himself for that night at the Alcove when he’d arrived late and the wards had already gone up. He didn’t want to be late a second time. 

Your mind was composed of endless library stacks — a maze to keep your thoughts secret instead of walls of impenetrable adamant — but Azriel found his way. Bond or no bond, he still knew you like the back of his hand. 

When his soul reached yours, you were a flickering light crushed under the weight of your own magic. Pulsing and twisting and fighting to hang on. He caressed your soul, brought you peace of a kind you didn’t know was possible, and began to strip away those layers of light.

He bundled them up and dove down into the deepest recesses of your mind. Memories of the past flew by — painful, haunting, lonely. Full of crippling worries and undying hope for something more. It pressed against him from all sides until he finally came across something safe. Something frozen in time. A distant memory that had remained untouched for centuries. There he constructed a well, burying your powers behind walls of shadow and adamant and bricks of cobalt blue. 

Piece-by-piece he stored away your power until the light faded from your skin and you were no longer dying in his arms. 

He heard your weak voice, felt your soul flare like a struck match as you took your first clear breath, before beginning the long trek from the place where he’d hidden your power and back into his own body. 

He jerked to attention. Twin gasps left your lungs as you clung to one another. Your skin cooled and stitched itself together, leaving behind pale scars that feathered down your body like ferns. The world was far too silent now. The singing. The prayers. The screams. They were all gone. 

Until you heard Azriel whimper, “Y/n.” It was just a name. Your name. But it was also a prayer of its own. A quiet song of relief as he crashed over you like a great wave, burying his face against your chest as he began to shake. “Gods, Y/n, I thought I was going to lose you.” 

You shook your head, looping your arms around his neck and trembling from the sobs that wracked through his body. 

He closed his wings around you, blocking out the sights and sounds of the world as the others left to gather the dead. In this place — in his arms — you were safe. Your skin no longer crawled with fever and death. You could breathe and taste the air as it was. Nothing more. Nothing less. There was only the haggard rhythms of Azriel’s chest as he regained control of his breathing.

The sound of whispered promises.

Words of love.

The smell of cold wind and cedar wood.

Nearly an hour later, Azriel finally let you go for long enough to accept the cloak Helion draped over your shoulders, and a long embrace from your father and Lucien. 

“Never do anything so stupid again,” Lucien warned, squeezing you tightly. Your skin was still burnt and sensitive, but worth the spine-cracking hug. 

“It wasn’t stupid actually, it was a stroke of brilliance.” 

“Let’s not joke just yet,” Helion said, his voice strangled. 

Azriel appeared to be in agreement, quickly gathering you under the curve of his wings. You sighed deeply, nuzzling into his side and wishing he would take you far away from here. If you asked, Azriel would have flown away with you in an instant, his own exhaustion be damned. But that new power was humming in your veins. Azriel had locked much of it away, but not all of it. And as you knew all too well, power demanded release. 

You looked at Azriel — at your mate — noting his bloodshot eyes and the deep shadows beneath them.

“Azriel, you should—” 

“I’m not leaving you,” He croaked. His hazel eyes flashed with fear, his grip around your waist tightening as if to fuse himself to your side.

“You can barely stand.” 

His eyes softened, pleading. “Don’t ask me to stay away right now, Y/n. Please.” 

And so he followed. Azriel never left your side as you roamed the woods, gold-trimmed cloak trailing behind you. 

One by one, you stripped away the spells that had survived Koschei’s death. You were a new and welcome guest within these woods. They’d been left to rot and ruin for too long, like an abandoned house with boarded up windows and sheets laid down over the furniture. You swept off the sheets and tore open the windows. Over a thousand years these woods had laid in darkness. You finally let the light in.

The bones that had been pulled from the earth were laid to rest for good. You cleaned and preserved the bodies that had recently joined the dead, and when you reached the blindspot where Ione and Techaria had died, you took the pieces of Ione and fused her back together until she just looked like a young woman sleeping amongst the trees.

There was nothing left of Techaria for you to bury. 

Viviane would not allow you anywhere near Kallias, and so you let her attend to her mate and her grief in privacy. 

Then, you went in search of the firebird. 

Lucien was already with her, draping his cloak over her shivering, bloody form. She lay in silence, cradled in the pocket of earth she’d landed in after Viviane had cut through her wings with blades of ice. She croaked mournfully, twisting on the ground to gaze upon you with her beady eyes. With a few careful touches you drew away the curse like a curtain until she was a maiden once again, soot-stained but unharmed. 

Lucien wrapped her in the cloak, soothing her trembling cries as she called out for Jurian. But she was only met with silence. 

Hours later, you all stood by the edges of what was once a lake, carrying the dead and wounded alike in makeshift stretchers or folded neatly within gentle arms. 

Cassian had his left arm thrown around Nesta, his figure pale and crooked. His right arm stuck out awkwardly, bloodied rags wrapped tightly around the stump. 

Rhysand, prideful and stubborn as he was, refused to be carried on a stretcher. Instead, he limped, propped up on one side by Feyre and on the other side by Helion. Eris did the same, guarded by the remaining true-born sons of Autumn. Tarquin was more practical. He let his men carry him and the broken remains of his shield. Viviane was the last of their procession and carried her husband’s frost-coated body. Her tears dripped down her cheeks and froze there. 

At the sight of the High Lady of Winter, Azriel thrummed the bond. He wanted proof you were alive. 

You tugged at it gently and he tugged back with a small exhale of breath.

“Is it time to go home now?” You asked him. 

He caressed your cheek, and the bond, eyes shining. You shivered beneath both touches. 

“Yes, my love, it’s time to go home.” 

All those who could winnow pulled together the scraps of their power, the promise of home so tempting they would have swum across the ocean if needed. 

The fabric of the universe folded in half and everyone stepped through, leaving behind a wasteland decimated from battle and centuries under Koschei’s oppressive power. 

You promised yourself that you would never return, and would keep to that promise. But the next time anyone from Prythian or the Continent gathered enough courage to step foot on the grave of a death god, they would find that everything had changed. Life would find its way once more, and the only things that walked that ground would stand firmly on the side of the living. 

You jerked awake, hands clawing at your scalp as you remembered the power that had burned you from the inside out. It still weighed heavily in your chest — both the locked and unlocked portions — serving as a reminder that your magic was changed now. Touched by death like ink spilled over a book page. 

Azriel wasn’t asleep. He hadn’t slept since you’d arrived in Prythian and immediately collapsed in his arms, choosing to keep watch over you until you finally woke up. 

He was quick to wrap you in his arms and sent all his reassurance and love down the bond. You twitched in his hold. Dug your fingers into his chest so you could feel the beating of his heart. 

“Shhhhh, I’m here, Y/n. You’re alright. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he breathed into the crown of your hair. 

The bed you were in wasn’t yours, and it was too lush to be Azriel’s. You were drowning in opulence and silk. A far cry from the comfortable simplicity of Azriel’s deep colored walls and blue bed sheets and it felt wrong.

The downy feather pillows were covered in the vibrant turquoise, purples, and reds of the Dawn Court, which Azriel confirmed when he explained, “You were so exhausted you passed out the moment we were back in Prythian. We all decided to stay so Thesan could attend to you, Cass, and Rhys.” 

“How long?” You croaked out. Your tongue lay dry and heavy in your mouth. Like someone had shoved cotton down your throat. 

“Three days.”

That would explain the film over your teeth. But someone had bathed you since then. You smelled clean. A hint of lavender soap clung to your skin and hair, and the spare shirt you’d been tucked into smelled of night-chilled mist and cedar. 

There was no blood. No dirt. Nothing. 

If it weren’t for the fern-like scars snaking up and down your body and death’s mark on your powers, you might have believed it was all a dream. 

But there was another clue… or rather the absence of a clue. 

Azriel’s shadows were missing. He looked naked without them twisting around his wings and across his shoulders. 

“Your shadows they’re…” You were at a loss. 

Azriel winced. “They’re still gone.” 

Gone. Not dead or destroyed. Just… gone. 

“Do you think they’ll come back?”

“I don’t know.” It was the uncertainty that was eating away at him. “I can still hear their voices muffled like echoes in the distance, but I haven’t felt them since Koschei…” His words trailed off and he held you impossibly close. 

He hadn’t been born with his shadows, but they’d been by his side for all the years that mattered. Losing them had felt like losing a piece of himself. 

“Were you hurt elsewhere?” You asked, frantically running your fingers up and down his bare chest and back in search of new scars beneath your fingertips. 

“A few bruises here and there and a couple of scratches, but they’re gone now.”

“And the others?”

Azriel looked down at you and grief made the words come out slow. “Rhysand will never fly again and Cassian won’t be the warrior he once was.”

The words slammed into your chest, crushing the breath from your lungs in a strangled gasp. 

You didn’t know what to say. 

Rhysand had rarely shown his wings, preferring to hide what was truly important to him so that it might not be taken away. But he loved flying. He never smiled so wide as when he and Feyre would gather Nyx and Velaria into their arms and shoot off into the night sky until they’d become one with the stars. 

And Cassian… he was a warrior through and through. He may as well have been born with a sword and shield in his hands. 

Azriel tucked his fingers beneath your chin. “They’re alive. That’s what I say we focus on.” 

Because what else was there to say? 

You took his scarred hand in yours, tracing the grooves and valleys along the palms. 

You raised your arm, slipping your hands into a ray of light that spilled through the window and pooled across Azriel’s chest. Lightning shaped scars wound down your shoulder to the palms of your hands, catching the shimmering light along the newly healed scar tissue. 

“We’re matching,” You whispered, sliding your hand into his like it belonged there. 

Azriel’s heart stuttered in his chest and might have given out if you hadn’t kissed him then. It was a hungrier, wilder kiss than he was used to receiving from you. More desperate. As if you wanted to take the air from his lungs just to prove he was breathing. 

He pulled away when your hands drifted to his waist and then further down, gently taking your wrists and pinning them by your sides. 

“Y/n, you don’t want this. Not now.” 

But you did want this. Even if your hands were shaking and your heart was racing uncomfortably. 

It wasn’t how you’d imagined it would go. It wasn’t the ideal fantasy you’d read about thousands of times with a bed covered in rose petals and candles to light up the dark. But it was something. It was Azriel. And you were afraid that you’d wake up tomorrow and find that it was all a dream. Or that some other danger lurked around the corner, waiting for its moment to steal your mate from you. 

You couldn’t have that. You wouldn’t have that. Not when there were still so many things you wanted to do with him. 

You struggled to free your hands, terror rising in your chest at the realization that you’d nearly lost him. The bond had snapped in place and he’d almost died immediately after. What would you have been left with if Azriel had been taken from you? Memories spanning a handful of months and a gaping hole in your life? One half of a bond never realized? Another 300-hundred years alone? 

He rolled over on top of you, bracing his arms by your head and gently smoothing back your hair. He whispered for you to just breathe. 

It was the closest you’d ever gotten to one another.

“How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell me?” You begged him for answers, tears streaming down your cheeks. It was clear from the moment the bond snapped into place that Azriel had known far longer than you had. It was written all over his face now — some mixture of shame and longing. A secret that had been kept hidden for too long.

“I’ve known since the night I met you. Since the moment you called me Azriel the Shadowsinger I’ve known. But I didn’t tell you because I wanted to do things right. I wanted you to love me. I wanted us to take our time.” You started to cry even harder and Azriel felt a piece of his heart crack. “Maybe I took too long.” 

He kissed your eyelids, smoothing away the tears with his lips before they could drip down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier and I’m sorry I frightened you but… but when we do this, I don’t want you to be afraid. I don’t want to be in a stranger’s home or for you to be scared I’ll be gone in the morning.” 

“Then promise me,” you begged, tears streaming down your cheeks, “Promise me you’re really here. Promise me we’ll have more time together.” 

“I’m here, Y/n,” Azriel breathed. “And I swear to you, we will have all the time in the world.” 

Maybe it wasn’t a promise he could keep — the gods knew there were some forces beyond his control — but still, he made the promise over and over again with every belief that he could keep it. He whispered those words against your forehead, against your lips, and against your heart until you stopped shaking. 

He would tear down mountains and move the very stars in the sky for more time with you. 

There was untapped grief that would need to be spoken about and new futures to be arranged. But right now, you and Azriel chose to lay together in silence. It was a quiet sharing of things that couldn’t be spoken, but also couldn’t be carried alone. 

You still had each other. 

You’d both survived.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Y'all I remain hesitant about the ending of this chapter, but you know what, I'm going to let it stand. Nothing I write can be as weird as some of the questionable smut scenes SJM includes in her books (*cough cough* Feyre should not be giving blowjobs to the sounds of people dying on a battlefield). Like...

Anyhow, thank you to everyone who has stuck around with me and this fic after 100k words (and yeah, we hit 100k words like two chapters back without me realizing!)

[amnevitahwritesstuff]

Feyre dies of old age. Rhys becomes a god to get her back. 

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand

Rating: Teen

Triggers: Major Character Death, Murder, Questionable Life Choices

Chapters: One-Shot

AO3 Link

For @officialrhysandweek Day 7: Free Day.

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Across the Universe

Nothing’s gonna change my world. 

Across the Universe - The Beatles

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Once upon a time, Feyre died. 

And, in one world, she was reborn. A high fae and High Lady to rule alongside her mate for centuries. 

This was not that story. 

Instead, Feyre died in Rhysand’s arms, an old woman. 

They had had many happy decades together. And in those decades he had watched her body wither and tire. Her hair go bone white. Her skin turn pale and delicate. He did everything he could to delay the inevitable. Fed her rare tonics to boost her vitality. Scoured every inch of The Library for some spell or ritual to lengthen her life. 

But, in the end, there was only so much one could do against the ravages of mortality. 

And so, Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, spent his mate’s final days clutching her frail body to his own like at any moment she would be snatched away. He whispered his love into her ears and into her mind and reminisced with her over the life they had shared. 

“I only wish…I had given you children,” she said, voice frail and soft now. “So I wouldn’t have to leave you alone.”

“No,” Rhys replied firmly. 

It had been one of his greatest regrets, that he had never managed to give her a child. She had thought it was her failing, but secretly he thought perhaps it was his own. After all, the fae were not a fertile race the way humanity were. Children were as rare as they were cherished. So he hadn’t been surprised when no children had resulted from their union. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. 

“Put it out of your mind. I wouldn’t change anything. You’ve given me more than I could have ever deserved.”

It was an old argument. One she usually was more than happy to repeat over and over again. 

But, it seemed, she was too tired now to argue. 

And that was what scared him most. 

He had tried to coax what little food he could into her, as if her favorite delicacies would stave off the inevitable just that little while longer. 

“Please,” he had begged her, holding a bowl of broth to her lips. “Please, just one more.”

And, dutifully, she had choked down a few swallows. He knew it was solely for his benefit, her appetite having all but disappeared these last few weeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

He was afraid. 

So very afraid. 

And so, in a strange role reversal, it was the dying woman who found herself consoling an immortal in her final moments. 

“Please don’t cry. You’re too pretty to cry. It makes me self conscious.”

Rhys couldn’t help but laugh at the old remark, even as he buried his face deeper into the hollow under her ear, staining her skin with his tears. 

“Don’t talk. You’re wasting too much energy,” he scolded. 

I’m going to die either way. She thought ruefully. 

That just made him sob harder. 

Her time came all too soon. 

Rhys felt it when she finally died. 

I love you, he said frantically to her fading consciousness. I’ll never stop loving you. 

Feyre was too far gone to form real thoughts anymore, but he felt her love for him through the bond. Felt her sorrow at leaving him and the relief she felt at finally being free of the pained and broken body she was leaving behind. 

And then the bond…broke. 

And he felt her soul disappear beyond his reach. 

And Rhysand felt a very necessary part of himself fracture and die with her. 

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He went mad for a while. 

His duties to his court went ignored. The inner circle, Mor and Amren especially, took on the brunt of keeping things running and making sure his subjects stayed in line. Not that he particularly cared either way. He had all but barricaded himself in his townhouse after his mate’s death. 

He left only once, for her funeral. 

Rhys buried Feyre under her favorite tree. A weeping willow that grew along the waterfront. It had been her favorite place to paint. He dug the grave himself. And then, afterwards, he went back to his empty home and wallowed in his grief for nearly a century. 

By the time he emerged, he was nearly unrecognizable to those closest to him. 

“You need a haircut.” Mor had said. They were the first words she had spoken to him in a decade. 

She hadn’t been wrong either. His once perfectly groomed countenance had fallen into ruin. He had even grown a beard, something unusual amongst fae considering how long it took to grow. But then…he had nothing but time now. 

Mor took pity on him. She assumed he had emerged to return to his duties. To distract himself from his grief with work. And Rhys didn’t correct her. 

It was easier that way. 

For a while, no one really seemed to notice what he was up to. He’d been isolated for so long that erratic behavior was all but expected from him. 

But then, slowly, things began to stand out. 

Like his endless visits to the Library. Or the information gathering missions he would send Azriel on across the sea. Or the ever more dangerous voyages he funded to bring back rarer and stranger artifacts. 

It only became clear what was happening after it was far too late. 

Mor was the first to confront him. 

“You can’t.”

Those were the words that greeted Rhys one afternoon as he left his home. 

“Can’t do what?” He said, his mind already elsewhere. Mor latched onto his arm and forced him to a standstill. 

“You can’t bring her back.”

That got his attention. 

Rhys’s eyes narrowed. Not in anger. But in challenge. 

“Can’t I?”

The words chilled Mor to the core. 

“She’s dead Rhys.”

The look he gave her made every one of her hairs stand on end. 

“She’s dead,” she whispered again. 

“Yes,” he said. “But I’m going to fix it.”

And then Mor watched him stalk off, terrified of what those words meant. 

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Buried deep down in the darkest, oldest parts of the Library Rhys finally found his answers. 

It seemed such a small thing when he finally brought it into the light. A brittle, fragile scroll made of vellum so ancient he wasn’t quite sure how it hadn’t crumbled into dust a millennia ago. It took ages to decipher the words upon it. The script was so faded and the language so archaic that even Amren had puzzled over it. 

But Rhys was nothing if not stubborn and this too soon laid its secrets bare for him. 

So many things he learned!

That there were other worlds. Whole sister universes. World just like his own with other Prythians and other Rhysands. 

And, most importantly, other Feyres. 

Of course, one could not just traverse between worlds as one would winnow from one place to another. This he knew all too well. 

But, as it turned out, there were those who had. 

The Daglan. 

And so, it was with renewed conviction and fervor that Rhys saw the path now set before him. 

He would become a god. 

No matter the cost. 

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To become a god, he discovered, one must first kill another god. 

And, as it so happened, he soon discovered a goddess sleeping underneath his court. A creature of unparalleled beauty with snow-white skin and hair as dark as the night itself, sleeping ever so soundly in a crystal sarcophagus. 

A Daglan. 

It was shockingly easy to kill her. Goddess she may have been, but she was still weak from thousands of years of slumber. It took barely any effort at all for him to slide his knife into her breast and soak his clothes with her wine dark blood. To paint it onto his skin. And then to tear her heart from her chest and consume it whole as the old scrolls demanded. 

But that was only the beginning. Those same scrolls demanded sacrifice. A whole manner of them. Godhood was not something so easily won. 

Nothing worthwhile ever was. 

They called for a blood sacrifice. So he culled the Court of Nightmares. They demanded he give up something of great worth. So he burned all of Feyre’s paintings.

On and on they went. Greater and greater forfeits. More and more significant pieces of his soul bartered away so that he might finally touch the divine. 

And have the power to restore what was lost. 

“This goes against everything the Mother stands for,” one of the priestesses told him one night as he set the Library alight. 

It wouldn’t do to have anyone else following the same breadcrumbs he had. He couldn’t risk someone gaining the power to stop him. 

“If the Mother cared she wouldn’t have taken her from me.” He didn’t need to say who. “I’m only taking back what was stolen from me.” 

The priestess lifted her chin in defiance. “This isn’t what she would have wanted.”

“It doesn’t matter what she wants,” he said calmly as he watched the flames swallow thousands of years of knowledge. “She’s dead.”

But not for long, he thought. 

Soon. 

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It was a slow process. 

One bought over many years and with a veritable ocean of blood. His blood. The blood of his enemies. The blood of the innocent. All of it ran together and baptized him anew. 

No longer a creature of flesh and bone and sinew but of darkness and death and the endless void. 

A god. 

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Divinity was tearing a hole in the fabric of reality. 

It was reaching past the boundaries of his world and grasping onto another. Sifting through all the endless realities and worlds until he found the one he wanted. 

One where she still lived and breathed. 

And then it was only a matter of slipping through that crack he had made. 

And taking back what belonged to him. 

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As it turned out, he didn’t have to search far before he found her. 

He saw her, alive and defiant before a cruel queen he had not seen in centuries. 

It took but the barest measure of his power to bring him before that broken (beautiful) human. Shocked gasps echoed through the mountain hall at his sudden arrival, but he heard none of them. All he could hear was the precious, lovely, sound of her beating heart. 

Alive. 

She was alive. 

Behind him, the queen shrieked to her subjects. Once, this creature had tormented his nightmares, even long after she was dead and gone. But now, standing before her, he felt only irritation. Like the buzzing of a particularly annoying insect. 

(And there was only one thing Rhys had ever done with annoying insects.)

With nothing more than a thought he tore open a hole in the universe and didn’t bother to watch the void swallow her whole. Around him, the crowd of fae shrank back in shock and terror. 

All except for one. 

His other self stared back at him. 

Not that the other Rhysand knew it was himself he was staring at. He had been ever so careful to cobble together some semblance of his old mortal shape…though all he had managed in the end was a vaguely humanoid void. He was the vast darkness of space. The cold and unfeeling void. It was so very hard to contain all that now. 

To be small. 

But still, he had tried. 

For her. 

He heard the alarm from his other self then, as he realized this thing meant to take her. His mate. 

(Because even then, he had known. He had always known.)

“Don’t worry,” the god said to his lesser self. And his voice was like the terrifying whisper that came from the shadows of a dark and empty room. “I won’t let you suffer without her.” 

And then, with a sweep of his hand, the other Rhysand disintegrated. His atoms scattered like so many motes of dust on the wind. 

It was a mercy. 

After all, he had been forced to live without her once. He couldn’t very well subject his other self to the same fate. A god he may be, but he wasn’t that cruel. 

He turned back to Feyre then. 

She recoiled. 

He felt her fear. Her confusion. But it took no more than a thought to wipe that all away and take her into his cold, dark embrace. 

“Come,” he said. And then ushered her through the gap between worlds. Back to their home. 

Where she belonged. 

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Once upon a time, the Lady of the Night Court died. 

But then, one day, she appeared once again. Hale and whole and young once more. 

No one questioned how such a thing had been accomplished. 

Their High Lord was a god after all. 

[thevampirearchive]

Remember when this music video came out and I was screaming, crying, throwing up because I was making an endless amount of scenarios, stories, and ideas off this gif alone, but all in my head? And how I promised the people (incl. myself) Black WLW Vampire scenarios outloud? finally got to it. Enjoy. CW: Death/Dying/Bitten/Drained

With each gentle kiss she laid against my warm throat, I felt the life slowly be drained out of me. My mind tried to make sense of the sensation — how could something feel this good? I should have been afraid, and I was to an extent. A prey at the mercy of a predator, but I clung to the hope that she would keep her promise to me. The promise of eternal life, the gift of immortality where no pain, fear, or true harm could follow. Even as my body began to go limp, I still forced it to cling to her, silently begging her to not let go until it was done. Panic had risen in me, my breath hitched as her mouth left my open neck, leaving kisses across my jaw as I felt the warm liquid flow freely, wasted. This was the most cruel she had been to me. Why must she torture me?

"You are so beautiful, even when you're dying" she whispered, Her hair was still perfectly in place, her mouth filthy with my blood, and her large eyes still filled with a hunger only a nosferatu would truly understand. I would have pleaded if my throat had not been so dry, or so exposed, raw. I would have begged to become what would understand, what could take a life so easily with so much grace and beauty. And then she kissed me tenderly, making me forget of my internal pleas to a god I no longer believed in. Forgetting the pain that throbbed at the side of my neck. Forgetting that I had thought her to be cruel meer seconds ago. Her mouth found the other side of my neck and she bit harder this time, as if to prove a silent point. I could taste it in my mouth and wondered if I would remember how I tasted while fighting against my heavy lids and slowing heart. I felt the discomfort of my cracked lips stretching as far as my body could muster till it was what I hoped looked like a smile, and then everything went black...

[masterhallmark]

I'm really sick of the "Pirates are Lost Boys who grew up and escaped Pan" theory

1) The book is a children's story, not a horror novel.

2) The idea Peter kills boys who grow up is based on one throwaway line that says he "thins them out" if there are too many, which can mean several different things.

3) HOOK WAS A PIRATE WITH A CREW BEFORE LANDING IN NEVERLAND! He literally has a backstory in the book and several speeches J.M. Barrie gave about going to Eton, running away, and becoming a pirate. The crew arrived in Neverland AS IS.

4) The book mentions Peter will travel with the souls of dying kids halfway to the afterlife so they aren't scared. He also desperately begs children to save Tinkerbell, tries to sacrifice himself for Wendy, saves Tiger Lilly while commenting that the pirates were being unfair when capturing her, even tries to help Hook regain his footing during a fight, and saves the Neverbird's eggs from being destroyed. Does that sound like a psychopath to you?

5) The ONLY TIME we see Peter try to kill a Lost Boy is when he mistakenly thinks said Lost Boy killed Wendy, and said Lost Boy told Peter to kill him. Once it turns out Wendy is alive, not only is the boy forgiven, but the only punishment Tinkerbell (the actual culprit) gets is banishment.

The entire purpose of the book is to contrast the innocence of youth with the responsibilities of adulthood. The negative traits Peter has are meant to show the dangers of refusing to grow up, while Hook is meant to show the dangers of growing up TOO much. Hook OBSESSES over good form and acting proper to the point he almost FAINTS when Wendy sees a stain on his shirt.

Also, the entire book "Peter and Wendy" and every other variation of the story JM Barrie wrote is FREE on the internet. Anyone can read it RIGHT HERE http://neverpedia.com/pan/Read:Peter_and_Wendy

There is no good reason for this misinformation spreading. It is easily available.

Passages from the book under cut, since last time I posted something like this someone tried to argue with me

At first Mrs. Darling did not know, but after thinking back into her childhood she just remembered a Peter Pan who was said to live with the fairies. There were odd stories about him, as that when children died he went part of the way with them, so that they should not be frightened.

-----

"It lifted Michael off the ground," he cried; "why should it not carry you?"

"Both of us!"

"It can't lift two; Michael and Curly tried."

"Let us draw lots," Wendy said bravely.

"And you a lady; never." Already he had tied the tail round her. She clung to him; she refused to go without him; but with a "Good-bye, Wendy," he pushed her from the rock; and in a few minutes she was borne out of his sight. Peter was alone on the lagoon.

The rock was very small now; soon it would be submerged. Pale rays of light tiptoed across the waters; and by and by there was to be heard a sound at once the most musical and the most melancholy in the world: the mermaids calling to the moon.

Peter was not quite like other boys; but he was afraid at last. A tremour ran through him, like a shudder passing over the sea; but on the sea one shudder follows another till there are hundreds of them, and Peter felt just the one. Next moment he was standing erect on the rock again, with that smile on his face and a drum beating within him. It was saying, "To die will be an awfully big adventure."

------

Nevertheless the bird was determined to save him if she could, and by one last mighty effort she propelled the nest against the rock. Then up she flew; deserting her eggs, so as to make her meaning clear.

Then at last he understood, and clutched the nest and waved his thanks to the bird as she fluttered overhead. It was not to receive his thanks, however, that she hung there in the sky; it was not even to watch him get into the nest; it was to see what he did with her eggs.

There were two large white eggs, and Peter lifted them up and reflected. The bird covered her face with her wings, so as not to see the last of them; but she could not help peeping between the feathers.

I forget whether I have told you that there was a stave on the rock, driven into it by some buccaneers of long ago to mark the site of buried treasure. The children had discovered the glittering hoard, and when in a mischievous mood used to fling showers of moidores, diamonds, pearls and pieces of eight to the gulls, who pounced upon them for food, and then flew away, raging at the scurvy trick that had been played upon them. The stave was still there, and on it Starkey had hung his hat, a deep tarpaulin, watertight, with a broad brim. Peter put the eggs into this hat and set it on the lagoon. It floated beautifully.

The Never bird saw at once what he was up to, and screamed her admiration of him; and, alas, Peter crowed his agreement with her. Then he got into the nest, reared the stave in it as a mast, and hung up his shirt for a sail. At the same moment the bird fluttered down upon the hat and once more sat snugly on her eggs. She drifted in one direction, and he was borne off in another, both cheering.

-----

"It was poisoned, Peter," she told him softly; "and now I am going to be dead."

"O Tink, did you drink it to save me?"

"Yes."

"But why, Tink?"

Her wings would scarcely carry her now, but in reply she alighted on his shoulder and gave his nose a loving bite. She whispered in his ear "You silly ass," and then, tottering to her chamber, lay down on the bed.

His head almost filled the fourth wall of her little room as he knelt near her in distress. Every moment her light was growing fainter; and he knew that if it went out she would be no more. She liked his tears so much that she put out her beautiful finger and let them run over it.

Her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said. Then he made it out. She was saying that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies.

Peter flung out his arms. There were no children there, and it was night time; but he addressed all who might be dreaming of the Neverland, and who were therefore nearer to him than you think: boys and girls in their nighties, and naked papooses in their baskets hung from trees.

"Do you believe?" he cried.

Tink sat up in bed almost briskly to listen to her fate.

She fancied she heard answers in the affirmative, and then again she wasn't sure.

"What do you think?" she asked Peter.

"If you believe," he shouted to them, "clap your hands; don't let Tink die."

Many clapped.

Some didn't.

A few beasts hissed.

The clapping stopped suddenly; as if countless mothers had rushed to their nurseries to see what on earth was happening; but already Tink was saved. First her voice grew strong, then she popped out of bed, then she was flashing through the room more merry and impudent than ever. She never thought of thanking those who believed, but she would have like to get at the ones who had hissed.

"And now to rescue Wendy!"

[sarascamander]

I JUST FINISHED THE SECOND BOOK AND I'M GOING ABSOLUTELY FERAL OVER IT.

Sophie, my girl, my heart, my soul. You were such a BITCH in the first book but in this one? You have my heart completely. I felt for you MUCH. And that ending? DESERVED.

In the first book Sophie action was entirely of her own so I wasn't really sad that she got consequences of her action. But this one there were strings that were pulled and she was so haunted by herself from book 1 (starting the book I thought she had PTSD lmao).

She was trying so hard to be good. And in Sophie's fashion, it didn't exactly go well but she actually acknowledged this and she felt guilty over it constantly and that is already the sign of good people. She knew that coming between Tedros and Agatha was wrong and she pondered about it constantly through the book. She tried to be a better person and a better friend but not everyone saw or believed that. And while it's understandable given her character and history, I still felt bad for her. Especially every time she looked hurt when Agatha thought that she was turning into a witch again 😭😭

This book also really highlights her insecurity about being alone and without love. And also her grief for her mother. And those insecurities were used against her so hard man.

I have so many feelings especially about the ending but before that can I just say Sophie as Philip is her best??? The way she was so vulnerable with Tedros and defended him so fiercely and at the same time trying to protect Agatha from him just — she's so capable of good!! Her as Filip is solid proof. Every time she tried to make Tedros see that Sophie was lonely and just wanted her happy ending and needed Agatha I just — my heart broke. She sounded so sad and miserable.

I also love that in this book there is no clear villain (except Evelyn ofc). Everyone makes mistakes and just tries to find their Ever After. That conversation between Filip and Tedros is so good.

Okay now about the ending: MY HEART ACHE FOR SOPHIE LIKE BRO??? I WANT TO REACH INSIDE THE PAGES AND HUG HER FR

Sophie tried to be a good friend. Both Agatha and Tedros refuted this because she lied. Sophie trying to be good but at the same time knowing she's not perfect. Agatha and Tedros believe she's becoming a witch again. Sophie is afraid of being alone and no one loves her anymore. Agatha and Tedros (her only friend and the man she cared about) tried to banish her alone right in front of her while she was begging and crying — like my girl is GOING THROUGH IT.😭😭😭

I don't blame her for wishing for her mother bc at that moment her only friend just basically abandoned her. She thought her mother is the only one left who loves her and I feel for her so much reading this part. I don't blame her for choosing the School Master either. Honestly, I would've done the exact same thing in her shoe. I would have felt so betrayed like no way we're friends again after that and I'm not saying Agatha is a bad friend bc both of them were manipulated. Agatha was actually the best friend you could ever wish for but my god the way everything happened the way it did... I really don't blame Sophie.

"He chose me, Agatha. And you didn't." MY HEART. IT CRACKED.

I don't really invest in Sophie's character in book 1 — she is cringy and unbearable but holy God she's my favourite in this book. I can't shut up about her, you can't make me. She's my girl now and I'll defend her until my dying breath.

[curlytheintrovert]

My Favorite Papa Joel Moments (Pt. 7):

🦠 My feeling about Joel and Ellie’s violence during the Winter episode is this; it was to show how similar they are, a harsh representation of why they are so compatible. It’s easy to forget when we’ve seen Joel sob, beg, smile, laugh and be a genuine cinnamon roll that he is still a highly dangerous man. We get glimpses in prior episodes but it’s not till episode 8 we truly understand what Joel is capable of…Torture, ruthlessness and murder. This behavior is what makes him not answer Ellie’s questions, this is why Tommy left, this is why he had a reputation in Boston. And from the jump Ellie admired him for it. So it makes sense that she becomes just like her surrogate father, carnal and ruthless, and that their reactions to the situation are the same. They are willing to do anything to get back to each other, even if it’s brutal murder.

🦠 You can read so much on Joel’s face when he sees the blood trail through the resort and finds Ellie’s backpack. To me it was the scariest he’s looked so far. He is eerily still, quiet and his eyes are flat—we’re still reeling from the heartless violence he displayed and know he’s terrified to his core, but all we see is him cold.

🦠 When Joel finally finds Ellie, and grabs her from behind its so heartbreaking how scared he sounds. The moment she screams and thrashes in his grip he lets out these fragile, horrified grunts. Like why is she so scared of me? What happened? Is she hurt? Is she dying? He knows nothing except that his usually brazen, tough little girl is in pieces. That first “Look” he utters is so so heartbroken and traumatized. I think that’s what killed him inside initially; her being afraid of him…and let me tell you, as a parent, that is the worst feeling you can experience.

🦠The way Joel speaks to Ellie is so soft you almost can’t hear it and it’s such a contrast to the violence he displayed. But it’s how when he gently cups her face in his hands and looks at her, really looks, deep into her eyes that tore me apart. The moment they look on one another both Joel and Ellie ease their tight postures and go still. The relief is palpable. Joel is relived she’s alive and Ellie is relived she’s not alone. The way Joel says “It’s me” like he knows his presence will be enough to comfort her… he was shockingly sure of himself as a father figure here. I’m telling you, if you read my pt. 6 post, he’s let all his walls crumble and is embracing his father hood full force. This act is the first thing he does as Ellie’s father; he tells her it’s ok (in that ridiculously sweet southern drawl), holds her close and calls her ‘baby girl’. The bond between them is sealed forever. I love when Joel closes his eyes and says ‘I got you’ he’s letting fatherhood settle into himself, like it was meant to be there. This is a man whose life’s purpose came back into his body after being sealed away for 20 years. And that’s the show in one interaction, folks! Well I hope you’re all are ready for the finale Sunday cause I’m sure not!! 😩 (don’t forget to read my finale Pt. 8 analysis here)

[bbygirl-aemond]

In Your Grave

Kudos to this post which implanted the idea in my brain of Alicent giving Viserys the death he deserves at the end of Episode 8 and making sure he goes out in both mental and physical agony as all child and wife abusers should ❤️ So here is the result! This is cross-posted to Ao3 here but you can read it in its 2.7k entirety below if you want! TW for references to canonical events such as Alicent's SA and Aemma's death.

Viserys was always heard before he was seen, these days. His broken wheezing echoed down the corridor long before Alicent stepped through the door to his bedchambers and he came into view. It rankled in her ears as she drew up short, as a careful stillness settled about her shoulders and her spine.

The servants had rearranged his limbs haphazardly about, such that he more closely resembled a discarded doll than a King. He was lying on the left-hand side of the bed, she noted idly. They must have placed him there while unconscious, for he would never have chosen such a thing on his own. The right-hand side of the bed was for sleeping, she knew. The left-hand side was only for her, for Aemma, for the little girls who tipped back their heads and gripped the sheets and bit their lips bloody as a man unmade them night after night after—

Another wheeze, this time louder than all the rest. Even from here, she could see the pallor to his face, could hear the rattling within his lungs.

She knew that sound.

It was one that she knew as surely as she knew the sound of her own breath.

When Alicent had been a very young girl, her father had sent her to read to the old King Jaehaerys upon his deathbed. He had terrified her when she’d first seen him. In all the tales her father had always told her, Kings were larger than life. They were the father of the Realm, after all; above them were only the Gods.

Jaehaerys had not died a God.

He had died a withered old man, with spittle flecking his lips and urine staining his sheets.

Alicent had been there when he’d passed. She’d been sat by his bedside, as had become habit as of late, clutching a book in her hands that had quickly become forgotten as an eerie noise had begun to emanate from within Jaehaerys’s trembling chest. She’d paused in her reading, transfixed by the noise, all of the sights and sounds within the room narrowing down to that one death-rattle.

The Stranger had come, then, looming over the room. But Alicent had not been afraid, for she’d known he had not been there for her. She had leaned in, utterly entranced, and between one moment and the next Jaehaerys had been no longer.

“Please,” gasped the dying man on the bed before her, and Alicent felt a quickening within her heart.

Before the next sun rose, the Stranger would once more taint the walls of this room.

Viserys groaned once more, his hands spasming by his sides. Her eyes roved over him disinterestedly, taking in the sores about his face and the wreckage of his eye with a marked sense of detachment. He must be in terrible pain, she knew; those who clung to life the Gods were no longer willing to give paid a steep price for their cowardice.

“Please,” he begged again, his voice cracking.

One of his hands lifted itself off the bed by just a few inches, his remaining fingers stretching themselves towards his bedside table. She followed his gaze to the goblet that rested there, to the milk of the poppy that rested within.

It would ease his pain, she knew. Ease his passing.

Her face twisted with practiced sympathy.

“Oh, dear husband,” came her voice, saccharine sweet. The words clung to each other like slices of candied lemons. “Does it hurt terribly?”

The fingers stretched further, searching desperately. She supposed she should have expected as much. After all, he had refused the poppy all day long, had likely been counting down the minutes until he was alone once more and could reach for its warm embrace.

Alicent shushed him gently, stepping over to the table and lifting the goblet delicately in one hand. She carefully lowered herself to sit beside her husband and ever-so-gently batted away his hands. Viserys stretched his head eagerly forward, his lips parting as if he’d been trapped in the deserts of Dorne for a thousand days without water.

“There, there,” she soothed, and then took immense pleasure in pouring every last drop of the medicine out onto the sheets beside him.

He let out a little cry of alarm, his fingers twitching plaintively—impotently—towards the cup, as if hoping some of the medicine might remain. One of them brushed against her hand, and her lip curled in disgust. She dropped the cup to the floor, where it bounced with a loud clatter.

Instead of turning towards her, Viserys’s eyes followed the cup, almost frantically. A surge of something—sudden and heavy and searing—bubbled over within her and she darted one hand forward, snatching ahold of his chin to tilt his face towards her.

She kept her face smooth, kept the curl of her lips pleasant and her eyes softened. He’d always loved her smile, had remarked upon how comely it was ever since she’d been a little girl of two and ten. So Alicent smiled for him as prettily as she knew how. But her fingers dug in until the tips bled white, and until pinpricks of red blossomed against the papery skin beneath her nails.

Viserys was in too much pain, she knew, for the grip to even register, that it was but one drop within a sea of agony.

But she knew she was hurting him. She knew that, for once, she was adding to his pain instead of taking it all away, and it sent a little thrill curling up along her spine.

Never in all of their years together had she ever once touched him with the intent to harm. She had wanted to. By the Gods, she had wanted to. Every time he bedded her, a once-dormant beast would wake up from within her and would seize ahold of her limbs, and she could never remember which was worse, the urge to claw open her own skin so that nothing could touch it ever again, or the urge to claw Viserys’s flesh to ribbons, to get him off of her to get him out of her—

But little girls who scratched at Kings lost their fingers, just as little girls who cursed at Kings lost their tongues.

And so Alicent had fisted her hands by her sides until her fingernails had broken the skin of her palms and had forced that great beast back within the recesses of her ribcage so that her King could allow himself the pretense that he was not hurting her. She’d forced herself to relax and to lie there and to smile back at him when he looked up at her because Gods forbid he suffer the knowledge of what he was doing.

Things had shifted eventually, after the farce had fallen away and they both knew that the other recognized their marriage-bed for exactly what it was. Oh, Viserys had still called her to his bed—had still wrung two more children out of her yielding womb. But when he would whisper sweet nothings into her skin, praises for her hair or her skin or her cunt, she would say nothing. When he would look up at her expectantly, she would gaze right back at him with no expression at all. She could not claw at him or at herself, lest reality crash in around him entirely, but she would dig her nails into the silk sheets below her and relish in the tatters that would remain behind once he was done.

Viserys would not leave her be, but he would not confront her about the destruction wrought of his sheets, either. She had fancied them to be at a sort of stalemate—had fancied her private little destruction to be some sort of rebellion, had sought a modicum of comfort within it.

But now she was clawing at him and not the sheets and his skin was a thousand times more delicate than the silk and a thousand times more satisfying to tear.

“Look at me,” she told him sweetly, leaning over his face so that her hair fell in a curtain around him both. She wanted the sight of her smile to be the only thing he could see. The scent of her hair to be the only thing he could smell. The sound of her words to be the only thing he could hear.

For a moment—for just one moment—there would be nothing but her.

His eyes focused on her agonizingly slowly, his pain rendering even the slightest of movements laborious.

“Do you remember the vows I made you, upon our wedding day?” she asked him. “I should like to make you another.”

And she leaned in even closer, until the heat of his lips warmed her own. The lines and sores that twisted at his skin repulsed her. The humid, bitter beath that ghosted across her lips repulsed her. But repulsion was an old friend to her; she welcomed it and then sent it merrily on its way.

Alicent looked down upon her husband. Her skirts remained firmly settled about her ankles, and not hiked up around her waist. Her thighs were pressed together, and the space inside of her was blissfully empty, and the only points of contact between them were her fingertips bruising his face.

“You will die tonight, my King,” she breathed. “And when the day breaks, there will be a new King.”

The withered face below her blanched of all color, and she shushed him softly, digging her nails further into his papery skin.

“It is all decided,” she soothed. “The Conqueror’s crown will be placed upon your son’s head, and the Conqueror’s sword will be placed in his hand. And when the Septon has blessed him and he has mounted his dragon the smallfolk will look upon Aegon, Second of His Name, and they will worship him as they worship their Gods.”

Viserys was wheezing once more, his fingers scrabbling for purchase, threatening to press at her own. She swatted him away once more, and this time her palm cracked cruelly against his skin. Still, when she spoke, her voice was unbearably gentle.

“Our ravens are waiting to send word to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms,” she promised him. “They shall remind the Lords of Westeros of the promise they or their forefathers made when they made you a King, my darling. It is in your name, and yours alone, that they will swear fealty to my son as their King.”

There was a pounding within her ears, a throbbing between her ribs where her heart resided. The beast reared its head inside of her, only it did not show itself within her voice or upon her face but in the savage press of her nails and in the venom spilling out from between the lips Viserys always swore were softer than the finest of Myrish silks.

“I will call Rhaenyra back to King’s Landing, of course,” she continued, her words coming faster now, spurred on by the fire within her. “A grieving daughter would think of nothing else but to rush to her father’s side. Of course, she cannot be allowed to live. Not her, and not her spawn, and not your dear brother.”

A tear trickled across one, wizened cheek. Her smile widened, and she leaned in yet closer still as the fire swirled inside of her.

How dare he weep in her presence, when he never once allowed her the same?

“Oh, do not cry, my darling,” she whispered. “They will have an honorable death. A dragon rider’s death. The princes shall bathe in the flames of the mighty Vhagar, and the princess shall slate dear Sunfyre’s hunger. Though he is not quite large enough to swallow her whole; she will have to hope he takes his meals quickly.”

“Alicent,” Viserys gasped, his face gray with horror. “You—you cannot do this. You will not—”

“I will do exactly as I wish,” she snapped at him, and then inhaled, plastering her smile back about her face. She wiggled his chin back and forth, as one might a child, or an unruly dog. “While you lie cold in your grave, Aemma’s line will die, and House Targaryen will continue through me. Aegon will rule with Helaena beside him—your subjects adore her, Viserys, a thousand times more than they ever adored Rhaenyra. And Aegon will rule with my darling Aemond as his Hand—he was always so fond of history, of philosophy, of all the poets and novelists you so loved, and yet you would barely look at him. And with sweet Daeron by their side—I had to send him away to keep you from him, he was always so clever with his tongue and I had to make sure he kept it because you vowed to—”

The beast rose up further, fire tugging at the back of her throat, threatening to choke her. She drew in a shuddering breath, and forced it back down. Perhaps this time she was not entirely successful; her smile now felt as sharp as her nails, and her eyes held themselves open a smidge too widely.

“Aemma,” Viserys wept, his eyes clouded with terror.

An infant, begging pathetically for its mother.

“Aemma is dead, remember?” Alicent told him, very slowly and patiently, as if talking to a confused child. She brought up her other hand, dug a finger deep within his belly, and dragged it up to his sternum as he moaned and writhed. “Pigs are butchered more humanely than you butchered the mother of your child. Did she beg you to stop? Did she cry for you? Did she scream for you?”

A garbled wail tore itself free from Viserys’s lips; it was an ugly, wet thing, flecking his mouth with drops of crimson. He screwed his eye shut, feebly trying to turn his face away from her.

“Look at me!” she screamed, and his eye forced itself open again.

He looked upon her with terror and a sick, dawning sort of realization. Her smile widened further, and she leaned in close to him once more.

This is the thing you married, the voice in the back of her head whispered gleefully. You saw its pretty smile and its dainty hands and so you dragged it into your bed and upon your cock and trusted that it could never hurt you. You bred it like a bitch and you promised to cut out its tongue and all this time you should have been worried about its teeth. But you did not and now it will leech your throne and your legacy and its pretty mouth will swallow the House of the dragon whole.

“You will never see your dear Aemma again,” the thing that was Alicent Hightower vowed, baring its pretty teeth as its pretty lips curled further. “She is in the Seven Heavens with her infant son, where you can never touch either of them again. But you will see me again, Viserys, I swear this to you. When my time is ended I will search the Seven Hells for your wretched soul and then your torment will begin anew.”

She lowered her lips to press one last, caricature of a kiss against his withered brow.

“Farewell, dear husband,” she told Viserys. “Until we meet again.”

And she turned her back upon her King as he flailed and sobbed and gasped upon his deathbed. Her pace quickened, and her heart beat in anticipation.

It was not Aemma’s name that he cried, then.

Nor was it Rhaenyra’s.

“Alicent,” Viserys begged, grasping desperately after her, the acrid scent of blood and urine and rot seeping into the air around his bed. “Alicent, please.”

Her hands flexed by her sides, one set of fingernails stained with the blood of a King. She did not look back towards her husband, nor did she acknowledge his wails. But she very carefully engraved the sight of his terror-stricken face upon the insides of her eyelids, carved the sounds of his agonized betrayal into the crevices of her ears.

This, too, she would never forget.

The Queen left the royal chambers with a beatific smile upon her face.

Behind her, the Stranger entered.

[dirtytransmasc]

Miles 42 is scared of thunder, always has been, always will be, he has no "justifiable reason" for the deep-seated fear, but he is always a trembling mess during thunderstorms.

this kid who can, will, an dprobably has killed a man or even many men, definitely needs someone to hold his hand during thunderstorms.

I make it angsty below the cut, nothing bad, but this could either be a kinda cute hc, or a really sad one, though there is some comfort at the very end

it was better when he was a kid, cause he could crawl into his mom and dads bed at night, and they would hold him through it, his dad promising nothing would ever hurt him on his watch. then his dad died, and thunder became a whole lot worse, cause it could hurt him now, his dad wasn't there to protect him, he had to be the man of the house now and couldn't go crawling to his mom or his uncle anymore, he had to be strong.

he pushes himself to just ignore it, to shove it all down, to not feel the utter terror that fills him every time the thunder rumbles so loud it feels like his bones are rattling. he gets hurt worse and more often on jobs with Aaron during storms, cause he jumps and flinches and paused whenever it strikes, opening himself up to be hit. over time, childish shame becomes true shame and he doesn't let anyone near him during storms, cause he can't be seen as weak.

he used to sit with his mom in the living room, when she was home, or hang out in his uncles apartment (though he'd pretend that he wasn't scared), but he felt more an more embarrassed as time passed. when he was still staying with ganke (and/or before ganke died, cause I'm all for ganke to be his canon event, cause I hate myself or something) they would stay in the same bunk together and ganke would let him use his good headphones so it wouldn't be so loud, and he'd try and help his (more than?) friend cope, to little avail; it typically ended in Miles just sobbing into his chest, begging him to make it stop. but eventually he gives up on seeking comfort and will just push himself until he breaks down somewhere, typically his empty room or an alley way.

(now for mild comfort)

things change when Miles 1610 and his dad come into the picture. Miles 1610 is also afraid of thunder, just not to the same extent (cause it wasn't worsened by the death of his dad, cause for Miles 42, the fear of thunder is sorta a cover for a lot of other big feelings he can't even begin to process, alongside genuine fear) and as the two get close, Miles 1610 helps Miles 42 feel safe to express his fear.

Miles 1610 picks up on it immedietly, being much more intune and analytical, let alone with his spidey senses, he notices every ounce of anxiety dripping off of his twin during their first storm together, so he immediately fesses up his own fear, and how the whole "earthquakes" collider, peter parker dying, situation made his fear of thunder a lot worse. he doesn't expect Miles 42 to open up per say, but he learned airing out his own weaknesses makes his brother more comfortable letting his guard down, cause Miles 1610 feels like less of a threat. he offers a hand when the heart of the storm is over them, and the thunder is so loud it shakes the house a little, but is kinda surprised when MIles 42 latches onto his middle, letting him drape an arm over his back, but he's alright with it, its kinda nice (if not absolutely heartbreaking, cause the kid is shaking and Miles is pretty sure he's crying and he feels so bad). they stay like that all night, well after the storms past, until Miles 42's shaken himself to sleep and Miles 1610 drags him to bed, taking his turn as the "big brother", making sure that his twin could sleep the night feeling safe and secure with him.

eventually they'll talk more about, "their" dad comes up, and Miles 1610 tells him he's always welcome to come over whenever he's nervous (though they dance around that word) and in time, its Jeff's side that both boys are diving into (cause Miles 1610 only braves through a storm when his brothers in need, otherwise he too just wants to be held and protected). Miles 42 is reluctant at first, cause being around Jeff's still hard, but one storm hits him hard enough to just crumble any resistance he had to the idea in seconds, maybe its a bad storm, maybe it was a bad day, but he knows he's begging Miles to bring him to his dimension and wasting no time to rush to "his" dad. jeff being the good dad he is, doesn't ask a single question, just settles his boys on the couch with him and rio and they camp out there for a good while, doing whatever it takes to distract from the storm outside.

[abyssinabyss]

My oc Calypso or original known as Patience!

Here is some info about them:

Patience is a daughter of the most powerful Order member, The Vault Keeper and she was raised evey differently from her brother Argos.

She was spoiled by her mother, doted on which led her to be a bit of a brat.

Patience was very gifted. Extremely gifted.

She was gifted the power of the moon by Aurora herself. Why? Because Patience once had a weak light and the Vault Keeper was afraid that Patience would never survive so she was brought to the Lake of Aurora and searched for the goddess. Once, Aurora had shown herself, The Vault Keeper had begged her to save her daughter and so Aurora gifted her the moonlight. Though Aurora warned if darkness dared touched her, she might be infected or worse.

So, Patience got the grow up- spoiled of course and shoved her brother, Argos around.

One day, Patience was just up and around one day-major things had happened that left her mother fuming in rage. The disappearances of the prophecy child and her most trusted Keeper- when she stumbled upon a the highest keeper being drained of their light-Patience tried to save them but it was too late.

But that's when two more keepers came in, along with her brother. And there she was framed for murder- why? Because she had the dark crystal in her hamd.

Patience tried to explain why she was there to her mother when Argos, her own brother testified against her. Her mother blinded by rage- from everything that had happened in the few weeks (A LOT OF SKYKIDS GOING MISSING-) She banished Patience to the Wasteland, binding here there by magic.

Pretty extreme? Yes. Yes. The Vault Keeper was having a very rough month with skykids going missing and she was at her limit. (not trying to excuse her actions )

So, Patience was left to suffer alone in the Wasteland- that was until she had stumbled upon a small Rebel group, named Dim-sun which was led by Bridgette. They weren't technically a rebel group more like a group that liked to terrorize the Guardians of the Wasteland and just mess around. So, Patience was taken in by them and renamed Claypso and there were she began to train to become a Guardian- Her thoughts were always clouded by hatred and anger during her training which led her to be ruthless.

One day, she found out Bridgette disappeared off and Calypso and the rest tried to find her and her daughter, Athena. But there were no where to be seen. So, the Dim-Sun held a meeting and determined a new leader which was Calypso.

Calypso agreed to the job and led her group through many raids of ships and Guardians camps- but thats when she realized her light was dimming out. She was dying.

Claypso tried to find anything, anything in the books that cojld possibly restore her light.

Thats when she stumbled upon a book that had all the answers....She needed the Bull mask. (In my au, there are two types of bull mask, the ones that are found commonly and the enchanted one. The Echanted Bull mask was enchanted by Aurora herself and given to Joni, the son of the Wasteland Order.)

I didn’t mean to write a lot but oh well-

[gffa]

I'm very curious, and sorry if you've answered this before but, how do you think an AU where Ani does not fall could happen?

The solutions I've seen in fic are mostly three: Palps dies (disappointingly rarely via Zillo beast); Obikin get together and clear up their disagreements/Ani comes clean about the Tattoine massacre and together they figure out Palps is the sith lord and prepare the order to face him/prevent order 66; or something happens that makes Ani realize his mistakes and ask for help (something that's somehow more of a wake-up call than Padmè begging him to stop and Obi Wan trying to talk sense into him). Shmi not dying is often part of all 3 options but I've never seen it alone changing Ani's fate and I don't think it would either.

I love the prequels, but Ani falling makes me sad because he starts as such a kind boy (though he struggles with attachment and later fear) but as a young adult he already has these massive flaws that seem insurmountable and he seems doomed to fall no matter what happens. So I think a lot about how could Ani not have fallen, in a close-to-canon AU? Palps dying, of course, but that doesn't feel like an emotionally satisfying story to me. Obikin getting together isn't (though I love them!) the story Lucas wanted to tell (disregarding that Ani not falling wasn't the story he wanted to tell either). And the third option I just don't buy.

What do you think? Is Ani doomed by the narrative, and no small change could have saved him, and a big deus ex-machina event is needed so Palps dies/Obikin get together/Ani comes to his senses?

Sorry if this is a bit rambly!

Hi! I've given this thought before and I generally come down to--once we set aside that Anakin had to fall, because that's the story being told--that I'm with George Lucas on this, that Anakin's fall is down to his unwillingness to accept that life is transitory, that life changes, that you have to let go, instead of trying to possess things. That is the issue that has to be solved, so any fix-it AU has to stem from that, in my mind. One instance is, as Lucas said, if Anakin had been found by the Jedi earlier, he would have been trained to love people without becoming attached to them, but that's changing more than what I think you want to change. For me, my answer is usually pretty boring--as much as I love reading pairing fic with fix-its and I roll with the way an author sets things up, I generally don't believe that a romantic relationship would have fixed Anakin, not even a healthily balanced one. Anakin's problem is that he was so afraid of losing people, of living with that loss, that he clung to the ones he loved, putting him in a relationship just hurtles him down the same path as in canon. The best way for him imo is to get rid of Palpatine, which doesn't take away Anakin's issues, but it gives him breathing room to grow in a healthier way, to not have that constant temptation and seductive whisper dripping poison in his ear. It gives him the space to slowly come to trust the Jedi ways, because I very much do think that Anakin believed in the Jedi ways, he just couldn't get over himself when it was his own fears on the line. The way he teaches Ahsoka, he works to help her to let go of her attachments, he tells her exactly that when she's on Onderon. He teaches that to Rex when they're looking for Echo on Skako Minor. He believes in the Jedi ways, he has a good heart, he wants to do the healthy, balanced thing. He just can't get past that last, most terrifying hurdle. In a galaxy where he has more breathing room, where he doesn't have Palpatine driving a wedge between him and the Jedi, preying on his insecurities, he has the time to slowly do the self-examination necessary to grow into the person that he had the potential to be. And it's actually my favorite one, because I think it sticks closest to the heart of Lucas' Star Wars and the Force and the Jedi. That it's about learning to let go, to have a lifetime of discipline and work on yourself, to look inside and acknowledge your feelings and let them pass beyond you, that you have to do the hard work yourself and there's no shortcut to a better self. You have to work at it. I genuinely believe that Anakin could have gotten there without Palpatine. That doesn't mean his choices aren't his own, I've planted my flag hard on that hill, but that doesn't mean that Palpatine didn't fuck him up hardcore and, without his influence, in the events in Anakin's life where Palpatine's not a direct influence, he actually generally fares pretty well. When Palpatine isn't around, Anakin rises to the potential in him, he reaches out and does good, he accepts the help he's offered, like Anakin Skywalker had so much good in him, and if he hadn't been so tempted by Palpatine's siren song of "your feelings make you special", then I believe he would have gotten to a really good place with himself. But it's one I see as an internal journey of self-discovery, rather than being magically fixed by an external change. Getting rid of Palpatine is pulling the knife out of his side, but Anakin still has to heal the damage himself. Whether that happens during ROTS (harder, but still doable) or when he was younger, I think you have to truly get rid of Palpatine's existence, not just put distance there, but that Palpatine has to not be an option at all. Then Anakin will do the work himself.

[carefulfears]

so ... demons coming right after elegy, in the middle of the cancer arc is a crazy choice and i know it means something. please share all your big brain thoughts on mulder & demons?

well...it's kind of like...in elegy, they're being haunted by the future (omens of scully's impending death), in demons, they're haunted by the past (visions from before samantha disappeared). both are highly metaphorical, and both are intrusive, even though he sought out the second. the first is too much. the second isn't enough. and after elegy it's becoming clear that...nothing will be enough. she is so close to death that she can see it. she can't...hide it from him, anymore. she's been dying for a long time. and she doesn't make him face it. she never has that moment where she tells him to just get over it. she never has that moment where she tells him to just accept it, stop avoiding it. she goes to all of her appointments alone. she bleeds alone. even in elegy when they almost argue over it, she tells him that she is fine, and then she goes outside and cries in her car.

but she's not fine, she's so close to death that she can see it, and he knows that. he's so eternally aware. mulder's fatal flaw is that he can see the world, he understands every underlying system, he knows people and how they think. and when he says "i refuse to believe that," he knows that doesn't make it go away. in elegy, he tells her that he's afraid, and she tells him that she's fine. it is a system established long before this particular death sentence.

in the script notes for the last scene of never again, it is remarked that: “if it were ever going to happen, it would be now. as they maintain the silence.”

the way i see it, never again is when they knew. they are not escaping each other. they are dying together. you are coming down with me. (hand in unlovable hand). and then, in the very next episode, comes a diagnosis. they are dying together. and they are dying now. silence is maintained.

so what does she do, after her diagnosis? she buys a journal, and she writes. she writes him letter after letter after letter. begging forgiveness. begging grace. begging courage.

the page that he found, that he read, this is what it said:

“mulder, i feel you close, though i know that you are now pursuing your own path. for that i am grateful- more than i could ever express. i need to know you’re out there if i am ever to see through this.”

i need to know you’re out there. a few months later, in demons, a gun to his chin on the floor of his childhood home, does she feel that he’ll be “out there”? she finds out she doesn’t have much longer to live, maybe weeks, in the next episode, and she doesn’t tell him. she maintains silence.

there’s so much discourse over the choices that mulder makes in demons…it was selfish, it was stupid, it was confusing…i see people ask all the time why he would willingly do something that causes everyone to kill themselves. the answer, of course, is that mulder wants to kill himself. that’s not new, we all watched pusher. (scully watched too). in redux it’s revealed that the “gethsemane” of the episode directly following demons is not scully’s inevitable and closely impending death, it’s mulder alone in his apartment with a gun.

i’m really uninterested in attempting to moralize these decisions…what’s “selfish” at the end of the world? i think demons makes people uncomfortable. to watch a dying woman care for her reckless partner. i also think that’s…the point.

demons is desperate. there’s an obvious desperation in mulder, of course, but also in scully.

throughout season four, we’re watching scully die. she’s getting smaller. she’s getting weaker. she’s getting sicker. but as it progresses, scully is realizing that mulder is dying too. and it all culminates in demons. and what can she do but be afraid? what can she do but get down on the ground and hold him? what can she do but write about what she fears will happen to him? she won’t be there.

nothing will ever be enough after elegy. and there’s nothing that he can do that’s enough. he can’t save her (so he thinks). and…he can’t solve the quest before she dies. he can’t give her the answers that she’s dying for. demons to me is such a last ditch effort. such a hail mary. she deserved to know the capital t Truth, before she’s gone. and i think they both know that maybe, when she is gone, it will never be found.

[memento-morri-writes]

hello haply sts! is there a character dynamic you've really been thinking about lately? why?

HELLO!!! Thanks for the ask!

I mean, there's dozens of character dynamics I've been thinking about, but mostly for my dnd characters.

However, one that I've been playing with in my mind for a while is the two main characters from divinity wip. The protagonist is a (trans) woman who is slowly being turned into a god against her will, complete with divine powers that are destroying her (mortal) body.

The deuteragonist is her best friend and qpr partner who is hopelessly devoted to her. They basically end up becoming her first paladin, but it begs the question "is there any future for a mortal who loves a god?"

The woman-who-is-becoming-a-god wants to tell her friend to leave, so they don't have to see her losing her humanity, slowly dying in all the ways that matter. But she also is so afraid of being alone that she can't bring herself to ask. And it wouldn't matter anyways, bc her friend would never leave her, not in heaven or hell or anywhere in between. And yes, this is a tragedy, so... we'll see how that ends up for them. :)) (god/paladin, god/martyr tragic (platonic) love story anyone?)

The dynamics that really fuck me up though are my boy Rook and his two mentors never ever fails to fuck me up. Also Carrion and his mentor, and one of his party members.

[putting this under the cut bc as always when I talk about these two it got ridiculously long.]

Rook's first mentor, Zara, was the first person to ever truly be kind to him. She was the captain of the pirate ship he sailed on for 6 years. Because of how important she was to him, both as a figure of authority and as a mentor, and also just as a good influence in his life, Rook ended up kind of idolizing her. And after being trapped aboard the Sea Snake for two years, a lot of mental escapism and maladaptive daydreaming made that idolization even stronger. So at this point she's practically a god in his eyes, and he would forgive her for anything. He gets to see her again in a few sessions for the first time in 3 years, and I'm not kidding when I say that this is going to be the most important session I will ever play as him, I think. He never got to say goodbye to her the first time, and she's been feeling guilty as fuck over him getting captured, but she never came to rescue him. oh it's gonna be so good. I can't imagine that his idolization and his willingness to forgive her for anything and do anything for her will help with the guilt she's feeling...

And then there's Sigmar, Rook's second mentor, who he met during the campaign. He taught Rook some fun combat moves, and promised to help Rook defeat Captain Wolf (the vengeful pirate captain who was kidnapped him twice now). Sigmar told the party bard while Rook was sleeping that if he had been in Zara's position, he would have killed Captain Wolf and burned her ship to the ground to get Rook back, or died trying. He also was helping Rook hide his demon curse from the party. HOWEVER, he turned out to actually be a corpse being controlled and spoken through by the BBEG of the whole campaign, and the party ripped said corpse to pieces in front of Rook's eyes. Oh, and the wizard had known the whole time and just let Rook continue to get closer to this man. (His reasoning was "if he's obsessed with Rook, that means his people can't be hurting us.")

And the most insane part is that he really truly did love Rook, as much as he's capable of that. He ignored his own daughter in favor of Rook, and when Rook searched his house after we killed his controlled body, he found a book where Sigmar had been taking notes on how to be a mentor to him, using a fictional character as a guide. And now someday Rook is going to have to face him again, this time in his real body, and they're going to have to hurt each other, but both of them are going to have a hard time doing it, and it just makes me-- AGH.

The rest of the party didn't like him in or out of character, but to me out of character he was everything I could ever want handed to me on a silver platter even before I knew he was actually a literal war criminal. (I still love him, though. It's kind of a problem, actually.)

My shifter barbarian, Carrion, also has some crazy character dynamics going on. He used to be a paladin, and while he was in the Order, he had a mentor and kinda-sorta father figure named Theodore. However, bc of Carrion's monstrous transformations as the result of coming into contact with Delirium (essentially super radioactive magic crystals), the paladins chained Carrion up and left him behind. The last thing Theodore said to him was "Soon you'll be nothing but Carrion" and that's how he got his name, bc he survived and he plans to kill Theodore and tell him that "I may be Carrion, but I am not nothing."

BUT the sad part is that Theodore was so regretful and sad and fucked up over leaving Carrion behind, over failing him, that he literally lost his divine magic for years. And I'm just in agony waiting for when Carrion sees him again, because Theodore doesn't even know that the boy he knew as Reverence is still alive, let alone that he's planning on killing him.

Also, there's the party's warlock, Valeska, who completely and utterly disarmed Carrion by reacting with nothing but pure and naked curiosity upon finding out about his corruption and transformations. No fear, disgust, not even pity. And at the end of the first session, she asked if he was afraid of his transformations, and he said no, he's more afraid of other people's reactions to his transformations. And she said "I think you're lying. Why else would you call yourself a monster?" and Carrion hesitated and then said "Because no one has ever called me anything different." She didn't respond right away so he panicked and thought he had said to much so he was like "go to sleep" and then Valeska said "Carrion?" and he was like "What do you want, Valeska?" and she said "Nothing. Just saying your name. See? I called you something other than a monster."

WHEN I TELL YOU I SOBBED... The irony is, ofc, the backstory behind his name, but she didn't know it in or out of character, and he wouldn't go by the name if he hadn't found some measure of power in it. But holy SHIT, this whole man's world has been unbalanced. And when he finds out the truth about Theodore... it's going to fall apart completely. And I can't fucking wait.

[snucius]

After Nagini's bite, Lucius found Severus instead of Harry.

(TW: Major character death, past mpreg)

***

"No!" he cried, kneeling in front of the man he loves so dearly. "No, no, no!" he repeated deliriously. He put his hands on his younger lover's neck, where he was bleeding to death, and applied pressure to stop the bleeding, but it was in vain.

"Lucius," a weak voice said. With his last ounce of strength, he grabbed the blond man's collar.

"Sev, you must have something on you, a-an antivenom or something... a-anything to save you" he was clearly crying. Anyone would do in his position. "Please" he begged. "Give me something to save you, please"

"No, love" Severus gasped. With blood filling his lungs, it was becoming more difficult to speak. "Daysha" he finally managed to say. "You must look after her"

"You're a Potions Master! How can you not have some antidote on you?!"

"Lucius focus. You should be the one to raise Daysha after I'm gone"

"No- no don't say that. You're not going a-anywhere Severus. My Sev cannot die today, you cannot die before me. I can't bear it"

"Luc... listen-" his sentence was cut short when he coughed up blood. He yanked on Malfoy's clothes once more, this time more desperately. "She's yours," he spat out at last. And then he began to cry. The thought of his daughter growing up like him burned his veins even worse than the venom.

Time stopped around Lucius as his heart started to beat faster, he didn't think it was possible a minute ago. "What?" he exhaled. "But you said-"

"I know what I said" sobbed Severus. "I didn't want your name, your marriage, to be tainted" he released Lucius's clothes and placed his hand on his chin. "But she's yours, I swear. She even has-" his sentence cut abruptly as a searing pain went through his whole body. "She even has your hair" he managed to gasp out before his body arched with another wave of pain. "Her hair was black when you saw her but it was a glamour, she's yours. I've never been with anyone but you in my whole life"

Lucius slowly caressed his temple with feather-like kisses "We could've raise her together" he whined, shaking his head as if he wants to wake up from a horrible nightmare. "Please don't leave me alone"

"It's okay" Severus whispered, that was all he could do.

"It's all my fault" Lucius admitted.

"Stop"

"I introduced you to Dark, it's because of me, you took the Mark because of me" he muttered against his darling's ear. "I should be the one who's dying"

"Look into my eyes" Severus said with a stern voice. When Lucius faced him, he said again "It's okay"

"What am I going to say to her when she asks about you? Salazar, she's only two"

"Just say her mama loves her" He had to put his hand over his mouth to keep his sobs from becoming too loud. "I need you to stay strong and be a good father to our daughter, okay? She's in Spinner's End with my mother. Promise me you won't leave Daysha with her." Severus was barely audible anymore; he didn't know how much time he had left, but it wasn't difficult to guess that it wasn't much.

"I won't" Lucius said. He'd never leave his own blood with a woman who had scarred Severus. But he didn't know how to be strong, he was weak; the love of his life was dying in his arms, and all he could do was nothing; he was weak.

"Promise me!"

The begging tone in Severus' voice woke him up from his train of thoughts. He nodded quickly. "Of course I won't leave her, dearest. She is my own flesh and blood, a part of us. I promise"

Severus' breathing began to slow as he reached for Lucius one last time. Malfoy intertwined their fingers and pressed his forehead against his dearest's. "I love you" he said as he breath out. He waited for a response but when none came he closed his eyes tightly as tears streamed down his cheeks. He couldn't tear his face away from Severus' for a while. He was too afraid to look at his lover's lifeless figure.

"I know you love me too"

He eventually drew back a little, pressed his lips against his beloved's forehead, and said "It's okay"

[kiss-my-freckle]

Full Episode Commentary

1x14: Fool Me Once

The episode is titled for Damon, and opens up with an immediate parallel. You can compare pretty much everything in this episode to 1x11. I won't do all of them because they won't fit in one post.

Parallel 1: Elena wakes in the motel room. This is written alongside Elena waking in Damon's car. That's why Ben tries to compel her.

"And forgot the lesson about vervain! She dates a vampire, Ben. Duh!" It's important to note Anna's response because it pushes back to 1x12. "Wow. So much to remember." Elena still has no idea what Damon was trying to prove in 1x11, but she starts to piece it together with Stefan's comment from 1x12. "You can put it in jewelry, or you can even put it in food or drink. But as long as it's in you or on you, a vampire cannot control you." The vervain necklace is what I consider a three-part truth that Elena realizes. The first part of that truth is the fact that Damon always knew the vervain was in her necklace. If he believed it was in her food or drink, he wouldn't have made this comment: "I can very easily make you... agreeable." He knew she was wearing it and could've compelled her at any time.

Anna shoves Elena in the bathroom, Bonnie is passed out in the bathtub. Damon is reading Emily's grimoire when Stefan rushes in. As I said in my previous re-watch post, Stefan doesn't want her becoming a vampire. He's disgusted by the idea because he can't love her as one. He's flipping over the fact that Anna kidnapped her while Damon's blood is still in her system. He's not worried about her dying, he's worried about her dying with vampire blood in her system. "What if your blood hasn't passed out of her system?" Damon's responses in this episode are written in reverse of 1x13. He's laughing inside because he knows his blood is still in her system. "Well, then at least you know you'll see her again." Stefan starts to beg because he's worried she'll become everything he hates. He can't have her become a vampire. Again, this is before she so much as admits she never wants to be a vampire. It's his desire to keep her human. "You know, all I can remember is hating you." This is one of the sickest comments Stefan ever made, and the reason Elena needs to remind him that Damon is worth loving. Stefan stopped loving his own brother. Again, one of the many reasons Damon is the better brother. Stefan believes he's gonna fix this with an apology. He won't. Damon will accept his apology, but apologies aren't deal-makers. They're not meant to be used for gain, but that's what Stefan is doing. He's trading an apology for Elena's location. Damon refuses to tell him where Elena is.

"I mean this sincerely. I hope Elena dies." Damon is being 100% honest, and there are two reasons why he's not afraid for her to die. He knows his blood is still in her system, and he knows she's being used as leverage. Leverage is only good when it's alive. Thus, he knows Anna won't risk killing her. Unlike Damon, Anna has no idea that his blood is in her system. Ben walks into the bathroom. The only reason they kidnapped Elena was to keep Bonnie in line. She'll open the tomb if it means saving Elena from a certain death. I'm laughing over this bit of conversation. Anna tells Elena that she and Jeremy are practically dating, which is hilarious because Elena didn't want him dating vampire Vicki. They cut to Jeremy at the Grill. "I am so not going to be one of those girls who disappears just because she has a new boyfriend." Caroline is so full of crap. Even in season 8, she can't tell Bonnie is suffering alone while she's living it up with Stefan. Caroline is all about herself. "I just want to let you know that right here and right now, I'm offering you an out. Like an escape clause." Damon does this for Elena several times... gives her escape clauses.

Parallel 2: Damon at Sheila's door as Stefan was at Sheila's door.

Damon doesn't need Bonnie. He'd have no problem finding another witch to help him open the tomb. He wants Bonnie because he wants to kill two birds with one stone. It's the same thing he was planning to do with her at the dance in 1x12. The difference is their reason for being at Sheila's. Stefan turned to Bonnie for help in finding Elena. Damon turned to Bonnie for help in opening the tomb to rescue Katherine. Sheila uses her head trick on Damon, which I love. I just... prefer it used by Bonnie rather than Sheila. They cut back to Anna and Elena. Given her comment, she knows Stefan is over Katherine. "Trust me. No one I know wants to see that girl again. Except Damon, the lovestruck idiot."

Parallel 3: Damon and Elena bonding over Katherine becomes Anna and Elena and their dead mothers.

A lot of their differences matter to Elena as it pertains to her view of Damon.

Anna: My mother's in there. Katherine couldn't help herself. She just had to toy around with both of the Salvatore brothers. And when she got caught, so did my mother. I watched Johnathan Gilbert take her away. Elena: I'm sorry. Anna: You really mean that, don't you?

Delena has a parallel to this in 1x3. "I'm sorry. About Katherine. You lost her, too." That's why Damon is blown away by her apology. She means it.

Parallel 4: Damon took Elena's phone, but offers her the chance to talk to Stefan. Anna took Elena's phone, but won't offer her the chance to talk to Stefan.

Again, the differences matter because she's seeing Damon through Ben and Anna. Think of these differences like puzzle pieces, giving her the full view of one man. "Go ahead. Grovel again. Oh, wait. No... I don't care." I love Damon in these scenes because Stefan just got done trying to deny him access to the tomb to rescue Katherine. Now Stefan is desperate to get Elena back, like what? Damon is having fun with him while he can lol

Parallel 4: Unlike Damon, Elena wants Ben set on fire. This collage will show why he's upset in 3x4. He doesn't need Stefan to keep him in check, that's what Elena does.

They cut to Jeremy. He invites Anna to the party by Fell's Church. Damon is meeting with her because he has the grimoire and she has Bonnie and Elena. I favor some of his body language. Here with Anna, he does this lip and eye thing that I love. He's flirting with the idea that Anna plans to romance Jeremy. His isn't the only happiness he cares about. "Stefan will come after you, you know that. For messing with Elena." This is Damon hiding his care for Elena behind Stefan's love for her. An easy way to hide his humanity for the sake of protecting himself.

Parallel 5: For both Damon and Anna, it's about the grimoire opening the tomb.

Neither one has to kill people to open it. They don't even have to threaten people to open it. They just need the grimoire. Through Anna, they show how Stefan put Elena in danger with Damon in 1x13. That's why Elena was at risk of becoming a vampire, and the other reason I don't blame Damon for threatening to turn her. Both Stefan and Elena knew the risk, and they betrayed him anyway.

"I told you. I work alone."

"When do you want to do this?"

These two gifs show how much power Elena has over Damon, and this is just in caring for her. It's made worse when he actually falls in love with her. It's at this point, he has no choice but to team up with Anna because he knows his blood passed through her system. Should Anna kill her, Damon knows she'll die. Thus, Elena forces Damon to team up with Anna despite being a lone ranger due to his trust issues.

lol... this gif is specific. It's basically a "F*ck me for caring about Elena" gif. She forced him to team up with Anna when he works alone. Trusting others and becoming a team player are two of the ways Elena changes Damon. Pretty much anything is possible so long as there's trust. That's why their ship is built on it.

Parallel 6: Stefan turning to Sheila to find the girls feeds the other half of his visit in 1x11. One could easily combine it with Bonnie's attempt to do a locator spell on Elena's necklace.

It's through these parallels, they show why Stefan went to Sheila's house to find Bonnie. He was gonna have Sheila do a locator spell on Elena in 1x11, but he needed Bonnie to convince Sheila. He only trusted to turn to Shelia this time because they took Bonnie.

Damon only teamed with Anna because she was holding Elena prisoner. Even though Damon wanted Bonnie to help him open the tomb, he was just as much trying to get a fresh start with her. Anna having Bonnie to open the tomb wasn't what swayed Damon. Anna threatening to kill Elena was. Damon wouldn't force Bonnie to do anything because he truly wanted a fresh start with her. I say this because Bonnie isn't the only witch in existence. Had Elena not talked Bonnie into helping Damon, he would've left town to find himself another witch. He never once asked Bonnie or Sheila to open the tomb. He never once asked Stefan or Elena to have Bonnie or Sheila open the tomb. He's also not responsbile for whatever assumptions they make about him. Damon is the only one NOT responsible for Sheila's death. I laugh because Stefan is acting like he needs to protect Sheila, like she's not capable of protecting herself when she could drop him in an instant. Stefan is annoyed by Sheila's response. "We'll protect ourselves." Annoyed because he enjoys acting like he's the only one that can protect people.

"We need to let him have Katherine back. He's not going to stop until he gets her. If we help him, maybe that ends it." If Elena truly feared for the safety of her loved ones, she wouldn't be suggesting they open the tomb so Damon can rescue Katherine. Bonnie's judgments get the better of her. "No! He doesn't deserve to get what he wants." If she truly knew Damon, she wouldn't be spitting this out of her mouth. It's not about what Damon does or doesn't deserve, it's about Damon's life. That's why Sheila offers her help. She plans to trap Damon, to desiccate him in the tomb forever. Unlike Stefan, Damon knows better than to trust easily.

Parallel 7: This is their biggest parallel from 1x11 to 1x14, and shows how Stefan manipulated Elena for the sake of hurting Damon. Stefan on the left, Elena on the right...

Hurting Damon requires he care, period. Damon was trying to have a relationship with Elena separate from his relationship with Stefan, and that's how they're written from this point forward. Damon was both gloating and caring. Both wanting to piss off Stefan and enjoy Elena's company. Both angry and hurt. So when Stefan uses "we" in his conversation with Elena, she not only realizes the truth of Damon, she knows Stefan manipulated her.

Unlike Damon enjoying Elena's comany in Atlanta, Stefan involved Elena in his betrayal for the sake of hurting Damon. Enjoying her company was a given for him. She goes to see Damon because she knows she hurt him, period. THIS is what it would look like had Stefan not involved Elena in his betrayal...

Further showing why Stefan involved her specifically.

Everything you see of Damon in his scene with Elena is real. His words, his body language, all of it. His initial response is surprise because he just got done making a deal with Anna to spare her and has no idea how she escaped. He's being honest when he tells her, "I'm gonna have to change the locks." He no longer considers her welcome to stop by any time she wants, as he said in 1x2. "Oh, don't be silly. You're welcome any time. Isn't she, Stefan?" He's being honest when he asks, "You stage a jailbreak?" He has no idea that Stefan turned to Sheila for a locator spell.

"Ah, brother. Ever the white knight." This comment is specific in the fact that Elena has no idea about Damon's meeting with Anna, that he tried to save her again. He doesn't want her to know how much power she has over him, and this is just in caring for her lol. He's being honest in response to her comment about Bonnie because he already tried several times for a fresh start with her. "I doubt that." He's being honest when he tells her, "Well, at least you're honest." He'd rather hear Elena's ugly truth than her beautiful lie. He's being honest when he tells her, "Not interested." Because he's not interested in getting hurt again. He's also being honest when he tells her, "Fool me once, shame on you." You can see Elena's shame in her body language…

Damon is hurt af. Combine Elena hurting Damon in 1x13 to Stefan hurting Elena in 3x5, and you'll feel Damon in their Delena scene. "Stefan hurt you. You don't want it to happen again." Fool me once. Push this to 4x1 for Elena's "Twice" soundtrack.

Through Ben and Anna, Elena came to realize that Damon knew the verain was in her necklace. But that's not the whole truth. Compulsion is never about one person, it's about two. "You didn't. I know you didn't. But you could have." It's not just about Damon having the ability to compel her, but about Elena's ability to leave. That's how she knows she wasn't compelled. She had the ability, and she chose not to. She didn't even want Stefan knowing where she was. Combine Elena's scenes with her phone and her scenes trying to escape Ben and Anna…

That's how she knows Damon didn't compel her. She knows that staying with him was her choice. Because I consider manipulation no different than compulsion, I feel Stefan gave Elena no choice but to betray Damon. He made her believe that her loved ones were at risk, which is made obvious by her comment to Damon in their necklace scene. "I was protecting the people I love, Damon." Because she believed her loved ones were at risk, she felt she had to protect them. Elena takes her necklace off for Damon because Atlanta was about him trusting her. "Ask me if I'm lying now." None of his friendships would be possible if not for this moment right here, for this trust he puts in her. "I'm trusting you. Don't make me regret it." He also warns her about Anna because he knows how he's gonna be once they open the tomb. "You know Anna won't stop, by the way, no matter what I do."

Elena does more than just take her necklace off for Damon. She's offering herself to him as leverage against Bonnie. She went from being Anna's leverage to being Damon's. "You and I are going that way." That's why Damon directs her away from Matt and Caroline, and why Sheila is worried. "Are you sure that Damon will come back with her?" Because Elena went from being Anna's leverage to being Damon's, Anna abducts Jeremy for leverage. A kidnapping that jumps off Damon's scene with Anna. "Got a hot date or are you just plan on nabbing the entire Gilbert family?" Elena is adorable with her lack of witch knowledge. Damon gets a blood bag ready for Katherine. An act that paints a clear picture for Elena. He isn't planning or expecting Katherine to feed on innocents. "I can't wait to get rid of you." This was Stefan's entire plan with his betrayal, but he's gonna get a rude awakening. I feel for Jeremy. He just lost his vampire girlfriend, now he's falling for another vampire. And Tyler... he seems to be completely alone at this party. I love Caroline's comment to Matt. "Damon was there, and he was always such a jerk to me. And I wanted to show off that I was with a good guy."

Damon is a smart guy. He takes one look at the witches and asks Elena if she's ready. He trusts her, but he doesn't trust them. "You think I'm gonna go in there by myself so you can seal me in?" He has no idea that the seal already exists. "Look, he needs leverage." Elena knows her role lol. Ben is way too cocky, so I'm glad Stefan kills him. What I hate about Stefan in this scene, is his attempt to deny Anna access to her mother. He actually plans to stop her. "Yeah, I think we'll skip the dead mom bonding so you can start serving a purpose." Given Anna's comment from earlier in the episode, and the fact that Stefan is trying to stop her from reuniting with her mother, I consider Damon the better choice to escort Elena at the Miss Mystic pageant in 1x19. Stefan is the wrong brother to honor Elena's mother. "Are you going to say eternal life? You really that stupid?" This is exactly what Stefan feels about vampires. He can't love Elena as one.

Damon reacts as I expected him to. He's already separated from Elena, desperate to find the love of his life. Stefan returns to find out that she went into the tomb with Damon. He's about to run in and get her despite knowing Damon came with a blood bag for Katherine and despite knowing every vampire in that tomb can't move because they've been desiccating. Idiotic for him to feel the need to save her at this point. "You were never planning on breaking the spell, were you?" Stefan should've known better. He was there when Damon nearly killed Bonnie. A single scream from Elena, and he rushes in despite knowing there's a seal on the tomb and he can't get out.

"Help me or I'll do it alone." This is why Sheila dies. She knows Bonnie won't survive if she does it alone, so she self-sacrifices. It's because Bonnie is doing it to save Stefan that she treats Stefan the way she does when she returns home. Sheila is Bree's parallel. I love Elena in these tomb scenes. "We can't leave him in there. We promised him. Both of us." They don't actually show this, I think Elena said it because she refuses to betray Damon's trust. I love Anna's comment to Elena. "I just wanted my mother back. Jeremy's fine. He's outside. I won't touch him." Elena is getting a close-up view of what she didn't understand. They're not just vampires, they're loved ones. "It's not worth spending all of eternity down here. She's not worth it!" Stefan is a crappy brother. He wouldn't be saying this if it were Elena rather than Katherine. Damon is suffering an extreme confusion. He doesn't understand why she's not there. He refuses to leave the tomb for Stefan. His trust is in Elena, so he needed to hear it from her.

An Atlanta hug. Stefan no longer has Elena all to himself. Like Katherine, she's the one who gets to make all the rules. Elena apologizes to Damon again because he basically lost Katherine again. He hits Anna's mostel room and attacks Pearl. "Why do you get a happy ending? Why do you get it and I don't?" This is not his happy ending, Elena is. Damon is beside himself. He doesn't hate them, he just hates not having what they have. Sheila's death and Damon's scene by the fire combine for one soundtrack. The fire is symbolic to Fell's Church.

This is what Emily warned Stefan about in 1x9. "WIth one comes all." With Stefan comes 26 vampires with the addition of Damon and Anna. Katherine would've made 27. Watch how Bonnie treats Stefan now.

[lemonyinks]

I decided to combine all of my Robin and Ace posts into one. I wanted to put all of my thoughts together, change some things up and add on some additional thoughts that weren't in the previous posts.

Pretty long post ahead, so beware.

(The moment that each of them fully realized that they are loved).

I think about the two of them so often it's not even funny anymore. they're so different in so many interesting ways and yet so painfully similar.

The Son of Roger and Demon Child; hated by all from a young age for crimes they didn't even commit and feared for what people believe they had the potential to become, rather than what they really were. But the way the world saw them wasn't the only thing that they had in common. They also viewed themselves in a very similar way to each other, but handled it in drastically different ways.

Robin was stuck believing what she's been told her entire life, that she was a demon who didn't deserve to live and that her simply being alive was a sin or crime in itself. People treated her as though all her worth came from what she could do, rather than who she was as a person. If she wanted food, shelter, or even companionship she had to work for it, nothing ever came for free for her. Everything had a price. Not only that, but the second they learned of who she was, they would turn on her without fail. From a young age she was all but taught that she would be betrayed again and again no matter what. Trust wasn't something she was allowed to have.

And until she met the Strawhats, she had no choice but to believe these sentiments, because no one has ever tried to tell her otherwise. Saul's words were like a far off dream that she never had hope of obtaining. She was well and truly alone for more than half of her life. So, she didn't even let herself believe she deserved to want to live. She was ultimately a was too afraid to allow herself this hope. She was scared of being betrayed again by people she had grown to love. She would rather die in silence and leave behind the image of a cold-hearted killer than allow the crew to save her, because she fully believed that they too would inevitably betray her as well regardless of the amount of love she had for them.

But she does want to live. She wants to be happy and sail the seas, learning about everything the world has to offer. She wants to be part of a family, she wants to love and be loved in return. After joining the crew, after they went through all the pain and effort of saving her simply because they loved her, she finally allowed herself to be vulnerable and express her desire to live. She even goes so far as ask for as much, she begs to live. She silently begs to be loved.

She later even embraces her demon title and flips it on those who hurt her, allowing herself to be become a devil who can protect what is precious to her. She loves fiercely and is loved fiercely in return

As for Ace, he has been told since he was young that being Roger's son pretty much made his existence a crime and that he was incapable of being loved, just like Robin. He had to be hidden away since infancy simply because of who his father was. Like Robin, he internalized all of the horrible things said to him to the point that he found his own bloodline to be 'rotten' and questioned whether or not it was a good thing he was ever born.

He also embraced the title of monster, but in a very, very different way. He placed very little value on his life and even admitted with his dying breaths that he likely wouldn't have stayed alive as long as he did if not for Luffy and Sabo. He fully subscribed to the idea that he was a monster whose blood was rotten, had resigned himself to the fact that he should die because of it. He kept his self hatred under wraps and never really let anyone in close enough to let him know that they loved him. He loved deeply, so deeply that it hurt, but he never let the people in his life love him back. He didn't think he was even capable of being loved in return.

Unlike Robin, even in his final moments, he wasn't able to allow himself to feel like he deserved to want to live or be happy. Right to the very end, he didn't think he was someone worth saving. He's grateful for his family and their desperate attempts rescue him, but it he didn't seem to be able to wrap his head around the fact that he was truly cared for. With his last words, he thanked his family for doing something that should have gone without saying; loving him. In the end, he did accept that he was loved. He died with a smile, happy to know that he was loved just as deeply in return

Both Robin and Ace deserved to live, they both deserved to be saved. And they both had people who believed so too.

In Ace's case a whole army of people who believed he was worth saving, just because they loved him. Well and truly loved him, simply for who he was. Both Ace and Robin had people willing to declare war on the entire world just to see them safe and happy. Both of them are so deeply loved that it makes your heart ache. It's just sad that one of them only realized this fact when it was already too late.

I really think Robin and Ace would have gotten each other in a way no one else in the series could have. They would have been able to sympathize with and understand each other in ways others simply wouldn’t be able to.