#so painfully slow and beautifully healing

[joffyworld]

Oh MANNNNN GRIMMM you know how to write some familial trauma and rebuilding

I love how your AU of CoTL is based around learning how to communicate with your loved ones.

Lamb telling Aym and/or Baal, “Please, tell me about what’s been bothering you. It scares me that you’re too worried to ask for help. I’m your parent, and I want you to feel safe to tell me these things.”

Prior to the twins' resurrection Narinder was just trying to keep out of the way while self-loathing, and Anthea was just trying to ignore him and everything but their duties as leader, but after both managing to work together to figure out the resurrection plan, and after the boys' first night in the mortal realm proved to be VERY difficult, both realized that wasn't working. They both just felt awful and while having the boys alive was a relief, the kits were not ok either. And thus they decided to try.

Though neither are ready to approach the topic of the betrayal early on, Anthea wants to give him a chance, and Narinder wants to start trying to regain the lamb's trust. Both boys are kept in the know of how things are going, and they make sure the two know that it's ok to ask. The last thing they want is to leave them in the dark wondering if it's their fault things went wrong. Enough damage has been done by not talking to people after all.

(also hehehe-this is an AU where people heal gosh dang it. no angsty end-game, they get their happy end)

[number-one-fan-of-doktor]

Kink-Your-Tober Day 20: Belly Bulge

Mikhail’s large, warm palm rested against his sternum, pushing him gently backwards with a feather-light touch. Ludwig looked up at his husband, for the first time after so many months of separation, and thought about how Mikhail had never looked so beautiful before.

“Relax, doktor,” His deep, baritone voice rumbled through Ludwig, “We will take it slow. Doktor is so fragile.”

Ludwig scoffed, “I’ve already healed, Misha.” Mikhail’s hands dragged down his chest, giant fingers brushing over his nipples making him arch into the touch. Those hands settled upon his hips, playing with the loose waistband of his jodhpurs.

“Doktor has not been taking care of himself well. Is so small now, so fragile. Have to go slow, gentle, careful.” Ludwig hated to admit it, but Mikhail was right. He hadn’t been eating as well, he hadn’t been taking care of himself, but he abhorred being called ‘fragile’.

“Just get on vizh it.” He huffed, shucking off his trousers and underwear, swiping the tub of lube away from Mikhail. He sunk down onto two of his fingers before his husband had the chance to respond. He smashed their lips together, then, moaning right into Mikhail’s mouth as he fingered himself. It was so relieving to have him here again, after so many months, to feel Mikhail’s warmth on his skin, feel his bulk against his body.

“I’m ready. Take me. Make me yours again.” He wanted to be Mikhail’s and only Mikhail’s.

“As you wish, doktor.” The slide in was painful at first, Ludwig not used to the stretch after half a year. But Mikhail stuck to his word, being gentle and careful, slipping into Ludwig inch by painfully slow inch. It was torturous, even worse than if he had just buried himself up to the hilt in one movement. That gorgeous, wonderful cock rubbed against his walls so beautifully, playing him as Ludwig began to moan out a symphony. Each inch touched him so perfectly, filling him up until there was no space inside for anything but Mikhail’s cock.

“Look at that.” Mikhail hummed once he bottomed out. Ludwig could barely tear his eyes away from the ceiling, breathing shallowly to accommodate the girth of the cock inside of him. But then he looked down, and he saw a raised mound at some midway point between his belly button and the base of his cock. And when Mikhail began to pull out, the mound grew smaller, less pronounced.

“Oh… Oh, zhat vas you.” Ludwig stared at the bulge in his tummy in awe, watching it change size as Mikhail settled on a slow, even rhythm. His stomach really had gotten flat, hadn’t it? But it now allowed him to watch Mikhail thrust from the outside. It almost felt more intimate, as if their bodies had become one being, joined together in this mad dance of rocking bodies and clashing mouths, of whispered secrets upon moaned out love confession. Mikhail fit so perfectly into Ludwig like the last piece of a puzzle started fifty years ago, and Ludwig accommodated him like a container, holding within it water that had moulded to his shape as if it had been made for it. They were perfect together.

And then Ludwig’s orgasm hit, and the pleasure was so overwhelming that he passed out.

[shining-gem34]

Emanator of Abundance

Name: Dan Feng

Age: 1000+

Species: Vidydhara

Birthday: [November 16]

Planet: Xianzhou Luofu

Affiliation: Independant (Or so Dan Feng claims)

Path: Abundance

Weapon: Spear/Catalyst (Freeform)

>Ship Status: Open to multiship.

>Voicelines (TBA) || Headcanons (TBA)

>Emanator of Abundance Verse associated with @grislyintentions

Appearance

Overall, Dan Feng's physical appearance remains the same with some changes. 

The beautiful azure scales have turned green-blue with gold dots. Between his scales, lotus flowers grow and bloom. His horns are more branch-like with plum blossoms growing. The furs of his tail became matted and have thinned out from Dan Feng's bad habit of scratching/picking at his tail. 

Currently, Dan Feng prefers to wear plain/simple robes or hanfu. With his condition, he cannot be bothered to wear the complicated and many layers of luxurious outfits he used to have. The only jewelry he wears is the red tassel earring.

Personality 

Before, Dan Feng was known to be an aloof and frigid individual by most people. Only those who got to know him knew he was a person with emotions like anyone else. 

Now, Dan Feng isolates himself from the world like the new moon.

With his mental health deteriorating by Yaoshi "Blessings", Dan Feng is a shell of his former self. When left alone, he is eerily quiet and remains rooted to his seat by the window watching the world move on while he wastes away. However, if approached, one must be careful for he is in no mood to tolerate company.

Especially if you're an Abomination of Yaoshi, or related to THEM, Dan Feng will not hesitate to tear you apart. In his rage-filled mind, any traces of Abundance must be eliminated. An irony considering Dan Feng has become an Emanator of Abundance (against his will).

However, Dan Feng too wishes for Death embrace and unfortunately, he is not allowed to die under Yaoshi watchful eyes.

History

Warning (Will be updated as needed): Implied Body Horror. Implied Forced Transformation. Manipulation.

The status of High Elder is a duty placed upon Dan Feng shoulders. His burdens is to lead his people to a better path, to honor his ancestors allegiance to the Xianzhou, and to seek a cure to his race cursed infertility.

Despite Dan Feng personal involvement in the research, they are limited by what means they are able to pursue without breaking the Ten Unpardonable Sins. However, Dan Feng has no issues with this. In fact, he finds it a challenge to try to break his race curse without resorting to the likes to the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus.

Unfortunately, Yaoshi had a different opinion.

A single glance from THEM was enough to alter Dan Feng fate.

It was not an instantaneous change, but a slow and painful transformation over the years.

Yaoshi "blessings" invaded his entire being. Roots dig deeper than flesh, drinking up his ichor for their flowers to pierce his skin and bloom beautifully. Their stems intertwined with his blood vessels, wrapping tightly around his heart. Azure scales have dulled and shed for green-blue scales to replace it. The majestic horns atop of his head have shed painfully, and the stumps growing into jagged tree-like branches are much more painful.

A beautiful monster, Dan Feng thinks, but a monster nontheless.

What's worse is that throughout the days of staying in his bed, bleeding and coughing flower petals, are THEIR voices in his head.

THEY comfort him. THEY soothe him. THEY tempt him.

Dan Feng fears the day he will succumb to THEM. He will be alone, helpless, and in pain without anyone by his side.

And Dan Feng knows a part of him has started to seek the mocking warmth of THEIR voices beckoning him give into salvation.

Abilities

For this verse, Dan Feng will follow the Path of Abundance and wields Imaginary element. He uses Cloudhymn magic to heal allies and provides buffs in exchange for his own health.

Basic Attack: Deals Imaginary damage to a single enemy based on Dan Feng HP%

Skill: Activates Dragon Heart in exchange for [percentage] of Dan Feng HP. While Dragon Heart is activated, Dan Feng heals allies every turn based on his HP% and buffs their ATK for 2 turns. After Dragon Heart ends, [percentage] HP will be returned to Dan Feng.

During [Mode Name] activation, Dan Feng cannot use his skill.

Ultimate: Dan Feng deals Imaginary damage to all enemies based on his HP%. If he uses his ultimate while Dragon Heart, he loses a [percentage] of his HP and continues to keep Dragon Heart activated for another turn. For a single turn, his Outgoing Healing% and ATK buffs are greatly enhanced.

Talent: For every ally who recovers HP during Dragon Heart, Dan Feng can stack up Tainted Azure Scale to 3 times. At the end of Dragon Heart, if one ally or more are defeated in battle, Dan Feng can revive them based on the number of Tainted Azure Scale stacked. However, if no allies are defeated in battle, Dan Feng will convert them to Bud of the Ambrosial Arbor instead providing crit dmg% boost for 2 turns.

Tecniques: After using technique, Dan Feng can immediately activate Dragon Heart at the start of battle and consume [percentage] of his HP at the start of battle.

Cloudhymn Magic: Due to his heritage, Dan Feng had a strong aptitude with Cloudhymn magic. He is capable of controlling water, creating mirages of lotuses and spears, sealing/breaking seals, manipulating the weather, and powerful healing. 

Levitation: It is implied Dan Feng can float/fly into the air as a humanoid. 

Transformation: It is implied Dan Feng, as High Elder, can transform into a full dragon. He is also capable of hiding his Vidyadhara features and appear as an unassuming humanoid. 

Martial Arts: Dan Feng  is proficient in Cloudlancer art, one of the many martial arts used in the Xianzhou. While it is possible for Dan Feng to be familiar with other weapon types, including bare-handed martial arts, he prefers the spear. 

Combat Experience: Since he was trained to fight and join the war against the Abundance, it is natural Dan Feng has build-up experience from that. He is a powerful spell-caster and a strong warrior who enjoys sparring with Jingliu and the other HCQ members.

Weapon: Dan Feng wields a magical orb/pearl acting as a catalyst for his powers. Cloud Piercer is a spear he wields with pride as it was forged by Yingxing. Other weapons are pretty special artifacts growing rusty in his treasury. 

Physical Stats: Before his transformation, Dan Feng physical abilities are greater than an average human. Presently, he is given an immortal body that heals almost instsntly even from the most fatal injuries. That being said, any physical abilities he had are further enhanced.

Longevity: On average, the Vidyadhara are able to live up to about 700 years before returning go the cycle. Unfortunately, Yaoshi has "blessed" Dan Feng to live beyond that and never return to becoming a pearl under his natural life expectancy.

Notes

Due to the nature of this verse, Dan Heng does not exist yet in main story. Because of Dan Feng immortality, he lived passed an average lifespan of a Vidydhara, and currently still lives. However, canon DH from the main story and/or AU Dan Heng are welcome to poke a grumpy old man.

||Updated 11/17/24

[ourladyofmaplemurder]

Emily: Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?--every, every minute?

Stage Manager: No.

Pause

The saints and poets, maybe--they do some.

I'm working on an essay about Riverdale now that the finale is out...but I'd like to say a few things now.

Namely, I'd like to talk about the fact that Riverdale ending with a homage to Our Town is so painfully fitting. So, unbearably fitting.

Our Town is a story, much like Riverdale, about a town. It doesn't have the fun twists and turns, for sure, but it is about the lives of the people living in Grover's Corners. It's a love letter to simple, American living.

(And I do say "American" because Our Town is quintessentially American.)

The first time I saw Our Town, I was 14 maybe. I found it incredibly boring. It was slow with tons of boring details about people and their simple lives. I really didn't get it.

It wasn't until, years later, I was in a production of it. A very lovely production. After 55 performances, I still didn't understand it. I don't think you can that young, but I started to.

Today, I still don't understand it, but I think I'm a step closer. You really can't, I think, understand life while you're in the midst of it. As Emily says in the final act:

"They're sort of shut up in little boxes, aren't they?"

We are. We can't help it. None of us can. We're all moving too damn fast in our little lives to be anything more than troubled from sun up to sun down. We strain so much in our little lives that we have to lie down and rest every night. We can never look at everything hard enough.

In any case, Riverdale culminating in an homage to Our Town just makes so much sense. The show has mentioned the play several times over the years, for starters, but it's more than that.

It's the button on a lengthy, 137-episode conversation about American culture and the nature of life itself. Exposing the dark underbelly. Celebrating the triumphs. Life is the trauma and the healing. The epic highs and lows of high school football, of course…but life is also incredibly boring. Peace is boring. At least, it can seem so when you’re not ready for it. If you’re still fighting and eager to do so, peace feels flat and horrible.

But, for these characters, this story, that has struggled and bled for 7 long seasons, I think a peaceful ending is well-earned. I walk away deeply satisfied.

I’ll leave you with one more thing. (Again, I’m still working on a bigger essay that will be more organized.)

 Riverdale is deeply haunted by its own past as much as the characters are.

It’s haunted by the Archie comics, by its own previous seasons, by Archie’s Weird Fantasy, etc. I think Riverdale ending on a peaceful, sentimental note is really beautiful.

It feels like Emily in the graveyard in act 3, learning to let go, and joining the other ghosts on the hill. We look back and remember. We grieve it and love it in kind. We live and we die. It’s all so small and yet, immeasurably huge like a starry night sky. We wish we could stay forever, but we know we can’t.

The first 6 seasons fought and bled so hard. The seventh season was a gradual slowing than settled into peace.

I could say a lot more about how healing and finding peace are not as exciting as people might like. I’m sure I will in time.

Riverdale was not a perfect show, but nothing is. I would have done things differently, but so would we all in a commentary on life.

I’m happy though.

We all have to go through our lives to appreciate them. That’s the joke. That’s the tragedy. That’s the truth. Happy/sad endings are the best, aren’t they?

Yeah. Because they’re real. They’re life.

And I can’t believe a silly little CW show handed me something so profound like that. Riverdale, I can’t believe you. You lovable scamp. You sneaky bastard. 

I can’t believe a goofy Archie fanfiction had the nerve, the audacity to say something so heartbreakingly and beautifully true.

“To look life in the face. To look life in the face and to know it, and then, to put it away.” - The Hours

I’m sorry this was so disjointed. I love you all, everything.

Unrelated Notes:

-It's a love letter to American cinema and theatre, which I think is covered under "culture", but I wanted to point that out specifically.

-The final season, more than any of them, is about American theatre and poetry. Death of a Salesman. The Crucible. Howl. Langston Hughes. Our Town. (And dozens of others.)

-The only way I can categorize Riverdale, truly, is as Americana Gothic.

-I think it makes sense to return to classic Americana in the final stretch. We've riffed on horror and thrillers. Soap operas and hell, even modern marvel movies. Returning to the Golden Age for one final look, where Archie itself began, truly feels full-circle.

-Cheryl let go of her grief. She left Thornhill. She built a family. She loved and was loved. God, that makes me so immeasurably happy.

She’s doing a puzzle in the Pop’s Choklit shop in the sky right now. I wish I could tell the Cheryl of 1x13 that.

“You are loved. You are safe. You’re going to be ok.”

Ah, but she wouldn’t understand just as my younger self wouldn’t understand my silly, peaceful life now. They would both scoff and roll their eyes at me. That’s ok though. They’ll figure it out.

[razzmothazz]

rambling more abt nightcord and their theme because i just NEED to get it out if my system

i think nightcord is such beautifully constructed with its theme of healing because every character has someone specific helping them out most within the unit

idk how to explain it in general terms but basically

kanade struggles with overworking and not taking proper care of herself, her main help with this comes from mizuki! sure, others help out too but mizuki is the one who points out those self destructive behaviours the most [or at least from ehat i remeber] and this dynamic is so so beautifully shown specifically in carnation recollection

mizuki is the one telling kanade to take a break, but kanade is set on making another song for mafuyu despite being absolutely stuck. i think mizuki is the most clever out of the 4 specifically because of this event, since they knew kanade wont give up on it ever and decided to use a different approach to give her the deserved break and would also help her out in this situation. kanade would never have some time off if it wasnt for mizuki. thats how mizuki cares for her, by "tricking" her into taking one while also getting to spend nice time together and end up reminiscing.

this is such an important story because thanks to mizuki, a part of kanade got to heal.

mafuyu very obviously is mostly helped by kanade, who tries her very best and gives it literally her all to help mafuyu find herself, but she always gives mafuyu space when she needs it as well. i think since this one is most obvious i dont have to dwell on it too much but the love and care kanade has for mafuyu makes me soooo fucking insane like omg. kanade is the whole reason mafuyu even tries. shes the sole reason why mafuyu could get where she is now and didnt give up.

ena is a bit tricky, but surprisingly i think her helper is... mafuyu. i have honestly no clue how to explain what i mean at all, but seeing someone with so much talent and the "perfect" life be completely empty was so important to enas character. mafuyu makes painfully slow progress on her situation yet ena notices it, and she might not fully realize it but its helping ena take things easier with her art as well, which i think is shown very well in hope will someday go beyond the morning. mafuyu makes just a slightly different expression but ena still notices it, paralleled by enas art teacher noticing enas intent and emotion behind her art project. despite so many mistakes in the work on a technical level, it had soul. not to mention mafuyu indirectly helps ena be more understanding of others, which is very obvious when you compare how she was with mafuyu at first vs their current dynamic. mafuyu doesnt even know it but she inspires ena so so much not only in her art but to be better as a person.

and for mizuki, its also very obvious with main help coming from ena. pretty much every mizuki focus [<- exaggeration warning] will have ena trying her best to help mizuki out, and thanks to enas growth she can understand mizuki better and better and know how to deal with their issue. she thinks she needs to know the secret to know mizuki, but she learns that its not actually important, and she wants to show mizuki that as well. she constantly shows mizuki support and care weather they are willing to tell their secret or not, and in her own way wants to reassure mizuki that no matter what she wants to be there for them. ena helps mizuki so much that they even finally consider telling ena their secret, after like a year in canon if not longer!! which is such a huge deal because mizuki was convinced that telling ena someday they will tell what it is was completely a lie. they never had any intention to actually say what it is. but they grew so much and feel so safe around ena that the fact they even CONSIDERED IT implies so much healing, growth and trust. it makes me SOB. i am INSANE about mizuena. ena loves them SO MUCH its just so JSHSHDHYSHEIRUDHXHJSNB

okay im gonna stop here cause the tired is getting to me and i feel like i cant explain myself at all now but you get the point n25 care about eachother so much it makes me cry and punch walls and scream and drop to my knees on the floor in a dramatic way and explode and-

[whimsicaldragonette]

ARC Review: We Could Be So Good by Cat Sebastian

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Publication Date: June 6, 2023

Synopsis:

[I have opted to remove the comps listed on Goodreads because they are nonsense.]

Nick Russo has worked his way from a rough Brooklyn neighborhood to a reporting job at one of the city's biggest newspapers. But the late 1950s are a hostile time for gay men, and Nick knows that he can't let anyone into his life. He just never counted on meeting someone as impossible to say no to as Andy. Andy Fleming's newspaper-tycoon father wants him to take over the family business. Andy, though, has no intention of running the paper. He's barely able to run his life--he's never paid a bill on time, routinely gets lost on the way to work, and would rather gouge out his own eyes than deal with office politics. Andy agrees to work for a year in the newsroom, knowing he'll make an ass of himself and hate every second of it. Except, Nick Russo keeps rescuing Andy: showing him the ropes, tracking down his keys, freeing his tie when it gets stuck in the ancient filing cabinets. Their unlikely friendship soon sharpens into feelings they can't deny. But what feels possible in secret--this fragile, tender thing between them--seems doomed in the light of day. Now Nick and Andy have to decide if, for the first time, they're willing to fight.

My Rating: ★★★★★

A few months ago he told himself that his choices—that any queer person’s choices—were either to hide or brazen it out, and that’s still true. But there’s another possibility: pushing back against the injustices that force people to make impossible choices.

*My Review and Favorite Quotes below the cut.

My Review:

I read this book in one sitting - while I was supposed to be reading an entirely different book. I picked it up meaning to read a chapter or two while I ate lunch -- because it's easier to read on a kindle than a paperback while eating -- and the next thing I knew I was turning the last page. I can't remember the last time I did that. I knew I would love it from the beginning; that was a given - it's a Cat Sebastian book. But I wasn't prepared for how much I would love it, or for how many feelings it gave me. This book is devastating in its quiet queer joy and relentless hope while living in the face of prejudice and hate. It's about a queer couple in the newspaper publishing world of New York City of the 1950s. It's about the slow realization of feelings, and the inevitable and infinitesimal merging of lives, and the way you can breathe easier when you have a community of people like you who understand you and know you. It's about the comfort and happiness to be found in the little things in life. And it's so soft and domestic, even with the uncertainty and the lies and the hiding. Which takes skill. I teared up several times, enough that it made it difficult to keep reading. I *felt* the truth in this story viscerally. Times may have changed (somewhat) but I could still understand the hesitance and the fear and defiant joy that make up a queer existence. In some ways it was starkly different than Cat Sebastian's other books, and yet in other ways it felt familiar. She straddled the line between quiet joy and simmering rage at the realities of queer life. It was intense and healing and beautiful. I didn't want it to end. I was bracing myself for tragedy as the book progressed, and I'm so glad that isn't the sort of story Cat Sebastian is telling here. That instead she is telling a story of people who just want to live their lives, and who find the courage in themselves to do so despite the fear and threats. Like Nick, I was dreading reading about another queer tragedy. The characters were beautifully drawn and felt so real. I came to care about them so much and feel like they were my friends. It was masterfully done. The setting also felt incredibly, painfully real. It was 100% believable. *Thanks to NetGalley and Avon for providing an early copy for review.

Favorite Quotes:

Nick has spent years making sure that when people look at him, they don’t see anything that sticks out like a sore thumb—they don’t see anything at all, they hardly even see a person, just a man in a suit.

---

Andy gives him this flat, disappointed look that Nick recognizes because Nick invented it and now he’s going to have to sue Andy for copyright infringement.

---

“Back in his day they didn’t have Band-Aids,” Nick continues. “They just slapped mud on their wounds and went back to drawing the news on the walls of their caves.” “I can still hear you,” Jorgensen says. “It’s nice when the elderly keep their hearing,” Andy observes.

---

“It’s the creme de menthe,” Nick says, eying the green liquid distastefully. “It’s like drinking toothpaste, if toothpaste got ideas above its station.”

---

“A heart doctor, though,” he says in a tone that suggests that getting jilted in favor of cardiologists is all anyone can expect. That maybe Andy should have considered medical school if he didn’t want to get jilted. That Emily did what she had to do, because who could turn down a heart doctor?

---

“I was going to make minestrone soup,” Nick says. “You like soup.” “I do like soup,” Andy agrees. “I take it that’s an invitation, not you taunting me with soup I don’t get to eat.”

---

He feels as if he’s been turned inside out, as if he just learned that a part of his heart is on the outside of his body, in the possession of somebody else entirely.

---

But somehow, a journalist being hurt because he’s on to a dangerous story seems less traumatic than someone being attacked for living his life.

---

Andy worries that it’s his lot in life to be mocked by elderly Italian women.

---

Andy isn’t expecting an epiphany at eight on a Monday morning when he’s still mostly asleep, when his first cup of coffee is still hot in his hand. Honestly, Andy isn’t expecting an epiphany ever.

---

A couple times a year, Nick finds a tale of gay misery and woe on his desk, because apparently Bailey has taken it upon himself to be Nick’s personal sad gay librarian.

----

“You have shitty taste in books. Would it kill you to read something that isn’t totally dismal?” “I’m paid for my taste in books,” Bailey says easily. “And I don’t mind dismal things. I’m trying to be your friend, aren’t I?”

---

Families might usually be bonded by blood, but maybe sometimes they’re bonded by shared secrets, by a delicate mixture of caution and faith, by the conviction that hiding together is better in every way than hiding alone.

---

That might be what turns the tide and makes Nick enjoy the book, at least a little. These men are finding time and energy to flirt and have queer parties and get jealous and fall in love despite bombs and injuries and death. That feels like the truest thing he’s ever read.

---

“Yes, well. I figured, you see.” He stops, looking suddenly at a loss. “People in New York have hearts, too, don’t they?” And Emily must really love him if she’s susceptible to a line like that.

----

A few months ago he told himself that his choices—that any queer person’s choices—were either to hide or brazen it out, and that’s still true. But there’s another possibility: pushing back against the injustices that force people to make impossible choices.

[lepusrufus]

To bargain for immortality pt.3

As it turns out, poison did not kill her. Not by a long shot. Not if the numerous tests with different kinds of poisons were to be believed.

Nicole was currently bent over the sink placed in the corner of Miranda's lab, her assistant hovering behind her with a timer in hand. What was it this time? Hemlock? Belladonna?

She stopped caring when a new wave of blood carrying the replaced tissue from internal damage came rising in her esophagus. With a disgusting gag, it came splashing onto the white porcelain, now stained and coated in crimson multiple times over. She coughed, trying not to let any of the burning mixture remain stagnant in her throat, and focused on the feeling of her body healing itself. It felt, for lack of a better word, like static coursing through her nerves and organs. After that too was gone, and the only thing that remained was the nauseating coppery taste in her mouth, she raised a shaky hand, too tired to speak up.

"Seven minutes, thirty four seconds," Emma announced.

Mother Miranda noted it down, fingers typing quickly over the keyboard.

It was a miracle that Nicole was still able to stand, although leaning a good part of her body weight on the sink thankfully secured to the wall did help. She took a few deep breaths, doing her best to not sound too croaky when she spoke.

"Can I see the results once we're done?"

She could keep track of everything herself of course, but it got difficult when her body was fighting toxins meant to shut it down. And she'd be lying if she said that she wasn't dying of curiosity.

"It's none of your concern," Miranda replied coldly.

That got a scowl to appear on thin blood stained lips, partially hidden by her hunched position. "I stood here quietly while you shoved pill after pill made from every poisonous plant you could get your hands on down my throat. At least grant me the grace of knowing my own body's limitations."

Her reply was little more than a tongue click. She couldn't help a scoff when Miranda simply ignored her request and told her assistant to continue with the next test on their list. Emma picked up one of the numerous pill bottles lined on her employer's desk and came over to Nicole, who unceremoniously grabbed one pill and swallowed it before looking at the label. Cyanide.

Oh for fuck's sake.

Her body's reaction was immediate, heart starting to beat painfully quick while her head started to spin. It was nauseating, the ache seeming to flood her chest and going up her spine in a searing migraine. Not to mention the deep breaths that didn't seem deep enough, as air itself seemed choking, the oxygen not quite reaching where it should. Mild panic started to settle in when black splotches began to cloud her vision and the tingling sensation seemed to battle with the pain for dominance. Before she knew it, her shaky legs gave out under her and the white ceiling of the lab blurred out of focus.

---

She woke up with a start, the bluish lights a painful glare to her eyes. The sound of ticking stopped and Nicole realized it was Emma's timer. She looked down at herself, haphazardly placed on a bed and then at Miranda, typing down a result the ringing in her ears hadn't allowed her to hear. With a few shakes of her head to try and chase the fog in her brain, Nicole finally croaked out: "What the hell happened?"

"The cyanide was damaging cells and keeping them from taking in any oxygen at a slightly faster rate than those cells were getting replaced. Which caused you to lose consciousness."

Miranda's tone was just as cold and clinical as ever, but a slight smirk tugged at her lips when she continued, the excited scientists buried under the mask of a goddess showing a crumb of itself.

"Although I'm quite certain we solved the mystery behind the accelerated heart rate. All previous tests show that it takes no longer than a few minutes to recover, while this took over twenty five."

Nicole was still fighting some mild dizziness, but she put all the focus on Miranda's words.

"We'll have to rerun the tests under anesthesia, but for now it's safe to assume the healing slows down while unconscious."

She acknowledged the theory with an oh. She wasn't really capable of much conversation at the moment, but she let the thought be metaphorically chewed in her brain. That made sense. If healing was slower after passing out, then her body had a damn good reason to keep her awake, hence the unnaturally high heart rate.

A slow shuddring sigh was let out when Miranda asked her assistant to prepare the anesthetic, laying back down. At least she wouldn't be awake for this one.

It took around double the normal dose to finally get her unconscious. She kept her eyes glued to the needle embedded in her arm until her vision was starting to fail her, the surrounding room becoming nothing more than dark blurs and vague beeping sounds.

People do not dream under anesthesia.

Nicole knew that of course. But as the lab blurred into odd shapes and more or less familiar places, there wasn't really a better word to describe it. Perhaps a result, she would later muse, of her overactive brain, fighting for consciousness at any given moment as it now had an instinctual need to stay awake.

That need manifested itself in the vague image of one of the castle's hallways. It was in an old wing, not frequently used by many other than the cleaning staff. She was walking along the wall, using it to compensate for her wobbly legs, and looked around for something. What exactly, was beyond her comprehension at the moment, but that didn't stop her from stumbling inside each room on her path, looking around the bright and beautifully decorated space, only to exit and continue down the hallway.

Something. Something ugh.

Nicole tried not to lean on the wall too much when she got to the golden frame of a painting, not wanting to risk damaging it. Slowly walking around, she threw a glance at the canvas when she was fully in front of it. She frowned.

It was the familiar portrait of all three sisters, dressed in period appropriate clothing and hair up into small curls. Their eyes, painted in such a way that they seemed to follow any onlookers around, greeted her with soft expressions. Some details seemed different though. They were small, and it took a bit of effort to notice how the brushstrokes seemed to have shifted ever so slightly in places. A familiar rose tattoo was present, albeit quite faint, on each of their foreheads, and their features seemed a little less soft and more akin to how Alcina would paint them. Nicole stopped to look at Cassandra's hand for a little longer, as if something was supposed to have changed there too. But before she had time to dwell on that, the realization that the painting should not be there dawned on her. Why would Alcina move it? And to a near abandoned wing of the castle no less. If she remembered correctly, that portrait had been at the main entrance for decades.

Nevermind that, she could just ask Alcina herself if they crossed paths. She kept walking down the hallway, trying to ignore the nagging feeling at the back of her mind that something was off. Off, like the slightly misplaced furniture, or the lack of certain decorations, or antique objects that she knew for a fact were on display on a completely different wing. No, Nicole kept looking through every room she came across, in search of something her foggy mind couldn't quite grasp the memory of.

She finally reached one of the more populated areas, and although still not fully able to grasp her surroundings and walk around without any support, a shiver still ran down her spine. The off-putting feeling turned to dread with the realization that she was completely alone. No maid or other staff member has crossed paths with her in what felt like an eternity. No sound could be heard aside from her own breathing and a faint beeping coming from outside. At that moment, Nicole longed for the sound of giggling or the shuffling of a broom, hell even the sound of lycans howling outside. Anything.

By that point, shuffling against the wall felt more of a psychological need than a physical one. There was a fear that accompanied anyone when you found yourself in a place that seemed so unlike its normal self, and Nicole tried to make herself smaller than she already was in the eventuality that something would pounce out from the silence and tear her to shreds.

She found herself traversing another corridor littered with numerous doors to guest bedrooms or simply storage rooms. Each was opened one by one, whatever laid behind it inspected, and then shut again. Rinse and repeat. Repeat until Nicole found herself in front of an oddly familiar door. It had nothing special, the crest and color exactly the same as the ones she had left behind, but its position seemed to tug at her memories.

The door was pushed open, a slight creak accompanying the movement, and Nicole found herself in a well lit office. It was obviously a rarely used one, the shelves only holding a small number of oddly organized files and boxes, while the chair was tucked under a large desk. The plush carpet underfoot caught her attention, beautiful black, white and golden motifs waved around each other in an intricate pattern. She walked across it, up to the desk and crouched down to run her fingers on the old worn wood of small drawers. The iron handles used to open them seemed to be gone from all but the topmost one, which she opened slowly.

Oh.

The drawer was empty save for two familiar objects, a pair of matching rings with minuscule branches in flower engraved on them. She picked them both up but almost dropped them back when a set of hurried footsteps sliced through the dead silence just outside the room.

There was no time to scramble for a hiding spot, especially not with how her head started to spin the moment she stood up again. All she could do was put the hand that wasn't holding the rings on the desk to support herself and watch as the door swung open.

A sigh of relief flew past cracked lips at the sight of confused golden eyes framed by dark locks of hair. Cassandra was standing at the entrance, head cocked slightly to the side.

"Did you lose it again?"

There was a hint of annoyance in her tone, but it was mostly drowned out by an amused chuckle as she walked up to her.

"No, I-..." Did I? "I'm sorry."

Cassandra simply took one of the bands and wordlessly slid it on Nicole's ring finger, gesture that was imitated in turn.

"Why are they here?" Nicole's question was barely a whisper, either due to the dizziness she felt or the cemetery-like silence that almost demanded not to be disturbed. "I know I instructed the staff to bring mine to my room if they find it."

"Oh it wasn't any of the staff members," Cassandra replied matter of factly, even waving a hand to dismiss the apparently absurd idea.

"Then who?"

"I don't know."

Nicole frowned. She pinched the bridge of her nose trying to chase away the eerie feeling that seemed to have made its roots deep inside her mind. Cassandra's voice seemed off, and that beeping from earlier seemed to close in ever so slightly.

"Why here?" She repeated.

Her wife only shrugged and looked around the room, taking her time with the reply.

"Isn't this where we first saw each other?"

Right. That's why the office was so familiar. The memory of Lady Dimitrescu, so beyond intimidating at the time, sitting in the chair and interviewing her for a maid's position came flooding her foggy brain. Then the giggles and the rather dramatic entry and the small bickering.

"Are you waking up?"

If Cassandra wasn't so close to her, she would've thought a third person had spoken. Her wife's voice seemed off before, but now it didn't even sound like her own. Familiar, yes, but the regal icy tone belonged to someone else.

Nicole tried to instinctively put some space between them, only for Cassandra's expression to twist with concern, furrowed brows over soft golden, always so uncharacteristically soft when pointed at her. Cassandra opened her mouth to speak again, but the beeping came in louder, almost as if making its way from her throat with the sole purpose of attempting to bust her eardrums.

The room seemed to rapidly bleed out of focus, details replaced by black dots and blurry lines. Cassandra's shape slowly morphed, her beautiful black dress leaving way to a plain lab coat and golden eyes turning into icy green, ever calculating and scrutinizing. Incessant beeps from the cardiac monitor brought her back to consciousness more rudely than she would've liked.

Nicole shook her head slightly, trying to chase away the last effects of anesthesia. Her body seemed eager to oblige, quickly trying to wake up and be back on her feet. Not that she had any intention of actually getting up, but soon enough, she was looking around the space and all the pristine equipment held within. Emma was busy arranging vials and pill bottles inside a cabinet while Miranda was by the bed typing away, nails annoyingly loud on the keyboard. She shook her head once again, and looked to the opposite wall, where a clock was ticking. It was almost 11 p.m. and Nicole let out a soft groan thinking about how she'd been under anesthesia for about three hours and how her family was probably waiting for her to get back.

She laid her head on the uncomfortable pillow while waiting for the goddess wannabe to be done with her observations on her current lab rat, which meant Nicole, and finally dismiss her.

It took a moment to realize that Miranda had turned towards her and pushed her laptop close to the side of the desk, screen facing Nicole. After receiving a confused look, the woman rolled her eyes as if she were a teacher explaining basic maths for the hundredth time.

"You wanted to see the results."

Nicole's confused expression did not change, though now it was more directed towards the suspicious willingness to give what she asked for. Nonetheless she scooted to the side of the bed, letting her legs dangle over the edge, and she narrowed her eyes at the file on the screen.

---

Date: 23rd April 2012

Subject: Nicole [REDACTED] Dimitrescu

Mutation experiments - 2 (Regeneration - 2)

Resistance and healing time to various poisonous plants (in the form of highly concentrated pills or injectable) and other toxins. First number refers to the healing time while conscious and the second while unconscious.

Belladonna (Atropa belladonna) - 2'13" // 6'30"

Rosary pea (Abrus precatorius) - 2'20" // 7'02"

Crowbane (Cicuta virosa) - 2'40" // 7'12"

Wolfsbane (Aconitum lycoctonum) - 3'30" // 8'11"

Hemlock (Conium maculatum) - 3'18" // 8'28"

Oleander (Nerium oleander) - 3'55" // 10'17"

Ricin (Ricinus communis) - 5'58" // 16'19"

Arsenic, 100mg - 7'34" // 21'38"

Cyanide, 50mg - / // 26'53"

[cipher-fresh]

this is a submission for @sylsoddsandends’ amphibia AU! please be warned for body horror and if that’s something you can stomach, go check out their AU!! I do want to write more for this AU that’s less scary and I definitely am going to do that

Deer- or well, the equivalent of them would stare at her. They did that back on Earth, too, plenty of animals did, but in the months since landing ungracefully in the mud and looking up at an alien sky, Anne would be looked at knowingly by the local animals, like they knew something. Maybe they did. This place was weird. A weird she could appreciate, but still.

She’d assumed it was perhaps because of the cricket legs, or the fact she hadn’t brushed her teeth in weeks, or the amount of bloodthirsty animals she’d had to dodge, roll from and attack, that a searing pain in the middle of the night wasn’t entirely unexpected. She was glad to have not broken a rib or worse, shattered a femur, like her mother would painfully recount to her about one childhood story. The odd part- more odd than what could be considered usual in Amphibia, mind, came when Anne realized her mouth felt numb- she stuck a hand to her gums and felt blood. Blood had pooled out of her mouth. Great. She couldn’t tell exactly where or why her mouth was bleeding, but she’d need to check out what happened. Trying to stand up, she felt a kicking pain from her lower back, and a sudden weight out of nowhere on her shoulders, pushing her back down into the dirt near the small pool of blood and saliva from where she’d drooled. Yuck.

Trying again, Anne could stand, but her legs wobbled like jelly. She felt like she was carrying five orders from the restaurant at once, like any sudden movement would knock her over. Like she was wearing the world’s heaviest weighted blanket, but she was just wearing her regular clothes.

The hope that if she went to sleep it would be better in the morning was a bit too nice, so she settled for tumbling back to the ground and landing in a position good enough to sit. It was well-timed, as the kicking pain returned and- as much as Anne could figure- something was moving the organs around in her stomach.

It was painful, of course, but also something someone didn’t usually live to tell, so it was an adrenaline-filled minute of anxiety, pain and a lack of movement as Anne clung her knees to her chest with her hand, as something inside her torso pushed her kidneys away from her liver and her stomach father to the side.

Her mouth hadn’t stopped bleeding, either. The numbness began to wear off, and it felt like metal producing sparks, as in quick succession, new, flat molars were being grown in her mouth and expanding her teeth. No new canines or incisors, all of them the flat molars in the back. The front teeth weren’t bleeding, as they stayed in their shape, but the back ones did bleed to accommodate and make shapes for the new molars- six new pairs, as Anne could tell.

And, all at once? It stopped. The bleeding slowed to a trickle, and Anne resigned herself to swallowing the blood she couldn’t manage to spit out. She stood up, and put a hand to the wall, the weight of a new organ throwing her off balance.

Anna tried to steady her breathing, and silently thanked something, something for the fact it had stopped. Whatever it was.

Wartwood is still some time away from X-rays and the medical scans necessary to explain what had just happened to her, but the nearest doctor would have been horrified at the beautifully efficient work of Anne’s body to produce a new organ, at a startlingly fast rate, as dentin and enamel were produced at lightning speed to move in the new, herbivore-like teeth. Cartilidge and vascular skin was coalescing near her skull in preparation for lanky antlers. The human body, or something that began as human and was magnificently, beautifully warped and contorted, was efficient. The fat on one’s body is saved for a later date for energy; and any necessary healing or cell production. Anne’s body was just following it’s orders from the magic it interacted with, and what she would become would be magnificent. She just needed to get there.

Tears had streamed down her face, staying in one place so long, and she’d held back every jolt of pain and lighting-hot sear. She had tried not to scream, but she’d managed to wake up Sprig in her shaking and crying. He was rubbing his eyes, and was standing up just in Anne’s field of vision. It took him a moment in the moonlight to visually register she had been crying, and he hopped over immediately to comfort her.

“I- I don’t know what happened, but I’m here, Anne.”

Anne squeezed Sprig’s hand. “Thank you. I don’t know what happened either."

[hellslittleprince]

Bo was... was so lost. The whole situation, the whole scene in front of him, it was... it was such a mess. How could they even do this? How could they... they get past this? Min, now laid on the ground alone, eyes closed now no one was encouraging them to stay open. Sha, right there next to him, wound healed but still so, so tentative... so unconsious. And Byeol, little Byeol that Min had taken so so... so beautifully now slumped, shaking and weak but... but he'd done it. He'd...

The dark feeling eminating from Sha had eased too, and it made Bo so painfully, painfully aware of so much else. Of his own pain, of the wound still festering on his own skin, demanding attention but he refused to even think about it until he was sure the three in front of him were okay.

But... But what use was he, really? In this state?

"You did it," Bo exhaled, looking at Sha, then at Byeol, then to Min, eyes always jumping from one, to another, to another. And he could feel the coldness in his mind easing away too, replaced by sharp, hot pain. Emotional. Physical. His own, and Min's.

His eyes fell on the prince, on the chest still rising and falling so... so shallowly. He carefully laid Sha down properly, somehow crawling to Min's side, to press a hand to his forehead. Unconcious... But breathing. his heart... slow. Too slow. But beating.

"B-Byeol?" He swallowed, trying to blink away the sting building in his eyes, "I need... what do you need?" Maybe he could call someone... Wolf, maybe? Sujib? Literally... Literally anyone. But then he'd have to explain. Then he'd have to tell them that... that Kal was alive. That things were so much worse than any of them thought. And that... that Byeol had saved Sha. And looking at the boy now, shaking and trembling, he couldn't... couldn't put him through that, could he? The expectations that might be put on his shoulders... But... But the people they could save...

A shaky half-sob slipped free, "You... You rest." He decided, hiccuping in another breath. "I'll... I can call..."

Flames errupted around them again, the room burning bright hot, almost stifling so, before it all burned away and left a form standing there. A... panicked looking form. Nix.

"What the fuck-" The words rushed out as Nix took a step, then another, droppping at Min's side, "What the fuck happened, what... Oh my god, Bo, the blood, and... who are...? Sha?" The words rushed out faster than he could think them, but... but he could tell that whatever had happened, it wasn't good. "Byeol?"

A... name? His name. In a voice dripping in desperation. So close but so.. so distant. Words, sounds, thoughts all echoed in Sha's head, muddled, muffled and overshadowed by gut wrenching agony. Images of the past cut and spliced together, seeing Kal so many times in the past. Seeing that empty smile sometimes. But mostly seeing all that weight on his shoulders--- And now. Never once before had Kal smiled to wide. So carefree. And then, again, watching the packs of demons rip into him as he rambled, as his mind came apart at the seams like it had been doing every single day before that point. The smile on his lips that spurted blood when he knew it was ending. The throat shredding sobs that wracked his body as he held Bo close, pleading for the younger pup to stay with him, pleading for Kal to forgive him. Pleading--

'Stay with me....' 'Sha? I need you to.. to tell me how to fix this...'

And maybe his legacy was truly that of a failure. Because lips barely parted, eyes glassy, distant, still shedding tears. Words were intended, but there were none made. He felt the sorrow strangle them in his throat as brows pinched, and the blackened veins spread. like the corruption was feeding on the despair that was ravaging his mind. Using it to ravage his body.

Bad... Oh... oh flames it was all bad. Byeol swallowed and sobbed and clutched Min close, nodding with a trembling 'Y-yes sir' to Bohoja's questions. His eyes went wide, frame trembling as Min spoke to him, after Guangsha was... Unresponsive would have been putting it so hopefully light.

"Okay.. O-okay but y...you have to be okay, okay?" Byeol sobbed down to his.. his... to the boy who he'd give the world for, having to peel himself away to kneel beside Guangsha, wincing at the vacant, pained look in his eyes.

"I-I don't I... I've never... healed this but... But maybe.. fire? I-I'll.. I-I don't.. I'm not.." His whole frame quaked as he looked at the whole... moment. He didn't have time to be useless here. Didn't have time to think one every moment and being that'd made him feel absolutely powerless. So he nodded, still sobbing softly as he went to Guangsha. Hands and eyes glowed with flames, only to wince and pull back the moment his hands touched the wound. Whatever it was... this.. corruption? It felt like it was fighting back. Forcing him to feel the pain too. Byeol swallowed and tried again a soft, low.. scream leaving him as he felt the wound and the blackening curse sizzle as though it were his own flesh. Guangsha barely budged. The room nearly erupted in light, but when it receded, Byeol's frame slumped to the ground with a dull thud, breaths shivering and shallow. But there was no sign of lingering corruption. Even the wound itself, now sitting on an unconscious hound, was healed.

[wondernimbus]

a drop in the ocean — sirius black

pairing: sirius black x female!reader

summary: sirius teaches reader that love isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

warnings: cheating, swearing

a/n: this was inspired by the song “a drop in the ocean” by ron pope! this is a little different from what i'm used to since the overall theme is a lot more ??? mature ?? i guess ?? i kind of stepped out of my comfort zone with this but i hope you guys like it :')

It's bizarre how much pain can change you.

You become this entirely different person. You look the same on the surface, but somewhere deep inside you, you're someone else. You're stronger. Everything that has happened to you—all the tears you've shed, the people who have hurt you, the pain you've endured—all of them shapes you into something more. Something better.

And one day, you will wake up, look back at everything that you have endured, and you will smile. And it will feel like the puzzle pieces of the world have fallen back into place again—and maybe it's been that way for a long time. Maybe you've come so far in terms of healing and you're only just now starting to notice.

[Y/N] [Y/L/N] wakes up one summer morning, when the sun is warm and promise of a new day looms above her head. She swings her legs over her bed, pads over to the window in the corner of the room where sunshine filters through, draws the curtains open. Here she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and just—

Remembers.

And this time, it doesn't hurt anymore.

—

Sirius Black was a charmer.

He wasn't just handsome; he was attractive. He knew exactly how to get people to swoon over him without laying it on too thick. He'd send a quick glance over anyone's way—one that made them feel as though they were the only person on earth he could see—and that person would fall.

They'd want him, fooling themselves into the belief that they were different. That they were special in a way that none of Sirius Black's previous flings were.

They'd end up with their hearts broken, of course. Shattered to bits and left at their feet for them to clean up on their own, because Sirius just couldn't bother.

It would happen within a month or two. Some much less.

But [Y/N] lasted the longest.

She was in Ravenclaw, and had caught Sirius's eye in her sixth year. She wishes she could say that she was different—that she hadn't fallen for him the moment he'd gone up to her in the Great Hall and steered her away from her friends, asking for her name—but she wasn't. She'd taken one look at Sirius's eyes, seen what seemed like genuine sincerity in them, and felt her sixteen-year-old heart doing odd little flips inside of her chest against her will.

Sirius Black liked her.

It took a month before he asked her out. Made it, as some would say, "official". A part of [Y/N] knew that it wouldn't last long, but she would enjoy this—enjoy him—while she still had him. She'd never felt this way for anyone before, and despite her brain telling her that Sirius Black was trouble, her heart said otherwise.

A month together turned into two. And three, and then four, five, and suddenly the rest of Hogwarts was wondering when Sirius planned to break things off with her.

[Y/N] wondered it, too. But Sirius still looked at her the same way he had done all those months ago when he'd asked for her name, like she was everything in the world he'd been hoping for—like she was different. Like he actually held real feelings for her and not just the kind you try out one second and then get bored of the next.

She wanted to believe that look in his eyes, but she'd heard the rumors. and on top of that there were her friends' warnings, telling her that Sirius was no good for her and that he would break her heart one way or the other.

One day, while they sat at the balcony of Ravenclaw tower during one of the many times she'd snuck Sirius into the common room, she glanced at him.

They were sitting on the floor facing each other, legs crossed underneath them. Sirius's hands were in her own; her fingers played with the rings decorating his, turning them over and over.

"I like this one," she murmured, her touch lingering on the silver one on his middle finger. It was elegant, contrasting beautifully with his pale skin, simple and with what looked like a crest emblazoned on the middle. She looked up at him and found him looking at her—gaze intense and yet somehow also gentle, like he was memorizing every last detail of her face and committing them to memory. Softly, she asked, "Does it mean anything?"

Sirius made a small sound of confirmation, eyes leaving hers to look down at the ring, watching as her fingers grazed over it. "Yeah," he said quietly, blinking, lashes dusting pale cheeks before he was looking up at her again. It took a while for the rest of his words to get out of his mouth; he looked as though he was in deep thought, watching her with something unreadable dancing just behind his eyes.

And then Sirius was clearing his throat, shifting on where he sat. When he spoke next, his voice was oddly soft. Sincere. (And again [Y/N] found herself wondering: are you pretending?)

Because it was during moments like these that made her think that what Sirius felt for her was real.

"It's from, uh," he cleared his throat again, and [Y/N] didn't fail to notice the sudden rigidness of his shoulders. His gaze was skittering away, looking instead at the scenery below them instead of at her. "It's from James's family. The Potters. I.. ran away from my family, see, about a year ago."

As [Y/N] listened to him speak, watched as his eyes grew hard and he swallowed with difficulty, she realized—this was something important to him. He wouldn't lie about this just to get closer to her; he was laying part of himself bare to her that very few people had ever seen.

"They took me in," Sirius said quietly, still not quite looking at her. "When I had nowhere else to go, they let me stay over at their place. And that same Christmas, they gave me this ring to.. welcome me to their family, I guess." Emotion tugged his lips upwards at the corners. "I'm grateful for them," he told her, nodding a little to himself, and then he was looking up at her, meeting her eyes.

He was relieved to see that there wasn't any sympathy in them. just—and Sirius found it suddenly very hard to breathe—love. Pure, unadulterated love.

"You deserve to be happy," she told him, tone just as soft as the gentle smile on her lips. She pressed her palm into his, fingers slipping into the spaces between his own and squeezing. He squeezed back, still staring at her, and wondered if his lungs had forgotten to stop breathing.

[Y/N] leaned in, lips feather-light in how they ghosted over his cheek, and then she was pulling away, and Sirius's heart was doing something weird inside his chest. "I'm happy you're in a better place now."

Sirius couldn't breathe.

He surged forward, capturing his lips in her own, and at that moment both of them knew this was different; it felt different, more than just a press of the lips, more than just a kiss. Sirius pried her lips apart with his own, taking his sweet, gentle time, and it shot sparks across his body like he'd never felt before. They kissed slow like melted honey, tender and thorough and just a little overwhelming, and Sirius was dizzy with it—he felt like he was drowning.

He was drowning, but he loved every second of it.

—

A few months turned into a year, then two, and before anyone knew it, they were graduating. And still, as they left the gates of Hogwarts to venture out into the world waiting for them, Sirius and [Y/N] were still together. It went against everyone's expectations—and truthfully, [Y/N]'s own—but it made her happy, being with him. and she could only hope that she made him just as happy as he did to her.

They moved into a flat of their own in the outskirts of London. It wasn't anything grand, but it was cozy and clean and it only took a few months for the building to become something of a home to both of them.

[Y/N] loved every moment she spent with Sirius. All their shared smiles, their little, subtle moments of intimacy, the fleeting kisses, waking up in the morning with him by her side—everything.

She loved him so much that it hurt.

Three years into their relationship, as she lay in bed with Sirius, their entire bedroom dark and quiet save for both of their rhythmic breathing, she told him.

"I love you," she whispered into the skin of his shoulder. His arm was draped lazily around her, and she was curled up at his side—and everything about it was painfully familiar. The way his chest rose and fell. The way he stroked at her hair. How he shifted down just the tiniest bit to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

She loved Sirius so much that she didn't even realize—or maybe didn't care—that he never said it back.

—

Maybe it was something that was just ingrained into him. There could have been a million other reasons that all pointed to it not being her fault, but still, for the longest time, she believed that it was.

Sirius was seeing someone else, and he wasn't doing a very good job at hiding it.

One of her friends had told her that they'd seen Sirius in Diagon Alley with another woman at his side. [Y/N] had been angry, but not at Sirius—no, she'd lashed out at her friend, calling her a liar, saying that Sirius would never do something like that.

It's bizarre, the things you do for love. how much you hurt yourself in the process.

Only a week later, she found a letter tucked into the pocket of one of Sirius's coats. It was addressed to a name she did not recognize, and written underneath it were sweet, sweet words that [Y/N] could remember Sirius telling her once or twice before.

you make it hard for me to breathe

everything about you drives me absolutely mad

meet me tomorrow night at the leaky cauldron and

[Y/N] stopped reading. Her hands were shaking too badly; the letter fell from her hands and onto the floor. There was bile rising in the back of her throat.

Her knees went weak underneath her. She leaned on the bed for support—the same bed they'd laid in just this morning, the same bed he'd murmured the very same things written in that blasted letter—

"Oh, God." She let out a ragged, broken sound, hands clutching at her own chest as though it would help ease the pain. She couldn't breathe. "Fuck. Fuck."

[Y/N]  didn't know why, but when Sirius came back home that night, claiming that he'd gone over to James and Lily to say hi, she didn't bring up the letter right away.

"How's Lily?" she asked, not looking up from where she sat on the couch, instead pretending that she was invested in a copy of the Witch Weekly magazine in her hands.

"She's doing fabulous," grinned Sirius, shrugging off his coat as he made his way over to her. "Her belly bump's getting a lot more noticeable. James is seconds away from absolutely losing it. He's always frantic—I swear he thinks the baby's going to pop out out of bloody nowhere."

[Y/N]'s senses weren't working properly. She hummed something inaudible in response. A single, painful thought was wafting around her head—a question that she now knew the answer to perfectly well.

Sirius strode over to her, draping his coat over the arm of the couch before moving around the coffee table to sit next to her. He was smiling. "But how was your day, love?" he said, and then he was leaning over, reaching out with one hand to tilt the side of her head towards him—

You're pretending. Always pretending. As soon as he made contact with her skin, she was flinching away, and Sirius knew that something was wrong.

"Is everything alright, doll?" he asked, brows furrowing into a frown of concern. His hand hovered somewhere next to her face, still, fingertips just barely ghosting her cheek.

Before Sirius knew it, [Y/N] was standing up and flinging the daily prophet onto the coffee table. There was something swimming in her eyes that he couldn't quite pinpoint, but he felt something stirring in his gut—something like realization.

Something like guilt.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, holding her in place. "Doll," he said softly, and to him, it sounded like damnation.

And then [Y/N] said something that made his intestines feel like they were twisting into knots—"I know," [Y/N] said, without looking at Sirius. "I know everything."

Sirius blinked.

His grip on her wrist faltered, hand falling into his lap. There was a moment of thick, heavy silence. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped by several degrees; Sirius felt cold sweat trickle down the side of temple. The space around him suddenly didn't seem to have enough oxygen.

And yet he let out a choked laugh, if only to quell the storm within his heart. "I don't," he began. His voice was unstable. "I'm not sure what you mean."

She was making her way to the door, but her movements were hesitant, like she didn't quite want to go—or rather, she was unsure where to go. She paused halfway to it, hands curling into fists at her sides.

"Just stop," she said. Resignation etched her voice. She leaned a hand on the wall, back still turned to him as she muttered to herself, sounding as though she'd lived entire countless lifetimes and had had enough, "Stop with the lies, Sirius. I'm done."

Sirius's limbs were getting up of their own accord, approaching her where she stood. But even he knew that he wasn't allowed to have her anymore, not at this moment—not at any moment, not ever—so he halted a few feet away from her, hand reaching out as though he wanted to touch her, gather into his arms and pretend like none of this had ever happened.

That he hadn't done anything wrong. But he did, and now he was paying for it.

When she spoke again, her voice was thick with emotion and there was undeniable pain in her eyes; “I'm only going to say this once,” she said, the lump in her throat audible. She turned around, meeting his gaze, anyone could tell that she was trying to sound strong—trying to sound like all of this didn't hurt her as much as it really did—but all of her walls were crumbling down on her, and it didn't sound like she'd be able to pick herself back up.

She swallowed with difficulty, blinking rapidly as though to fend off tears. “This is the last time you will ever lie to me again."

She looked up at him. Sirius's breath hitched in his throat. “I’m done,” she spat. “I’m done pretending like I’m okay with all of your crap. I’m fucking done.”

Sirius opened his mouth. There were a hundred explanations resting on the tip of his tongue, but all of them sounded like excuses, and he knew that was the last thing she wanted to hear.

And Sirius was the last person she wants to see.

He watched, with gut-wrenching guilt swimming in the pit of his stomach, as she wiped aggressively at her tears with the back of her hand and sent him a look of the utmost loathing—but Sirius saw right through it. He saw her pain.

Pain he had caused. Pain he knows he still caused.

“I hope you’re fucking happy,” she choked out, meaning to sound angry, but all Sirius heard was pain.

As she slammed the door shut on her way out, Sirius wondered to himself, as his knees buckled and he leaned on the couch for support, if [Y/N] would ever be the same again.

He'd made a mistake; a terrible one. And there was no going back from it now.

—

She did.

That is—she healed. It took her time, of course. Quite a lot of it.

Years passed by in a hazy blur. There were people who grew close to her, people who promised her the same things that she believed in so long ago. That she would be loved by them unconditionally if she just let her walls down and gave herself a chance to try and trust someone again.

It was difficult. She'd loved Sirius as though he were everything in the world that mattered—she had offered him all of her despite knowing that every moment he spent with her was a lie. every kiss, every promise; lies. All of them.

And yet she'd loved him, and when you love someone, you don't care about anything else but them. You don't listen when all of your friends tell you that he isn't good for you, and you don't care when he climbs out of bed in the morning, not quite meeting your gaze when he tells you he's going to visit a friend.

If you love someone, you don't care about all of that.

Or at least you tell yourself that, until you realize that you do. You do care.

[Y/N] realized it far later.

It was that that gave her the strength to walk away from him, despite her heart telling him that it's okay—why should it matter if he doesn't love you back? As long as you love him, it's okay.

It wasn't.

God, it really, really wasn't.

So [Y/N] lived on, not because she wanted to, but because she had to. And it's funny, how pain changes you. At first you think you're never going to be the same again—that you will be heartbroken forever, wallowing in your own self-pity—but the more time passes, the stronger you get. You don't feel it right away.

But one day, many, many years later, when her heart has healed, and she wakes up and realizes that she is loved by people around her and by herself, the way Sirius Black had never done—she realizes:

She is strong. So much stronger than the person she was before.

For the first time in a very long time, when his name wafts back into her head again, she doesn't feel pain.

Instead, the corners of her lips tug up into a small smile.

Here, in front of the window, with the warm sunlight painted across her face, her lashes flutter open.

I'm done pretending.

And now, there is no more pain in her eyes. 

There hasn't been for a long time now.

general taglist:  @dancing-in-the-moonlight3 @kalimagik @alittletoomanyobsessions @hariosborn @obsessedwithrandomthings @emcchi @sxrensxngwrites @enjoying-fantasyland21 @masterofthedarkness @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @bforbroadway @hufflefluff-writer @summer-writes @chaotic-fae-queen @firewhisky-kisses @dracosvftie @heloisedaphnebrightmore @idont-knowrn @dreamer821 @peachesandpinks @slytherinprincess03​ @chocfrogaddict @nebulablakemurphy​ ​@kpopgirlbtssvt @lumielikesbooks​ @teheharrypotter​

[hoebaring]

Open Books (23) | Kim Namjoon

An unpredicted switch of journals brings two strangers close. Strangers with similarly perturbing experiences, and beautifully healing souls. Abused, bullied, and traumatized, they help each other, and those around them break away from similar experiences, heal and grow gracefully. With thoughtful emotions, and ever growing minds, Y/n and Namjoon are delicate heroes.

They understand the best in each other, and the worst, like open books.

Tags/Warnings :- Child abuse, domestic violence, traumatized characters, bullying, self harm, mentions of toxic relationships, angst. I know it's dark but trust me it gets better! namjoonXreader, Namjoon and Y/n, A slow burn romance, fluff, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, self love, healing, etc.

Cross posted on Wattpad

Written by Author G

Word count :- 1.06K Words

Additional Warnings :- TRIGGER WARNING. SELF HARM. AND MENTIONS OF BLOOD. PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION. AND TAKE CARE.

Masterlist   Previously    Next

~The Devil Itself~

"Namjoon. You can't cut it that way, pabo."

Dahee wakes up to her mother's sweet voice lightly scolding her brother, seemingly over something silly.

"I can't do this eomma. You do it. I'll boil the water ins-" Namjoon offers, a laugh very prominently evident in his voice as he picks up the pot only to drop it on the floor, resulting in a loud rattle.

"Namjoon!" She exclaims yet again.

"Sorry" He winces, though it soon turns into a hearty laugh.

Dahee walks into the kitchen and witnesses what looks like a mini World War III.

Three cooking vessels turned over on the water stained floor, onions sliced in the shape of mozzarella sticks and her mother looking at her brother with an intense stare that looked like one you would see in a cartoon.

Although the house was quite chaotic right now, Dahee had never felt peace like this. This chaos wasn't one of panic, but one of lighthearted goofiness. And it was something she had never experienced.

"I'm clumsy, you know" Namjoon says to his mother.

"Quiet stupid too" Dahee retorts with a slight snort.

Namjoon whips his head around and sees his sister leaning on the brick tiled wall of the kitchen, a teasing glint evident in her eyes.

"Dahee-ah. You're awake? Come help eomma with this. I might end up setting fire to the house otherwise." He jokes to which Dahee rolls her eyes.

"Why would you cut onions like that?" She teases while picking up the knife from the counter and slicing the 'sticks' into a fine dice.

"Don't even ask." His mother answers for him to which his face falls, looking like a frustrated puppy.

****

🚨TRIGGER WARNING. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. PLEASE🚨

This is weird. Do I really deserve this? Something bad is going to happen. That's why it's so peaceful right now isn't it? I just know it.

It felt unusual to feel at peace when all she is used to feeling is negativity.

Against the cold walls of the white tiled bathroom stood Dahee, her eyes teary, red and swollen, a strong and cryptic rushed urge to cry, her heart pounding loudly in her ears as she desperately tried to tune out her cries by keeping the water on, letting it fill the bathtub noisily.

She felt this kind of an emotional urge many times before, but it was always overpowered by the physical pain she felt when her father bruised her. This was the first time she actually felt it with all her senses, and it made her go crazy. She didn't know how to deal with this. She wanted, no, needed something to stop the feeling.

Almost as if the devil had heard her thoughts, it stopped. She feels a sharp prick making her gasp, and the emotional agony she felt was quickly shoved aside by the physical pricking on her finger.

The bathtub starts overflowing, but Dahee makes no move to stop it from doing so.

It's quiet. The dull throbbing in her finger seems to slow down dramatically as she realizes what just happened. She slowly lifts her hand up and sees a small cut on her forefinger, a blade sticking out of the cut painfully. Sliding down the wall, she sits on the floor. She rips the blade out and places it beside her, whimpering in pain as blood slowly starts oozing out of the cut.

The next few minutes feel like years to her. Once again, she is filled with the urge to cry as her throat feels like it's closing up, and almost immediately, her gaze falls on the shiny metal which seemed to glisten evilly in the glow of the dull light.

Without a second's thought, she picks it up.

****

XX-XX-XXXX

This kind of a feeling; A feeling of peace which I haven't felt in a very long time, is quite overwhelming. I don't have any person to talk to about it right now, so I turned to you.

I think this is the first time that I'm writing in this book about something happy.

Maybe not happy, but, untroubling.

Sitting on the sofa, the night lamp being the only source of light, Namjoon penned his way through his journal, about the entire emotional situation at home today. It was new to him to feel this way; To see his sister genuinely smile and joke around, without the fear of being ridiculed, his mother free of the worries that came along as a package for being the wife of a cruel and unforgiving man, who hurt her and her children. It was new, and refreshing.

For the first time in years, my day with my family had gone fairly well. There was no drama at home, at ALL. The only presence that had to change was his, who sadly, couldn't change himself. But, he decided to leave, so, there definitely was a change in presence, from the very person who needed to change. Although I still feel guilty about how things turned out for eomma regarding the entire situation, it feels very unburdening for me right now since I know that Dahee won't be getting hurt because of him from now on.

It was tragic that he felt that way really, when unbeknownst to him, the very person he was happy for, sat just a few feet away from him, in a closed space, with the devil itself.

*****

A/N :- 

Hi. A few words.

Self Harm. It's the devil.

No matter what the cause is, it's tragic for a person to feel like hurting themselves. And for someone to do it is downright devastating.

Harming yourself is going to leave scars on you so deep and cruel, emotionally, physically and mentally, that you may or may not be able to erase them later.

Things might be very hard at times, and I am not going to ask you to 'look at the positive side of life' because I know it can be very hard to do so.

All I plead for you to do is to confide in a person you trust and feel comfortable with.

There's no shame in seeking for help. None at all. In fact, it's a very very brave thing to do.

Please, try and seek help. Today. Tomorrow. But soon. Because every single time you hurt yourself, you're hurting you. And you're a person aren't you? So, it's safe to say that you're hurting a person, that you know very well.

Think about it. Act on it. Soon. Please.

Author G

💖

[omnivorousshipper]

I'm going to send yesterday's ask here, like you said. I'm going to do an Avatar The last Airbender request this time. If it's in your style, could you do a Sokka angst fic after the war where he's really depressed and blamimg himself for a lot of things because of some events that happen gradually, like Zuko and Katara getting hurt and he gets taken with one of the other Gaang members (it could be Toph, Zuko, Aang or Katara) and they both get tortured, but Sokka's turn comes when the other is out cold so they don't know. And because they don't know, he tries to hide it, and when they find out, they yell at him and stuff for worrying them. And could you make it so that his low spirit makes him need some mental healing as well. Wait, do you do angst? If this is too much, you can say then I can change the request. I may have gone overboard. Oh my god, I tend to go far with angst. Please, please tell me if this is much too long and too angsty. If this is too much, please tell me, so I can change it. Umm...have a nice day 😅

I absolutely love writing angst! You’ve definitely come to the right place, friend! I don’t usually write from Sokka’s POV but I love him dearly, just as much as I love the rest of the Gaang! Thanks for this request! And I hope you have a nice day too!

Warning: Brief descriptions of burns and torture

~~~

The courtyard was quiet as Sokka sat on one of the stone benches in the corner and stared at the pond with unfocused eyes. The afternoon sun was warm on his face and arms, and shown on the pond’s surface beautifully. Turtleducks were swimming in circles and playing to their hearts’ content as their mother sat from the pond’s edge. Following the slow circles of the animals, Sokka hunched over and felt the scrolls in his arms start to slip. Not caring, he kept his eyes on the pond.

           It had been several months since the war had ended, but somehow the world had gotten even crazier and simply loved to drag Sokka along for the ride.

           He had been staying in the Fire Nation for the last two months to help Zuko find people to add to his council. Everyone who had been on his father’s was either power hungry or plain sadistic. As Sokka and Zuko had found out the hard way.

           Shivering, the courtyard disappeared for a second as Sokka saw the small dungeon he had been stuck in. His arms chained above his head for hours on end, sweltering heat surrounding him as he heard lava bubble not too far away from him. But the worst part had been watching how much pain Zuko had been in.

           Zuko’s arms had been twisted behind his back and forced straight upwards to hang in the middle of the cavern they had been trapped in. Leather bags had been forced over his hands and feet to stop him from shooting out any fire while a leather muzzle had fixed over his face. Sokka had never seen Zuko breath fire, but he knew Iroh and Azula had the ability so it wasn’t surprising their captors were taking every precaution.

           Sokka had no idea he had been forced to be a hostage inside a literal volcano, but he would never forget the time he had been in there. Especially when their captor had arrived.

           The man was an old general that had been on the Fire Lord’s council ever since Azulon had been in charge. He had sneered when Zuko had come into the council room, telling everyone that they are dismissed and their advice never needed again. Sokka had assumed everyone would listen to the Fire Lord, but apparently he had been wrong.

           Instead, the old general had simply blackmailed one of the staff to put something in the tea they had been drinking while talking over potential people for the council. All Sokka had thought was Fire Nation tea tasted weird and ignored the slightly salty taste- they were on an island after all. Sokka wished he had known just how easy it would be to drug the Fire Lord. Maybe then he wouldn’t have let Zuko get captured and hurt.

           That was all he could think as he hung suspended in the air across from Zuko. It had been heart wrenching to watch the firebender struggle to get out of his bonds, but only to be left exhausted. He could even see the chains holding Zuko up turn red hot and burn him. He had immediately shouted for his friend to stop.

           They had simply hung there after that.

           Until the general showed up.

           Sokko hadn’t even remember his name back then. He had vaguely recognized the old guy, but didn’t know who he was. He just wasn’t important to Sokka at the moment. Now though, Sokka would never forget his name. General Shakao.

           The man had stepped into the cavern, a fierce sneer on his face as he ignored Sokka and stepped right up to Zuko.

           “Well, well. How the might have fallen.” The man sneered. “And here I thought Sozan’s line would never let themselves be captured. How pathetic.”

           Sokka growled and struggled in his bonds as Zuko tried to kick out at the man. Instead of moving away from the kick, Shakao grabbed Zuko’s ankle. Freezing, Sokka stared at the two.

           “I wonder just how much fire your father had to use to give you that scar.” Shakao wondered aloud. “Let’s test it, shall we?”

           “No!” Sokka screamed. “Leave him alone!”

           His words were completely ignored as Shakao’s face burst into flame and Zuko’s scream could be heard through the leather muzzle. Sokka struggled more and more as he watched, but to no success. He was stuck. He couldn’t do anything. He was so useless!

           Sokka could still smell burning flesh.

           The torture seemed to go on forever until Shakao had dropped Zuko’s leg. Tears were streaming down Zuko’s face and Sokka wished he could do anything to help him. Why couldn’t he get out of these chains? If only he had more training! He should have asked Suki or even Ty Lee about how to get out of chains. Why didn’t he think? He was supposed to be the guy with the plan!

           “So weak.” Shakao chuckled. “And you thought you’d be able to lead our nation? You’re just a weak child!”            Once again, Shakao’s hand burst into flame as he punched Zuko straight in the stomach. It only took a few moments for his robes to burn away around Shakao’s fist. Sokka couldn’t take his eyes off the bare skin that was quickly being burned.

           “Stop! Tui and La, let him go!” Sokka shouted. But no matter how much he screamed and begged the man, he didn’t stop burning Zuko. This went on until Sokka saw Zuko’s eyes roll into the back of his head, at least half of his body burned horribly from Shakao’s fire. Sokka had no idea how his friend had lasted that long, but he was glad to see he was no longer feeling pain while unconscious.

           “How disappointing. No Fire Lord should let themselves be harmed by fire. Disgraceful.”

           “Because Fire Lords aren’t fireproof!” Sokka snarled. He wasn’t sure he was happy Shakao finally turned away from Zuko and towards him. Lifting his head, Sokka met Shakao’s eyes and glared harshly. Anything to keep the man’s attention off Zuko.

           “And a Fire Lord bringing some water tribe peasant into the palace-!” Shakao snarled.

           Before Sokka knew what was happening, a firey punch impacted with his left hip.

           Flinching, Sokka could still feel the burned skin. It was constantly rubbing against his clothes along with all the other burns Shakao had left on him: down his thighs, back, and shoulders. Sokka had yet to look at them in the mirror, but he knew they were bad. Almost as if he didn’t have any skin left.

           Taking a deep breath, Sokka blinked and saw the young turtleducks had stopped swimming around and were cuddled up under their mother’s wing. When had he stopped paying attention?

           Sitting up, Sokka hissed in pain as his back stretched painfully and burned skin pulled tightly. He could feel tears running down his cheeks as he heard the scrolls he had been holding finally fell from his lax grasp.

           When he and Zuko had finally been found by the rest of the Gaang, Sokka had told them to help Zuko first. He hadn’t woken up even after Shakao had left them hanging there with their wounds. They had rushed back to the palace and Katara hadn’t left Zuko’s chambers, trying to heal him. Sokka hadn’t bothered her with his own burns; they would heal by themselves, Zuko’s looked far worse.

           That had been two days ago and Sokka had tried to distract himself from the pain by looking through any scroll he could get his hands on. This was his fault. He should have noticed the danger Shakao had shown to be. He should have told Zuko to have a royal taste tester as his main advisor.

           It was his fault Zuko had gotten hurt.

           Gasping for breath, Sokka scrubbed at his face viciously to get rid of the tears. He was a warrior! He should be embracing the pain and not allow it to control him!

           “Sokka?”

           Flinching hard, he looked up and saw Katara standing in front of him, concern deep in her eyes. He hated seeing his little sister so worried.

           “What’s up?” He tried to go for casual but knew he just sounded tired.

           “Are you alright? Toph said you were hurt too. Did you visit one of the other healers?” Katara asked gently and sat next to him on the bench.

           “Yeah. I wasn’t hurt that bad. Just my shoulders from hanging there for so long, you know.” Sokka shrugged slightly and cringed when even that small motion made his whole back flare up in agony. “But, how’s Zuko? Is he ok?”

           “Zuko’s doing better.” Katara sighed. “But he’s really worried about you, Sokka. He says Shakao hurt you.”

           “No, I’m fine.” Sokka sent her a smile.

           “Sokka…”

           Why did she look so blurry all of a sudden?

           Taking a shaky breath, Sokka felt his chest tighten and a sob broke through his lips. He realized that tears were running down his face again. He couldn’t stop them. Why? Why couldn’t he stop crying?

           Arms wrapped around him and one brushed against his back. Sokka wanted to scream, but instead, a small whimper came out.

           “What’s wrong?” Katara whispered as she withdrew her arm. Without waiting for an answer, she lifted his shirt and he could feel the air on his skin. A sharp gasp left her. “Oh, Sokka, I’m so sorry-!”

           “It’s nothing!” Sokka rushed to say, but it sounded more like begging. He was fine! They would be worried about Zuko, not him!

           “I’m so sorry.”

           When had Katara started crying? His baby sister should never cry, especially not over him. He shouldn’t have made her cry.

           He could feel her arms wrapping around him again, this time around his neck than back and he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around her as well. Shoving his face in her shoulder, another sob left him and Sokka could feel himself unraveling.

~~~

I hope you enjoyed friend!

[aion-rsa]

Midnight Mass Is Creative, Bold, and Flawed Horror

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This review contains huge spoilers for Midnight Mass. Don’t you dare even think of reading one word before you watch.

Mike Flanagan, the maestro of horror responsible for Netflix’s The Haunting of Hill House, The Haunting of Bly Manor, and this spooky season’s entry, Midnight Mass, has always taken a novelistic approach to storytelling. 

The man knows his way around a jump-scare, sure, but he excels in crafting deep, rewarding themes, richly drawn characters, and ornate dialogue. It’s what has drawn him toward adapting novels from horror legends like Shirley Jackson, Henry James, and Stephen King. And it’s perhaps what’s even given him the courage to take on a task as bold as the follow-up to The Shining in Doctor Sleep. Flanagan isn’t afraid of weight; he trafficks in it like a young Jay-Z.

Midnight Mass is his latest weighty endeavor, but unlike its predecessors, it nearly buckles under the heft of its ambitions. Midnight Mass is a story about faith, death, remorse, forgiveness, and human existence itself. It grapples with the biggest of questions, the most unsolvable of mysteries. It ruminates on these topics with the grace of a passionate scholar and the repetitive, faux profundity of a dorm room stoner alike. There are long stretches of the series, particularly in early episodes, where you’ll forget that you’re watching a horror series altogether. It is both a feature and a bug. It will either keep you glued to your TV or turn you off completely.

Midnight Mass takes place on the fictional Crockett Island, a thinly populated, vaguely New England community impacted by an oil spill that decimated its once profitable fishing industry. Most of the townsfolk are Catholic and awaiting the return of their elderly priest, Monsignor Pruitt, who traveled abroad on a missionary trip to see the Holy Land. While they wait, Riley Flynn (Zack Gilford) returns via ferry after a four-year prison stint he served for murdering a young girl in a drunk driving accident. 

Also newly arriving in the “Crock Pot “ is Father Paul (Hamish Linklater), a mysterious young priest who arrives to temporarily shepherd St. Patrick’s church in Monsignor Pruitt’s absence. As Riley reacquaints himself with his family and the town he left behind, while simultaneously trying to overcome his feelings of guilt, lack of direction, and loss of faith, he reconnects with Erin Greene (Kate Siegel), another former resident recently returned to Crockett after the dissolution of an abusive relationship.

Like Flanagan’s previous Netflix series, the supernatural terror on display almost comes second to the real-life horrors showcased in Midnight Mass. Every night when Riley goes to sleep, he sees the blood-coated face of his young victim lying on the pavement. The town drunk is continually forced to confront the young girl that he paralyzed in a hunting accident. Erin wakes one day to find the child she is pregnant with missing from her womb. A father is forced to confront the resentment he feels for his wayward son. A daughter watches her mother’s mind deteriorate. These stories are human and can be painfully relatable and Flanagan mines them for his most emotional and scarring material. While more traditional monsters and gore earn scares in later installments, Flanagan keeps the audience uneasy early on with everyday horror stories that can keep you awake at night in a way that vampires never could.

Ah yes, the vampire. Or should we call him the “Angel?” Midnight Mass’s big reveal is that Father Paul is really a de-aged Monsignor Pruitt who encountered a vampiric creature while on his pilgrimage. He is given eternal life, but cursed with a hunger for blood and the inability to withstand sunlight. Pruitt brings the Angel back with him to Crockett, mostly because he wants a second chance with the dying woman that he fathered a child with many years ago. If he can give divinity to the entirety of Crockett in the process, then that’s a plus. 

It’s a fantastic concept — a holy man that interprets vampirism as divine intervention, playing upon the more horrific elements of the bible and really digging into the “drink my blood, eat my flesh” aspect of Jesus’ last supper — but it is slow to reach its chaotic conclusion. By episode four it’s clear to the audience that Pruitt is using his blood to heal folks like Leeza (Annarah Cymone), but you’re forced to watch as the characters catch-up. 

Midnight Mass is thankfully only seven episodes, but really feels like it could have hit its main story beats in four. That’s in part due to the mountain of monologues delivered by every character. They’re mostly beautifully written and well-acted, but when they come one after the other after the other, they begin to have a numbing quality. That’s why Riley’s portion of the story works so well. Riley spends his time confronting his faith and guilty conscience in one-on-one AA meetings with Father Paul, some of Midnight Mass’s most arresting scenes. 

Midnight Mass is bursting with ideas that get in the way of telling a simple creature feature, some of them more intriguing than others. Sheriff Hassan (Rahul Kohli) grapples with being what appears to be the only non-Christian on the island as his Muslim son warms to the idea of exploring Christianity. It’s a plotline that could sustain its own series and ultimately ends in a moving way. That said, the story between Joe and Leeza never actually pays off in a way that warrants Leeza’s showstopping speech about forgiveness. Also, the last-minute reveal that Pruitt fathered Sarah (Annabeth Gish) feels too tacked on amidst a busy finale to land properly. 

However, none of this is the fault of the actors. The performances here are uniformly excellent and the earnest delivery of the material helps ward off accusations of purple prose. Linklater and Samantha Sloyan, who plays pious villain Bev Keane, could have easily gone off the rails with cartoonish depictions, but they keep things grounded and realistic. 

Sloyan in particular deserves recognition for creating such a contemptible character that never goes too over-the-top, instead feeling like an accurate representation of the judgmental crone of your parish. These performances are all accented wonderfully by Flanagan’s liberal use of captivating tracking shots and a score comprised of religious hymns that can flip from life-affirming to creepy on a dime. 

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Midnight Mass can be long in the tooth, overly ambitious with its theological and existential musings, and not particularly frightening at times. Still, it makes up for it with memorable characters, ace performances, and scripts dripping with heart and compassion. While it’s base concept could have more than sustained a limited series, Flanagan packs this thing with so much to chew on, for better or worse. Qualms aside, you cannot help but be bowled over by the ambition and technical craft on display. Though it certainly features too much speechifying, this is Flanagan’s most thought-provoking material yet and a welcome addition to his expanding horror tome. 

Midnight Mass is available to stream on Netflix now.

The post Midnight Mass Is Creative, Bold, and Flawed Horror appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[zhonglishrine]

God is Good and never Evil

Pairing: Reader x Fyodor Dostoevsky  Word Counts: 5k  Note: There’s a lot of heavy context in this with religion and too much unnecessarily  philosophy talk of Good and Evil. Originally from my fanfic that I have unpublished and now were revised as stand alone one-shot instead. Credits to my friends Negin, Mel and @soukokuwu​ for helping me proofread this one and everyone else who helped me with the definition of Good and Evil!

He always thought that he was complicated and no one could understand him. It might be difficult, yes, but not impossible, if you could catch up to the level of his intelligence. But that might also prove to be challenging, as no one actually knows what goes in that genius head but Fyodor himself. He appeared hard to predict and read, and trying to figure him out will only wear you out in futile attempts as he is always three steps ahead of everything, and that’s how he believed himself to be: superior and above everyone else.

Where was he?

Just as you were running out of places to look, you figured out where he might be. If he wasn’t in his private library reading his massive collection of books, then he would be inside his music room, spending time alone with his mind while playing his dear cello. He always spends his time thinking about various things; about the world he wants to cleanse and simple things that he came across in his martyr. You know your dear Fedya, he is an excessively meticulous man- perfection is what he always strives for and no mistakes are permitted. Sometimes when in doubt he would go back just to make sure everything went according to plan. Despite his overbearing confidence, he bites his thumb until it bleeds, and the gnawing exhaustion shown on his face when he is deprived of sleep after staying awake for several days straight, lets you know how fragile he still is. 

After all, no matter how grandiose his claims are to you and how ridiculous they might sound, he is still a mortal being. No God would bleed and no God would need rest like he does, because isn’t God supposed to be all perfect? He still has his limits, though you always want to remind him not to push his frail body too much. How little he would bite off his loaf of bread, simply adequate to satiate his hunger and no more, his body emaciated day by day with the little care he put. However, Fyodor doesn't like it when he is reminded of those petty things, and so most of the time he prefers to be left alone. No words are spoken on the topic, but you know; he doesn’t need to explain every single basic detail for you to know. He knows what he is doing and needs no mothering from you or anyone else. He can actually be a bit childish and immature sometimes, and that's a trait he didn’t even realize he had; flaws that he didn’t want to admit but you noticed.

He is still a young man, too young to shoulder all the rest of the world’s sin, but he took the matter into his own hands and let it be soaked and tainted in blood of his sacrifices and fallen victims within his act of mercy. 

Entering his room, a tray in your hands with a glass and ferrous sulfate tablets for him to take, you carefully tread your steps forward, not making any audible noise to disturb his moment of quietude. 

The tranquil and calm tune overflows like an external heartbeat with each rhythm, and the volume crescendo in sweet vibrations octave to your hearing ears. His nimble and deft movements on the instrument play ever so gracefully, creating the heavenly sounds that soothe your quivering heart. 

There are no words present, but every dance of his slender fingers on each string manifest their own poetry, and it guides you to an ode to his own universe. He changes his pace and tone, sometimes quick and sometimes it becoming slow, his eyes shut closed as his delicate hand moves the bow, scraping the hair against the string as he angles it differently. His raven tresses draped around his pale complexion follow his movements as he tilts his head with the tempo, his legs spread and toes curling the more he gets into it. He was in his own world and he is sending you an auditory message through your mind, telling you the unspoken journey he has gone through in his pilgrimage, inviting you to join him sail over the oceans of tunes that filled the grandeur ambiance in rapt silence, like he was the captain of his ship and you were his crew.

When it is faint and low – he is feeling sorrow and sadness.

When it is heavy and strong – he is feeling regret and remorse. 

When it is high-pitched and piercing – he is feeling angry and furious.

When it is gentle and soft – he is feeling bliss and a sense of gratefulness.

There are so many emotions he conveys through the cello that rests against his frame on his left shoulder, as if he was lamenting alone from the exuberant song that he orchestrates. Akin to how waves would crash through the shore and saturate every breach lying within the grains of sand, it rushes to fill your hollow soul. This tide continues to flourish, seeping into your veins and healing you like a divine medicine with the superfluous melody as you continue to watch and listen in great trance, almost as though you were spellbound by it. There's just something about how Fyodor can make it sing and scream so beautifully it’s so painful to hear.

Just what is this...?

Why...why have you started to cry...?

Your hand clutches at your chest, clenching down. Why does it hammer so painfully inside your ribcage? It was as if the music was the exact voice that you have long since lost. Your throat burns in quietness and your vision becomes blurry with a dot of crystal pearl, until it drops and becomes a small rivulet staining your cheek. In the equilibrium of each note he plays, it tells a different story. A story that you felt as if you were a part of it. From the beginning of birth, soft and calm, it portrays the innocence of a newborn baby that you are. Then, it starts to pace up slightly, the progress of your life. As you grow, you face struggle and hardship in life, and it starts to go faster. A lot of details then take place, you experience a variety of emotions like a crashing wave, you make a decision and you sin through your voyage. And at the end, it becomes slow again, life becomes slower and the flame that ignites you starts to dim until it eventually extinguishes as you take your last breath.

Just like the music that grows ever so faint, it eventually fades by the end of the bow that caresses against the string before it departs.

Fyodor opens his eyelids, revealing a pool of his violet orbs with a crescent shaped illumination within, soon after a stillness encompassing the air with serenity. He flutters his lashes, his gaze landing on you as you still stand with a tray in your hand before him. Your glossy eyes sparkle like rubies before the dull brightness of the candlelight, and you simply keep on staring at him with never-ending tears. At this, Fyodor curves the corner of his lips to form a thin smile, then speaking to break the silence, "Tell me... what do you think of Good and Evil?"

Fumbling with your thoughts, you thrive to answer the sudden inquiry with your muddled mind. Fyodor plays another classical piece of music to fill the gap in the meanwhile. Perhaps it was from Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev, Rachmaninoff or from someone else entirely. You weren’t sure which one, since he knew many different famous composers, but that is not important to guess right now. 

"Good is..." You begin, ransacking your brain to formulate your thought and remember what the definition of the concept is. There are many standards for good and evil around the world as noted by philosophers throughout history, and it differs with each religion that exists, but for the basic definition of it, then they are almost about the same. It is akin to two notes in the same symphony. Each thing in nature changes according to the opposites; like hard ice melts into water which is then soft, the combination resulting in a harmonious whole. Just like how it is in music, harmony results from the combination of low and high notes, while in our universe harmony flows from the combination of the opposites that are good and evil. 

"Having the moral and compassion to do the right thing. And evil is the opposite, it is wicked and in all immoral sense.” 

Fyodor raises his brow slightly, hearing rather a short reply from you. "But if I do evil deeds for the greater goods of mankind, what does that make me? Do you think evil is not necessary after all?" He counters your statement, and you know exactly what he means by it, as he planned to wipe away all ability users from this world. Regardless of races, genders, and ages. There could be an innocent child that never did any bad deed, there could be an old man waiting for his last breath, there could be a woman who never knows they have the ability. Regardless of the sacrifices he shall make; he will still make his goal come true without any sparing mercy and treat them all equally. Like plucking the weeds before they grow wild in his garden or trim the one that has wilt.  

“I am not sure about that. But isn't evil supposed to only bring harm?”

Fyodor subtly chuckled, and you were unsure whether he agreed or not.

“Then I will have to ask you something. Do you like scorpions and snakes?”

Again, when he is in the mood to indulge himself with these sorts of discussions and questions, he always asks the strangest thing and you always have to dissect the meaning behind it, whether he was thinking about it or it is just something random that crossed his mind. 

“Well, I don’t really dislike them. But they are poisonous and dangerous if not handled carefully.”

“True, that is the most logical thing to think. However, that wasn’t it at all.” 

“May I know what you mean by that?” 

Pressing the topic further, he scrapes his bow in a deep thought, a few seconds elapsed in his silence.

“Scorpions and serpents are poisonous indeed. But are they really good or evil, for they are existing beings? Yes, a scorpion is evil in relation to man; as is a serpent; but in relation to themselves they are not evil, for their poison is their weapon, and by their sting they defend themselves."

Fyodor remembers that he has read the quote somewhere when he did his research before. He had a deep fascination to learn through different religions there in this world. What makes it interesting for him is how every single religion has its own God and belief but none of them can prove their God exists. At the very least for him, that’s the conclusion he came to. That is why at one point, he thought that if there is no God then he would become one himself. His God complex didn’t just develop in one night, it took him many, many days and nights searching for his answer and he found none after seeing the world at its demise and the despair it has.

Interesting thing about what he just said is that, Good and Evil is the embodiment of how his ability is. Still, it was a mystery to you, but you have seen how it works when Fyodor touches someone and they drop dead and fall to his feet, just by the tip of his fingers. Crime and Punishment that is neither good or evil. In the eyes of someone he might have seen as someone dangerous with that ability, a demon clocked in angel disguise, but neither can they judge which one is his true nature.

And if all people aren’t good or evil and they're just people that sometimes do cruel things because they have to, you wonder what that makes him if that was the case.

The evil one?

A demon?

Or... a Savior?

"So your intentions...define itself with what good and evil is as long as you know."

He hums, "Care to elaborate it?"

"I... l think it depends on our belief, the interpretation of our choice. Good and Evil is a paradoxical concept that is inherent in human nature, but man has to be rational with them. People are inherently “evil” while society's perspective of good comes from sustained effort. It is a very humane construct because it has to do with morals, and pretty much because no other animal has this compass. There are several concepts of good and evil, first is the collective good or evil, in which society dictates what is what. This however, differs for each individual, depending on their own moral compasses so they may agree or disagree with society. It helps maintain societal structure, but at the same time, good and evil can be viewed as pretty nonexistent simply because it is a social construct.” 

He listens to your explanation as his hand never stops from playing the instrument. Again, you continue.

“But such trivial concepts are just definitions pun on abstract concepts. There is no line between good and evil. It's only the perspective that defines how something is seen, close to how war is portrayed by the winner in a way and by the loser in another way. That's why in some cases, murder can be good. Because in the eyes of a murderer, it's always good. Even the people that do charity sometimes do it to feel good themselves and beliefs say that itself is a sin therefore a bad thing. Since everything came and was given birth by God itself. He is the one that creates everything, all things that are good. But good things alone can be evil if one indulges too much in it and evil things can be good as long as we stay away from it... but purely based on intention is not all right either, for mere intention cannot make a bad act good. But a bad act performed in good faith can be excused but it cannot be classified as a good act either."

Based on your answer, he took his time to assess and ask you the next inquiry that piqued his interest.

"So, you do believe in God's existence too?"

"I..." You ponder for a moment before answering, your tongue somehow feels somewhat dry with the said inquiry. "I am not sure... there can be one, and there can be none. It depends on the reality we see, and the faith we held or the religion we have. I'm sorry if my answer is vague..."

"Hmm. It's fine, I don't blame you. I understand." He assures you and arches his head upward, exposing the bulb of his Adam's apple that was visible on his exposed neck. In this moment, he relished the time when someone was engaging in his long spiel.

"The good want power, but to weep barren tears. The powerful goodness want: worse need for them. The wise want love; and those who love want wisdom."

Fyodor says in soft oration, quoting a line from Percy Bysshe Shelley. "In the Garden of Eden, God creates an apple and forbids Adam and Eve to eat it. He is who all-knowing, know that one of them would eat it, but yet he still created man in immature form, created man that will end up resorting to eating it, created the talking snakes knowing it would coerce man into eating it, even already predicting it and going as far as to plan on what state would come after they did. Now which decision was good and evil? Was it a good thing to eat the apple if a man knows that was good for them? Or was it evil to go against the God that created them because they were tempted by the very snake He created?" 

Although it seems as if he is asking you, the question was more so directed to himself, so you do not speak to answer him. He continues again with a solemn voice, Fyodor shifting his head again and now staring at the floor, "Sadly, since the beginning, humans are already reigned by sinful nature. They know the consequences of their actions, yet they still can not resist and repel the radiance from the fruit itself; to taste the knowledge of Good and Evil. They then bring chaos to this world, staining the land with corruption from their deadly vices and tyranny. You have seen how foolish humans can be, haven't you? The futile war that you fought, the countless meaningless bloodshed that you witnessed, all because the stupidity that was bred from humanity itself as they keep repeating the same history."

Casting your gaze down into your reflection on the surface of water, there are faint memories flashing by from when you were a soldier. Though not very vivid, the vague image is still there, flickering at the back of your mind in a blaze; the image of mangled bodies, blown apart children, blood running into gutters, rain of missiles dropping like flies on the ground and explosions everywhere blowing up like fireworks. You were there in the front lines, fighting for your own people, for their peace and nation, ready to sacrifice your life. But that was all a fleeting memory of your past; you do not need it anymore. Albeit, there is this simmering feeling that stirs within the deepest recess of your heart, a raging feeling of being betrayed and being cast aside and locked down for years. All because of fear. A fear that came from the fruit of knowledge itself that you were a dangerous ability user. With the said knowledge also comes power, with power comes corruption, and with corruption comes evil; where power becomes absolute, so does evil. War is like a disease festered inside man's heart, and it spreads like a plague and wildfire. Yet sometimes, it’s a necessary one, when the conflict could not be resolved in a peaceful way and war was unavoidable. Then, was it a good thing if it involves mass sacrifice? In a world where the hierarchy of power and different classes of society exist, could man settle the conflict without getting into argument, without evil influence their judgment and without discrimination between their different views and opinions?

Even up until today, there's no ending for human suffering and pain. Left and right you can hear the screaming silent voice cry out for Justice, with a voice pregnant with tears, broken hearts and despair, and the blood of innocents that was spilled when the world's leader moved their piece on the world map like playing a game of simple chess against their opponent. From the first World's War, the Holocaust, systemic genocide, gulags, famine, earthquakes, disease and so forth. All were rooted from the cause of Evil. And Evil first entered the world because Adam and Eve ate the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, which God had forbidden them.

"But... if God did not create the apple in the first place... then would Good and Evil cease to exist?" 

Fyodor scrapes one long tune, he closed one eye from your question with another thin smile.

"A predictable nuance that one would think of if we were to avoid all the root of origin. If we put the blame to God itself by essentially placing all blame on Him, then it will prevent the problem of humanity blaming each other. But the problem of evil is the problem of accounting for evil in a world created by an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-good God. It seems that if the creator has these attributes, there would be no evil in the world. But there is evil in the world. Thus, there is reason to believe that an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-good creator does not exist." He says with a scoffing voice, "It is therefore natural to think of God's commandment forbidding Man to eat of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge as ironic since God Himself had planted this very same tree in the garden. If God hadn't placed the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in the Garden of Eden in the first place, Adam and Eve wouldn't have sinned and the world's problems would be moot." He changes his bow pace to create a different tune, "If God exists then, he is testing the virtue and the faith of man by placing the tree in the garden. Then, a man by their own free will may choose their decision to choose between Good and Evil. Back to my question earlier, man could choose to obey the commandment and choose to do Good, or man could choose to disobey the commandment and choose to do Evil. However, if both choices ceased from existence, then humans will truly be free from their sins. But that would mean that people would have no choice to do evil, since evil is completely being erased. And without the choice of doing good, people will be happy not because they are happy, but because there is no longer the choice to be sad. They will only experience positive emotions, because the concept of suffering and pain has been removed and taken away from them. But would that really be a bad thing if one wishes to continue feeling happy without all the negative emotions? And would that be a bad thing if one will not make any evil deeds anymore? The line between good and wrong is distinctly thin after all as you said, as human is stupid to differentiate between what is Good and Evil for them." Fyodor gives the answer then counter it back with his question.

"However, wouldn't that be a blissful world if there was no Good and Evil? Ivan is the perfect example for that concept of being robbed from his negative emotion to be in a state of eternal bliss without any suffering had the apple never been created in the first place, and he would do all Evil simply because he does not see it as Evil since Evil does no longer exist in him." And he, as though acting as God, praised his own creation in delight and fervor that it reflects in his eyes. "You said it yourself that the Good and Evil interpretation is based on what we believe. That isn't exactly wrong now, is it?"

You remain silent to think about it for a moment. Then, with or without it, the world is still fated to be doomed. Evil is still created through man's misuse of his own power to act. He gets into evil of his own. Man misuses his discretion to act under pressure of his desires and satisfaction of his sentiments. That is why man is a sinful creature. With their own carnal desire, they will end up destroying each other even knowing the outcome and aware that they were being controlled by their own avarice. Simply, a foolish human being as he always stated. 

Fyodor finishes playing the cello and the music fades from your ears. You instantly feel like you miss hearing it once he has done. 

"Ah, pardon me for making you listen to my long ramble, you can put that on the table, I will get to it later." He gestured to the tray you held since the start that has few tablets and glass of translucent water. However, you knew better than anyone else that he might get engrossed into his work later on and forgot to take it so you have to be stricter. 

"It's fine... but Ivan would be mad at me if he knows you haven't taken your pills..." You reply back with an even tone, but your hand was quivering from the intense feeling whirling like a torrent inside your heart from listening to his soliloquy, unsure how to feel. You love listening to his voice, and you were trying to digest every word he says. Each time you listen to his long speeches, it's like he is telling you a bedtime story, but with heavy context related to his ideologies. It always left you to think with your own reasoning. Fyodor took notice of that, and he rested the cello on its stand. He gestures to you to come closer to him and your feet move on their own as if he has a magnetic force to command you so. 

"Make me," He said with a small smirk adorned his visage.

You creased your eyebrow in confusion at first, "Sorry...?"

"Make me so I can take those pills." He repeated again, now with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"How do I make you?" Your question was anything but innocent. However, for him, that just gives him a chance to tease. A moment he would rarely display.

"Here, I'll make it easy for you." He took the pill from your hand. "Now..." And he guides it to put it on his tongue as he parts his mouth. "Make me swallow it."

Faint blush erupted across your cheeks, and your usual straight expression slightly flustered. Seeing you that way, he merely chuckled. "Hmm? What are you waiting for? Didn't you say Ivan would be mad if I didn't take my pills yet?"

"Ah, yes... that is true." Gulping and with your shaky hand, you place the tray at the nearest desk, taking the glass to sip an amount of water hesitantly. Your eyes dart everywhere as you don’t know how to proceed and avoid eye contact with him as you close your eyes, leaning closer to his face inch by each with your heart beating loudly. You can smell his lavender scent; you didn't know whether it was from his shampoo or his perfume, but nevertheless it invites and guides  you. You then open your eyes again, seeing he was looking at you with such an amused expression when you felt his warm lips collide as he drank the water from your mouth, your whole face beginning to heat up again and how you wish you could disintegrate by embarrassment right now. Fyodor tucks the strands of your hair behind, and the lump from his throat swallowed both the pill and the water you transferred to him directly. His tongue sweeps across your moisten lips and he tugges it teasingly in between, nibbling it softly. You relish it as much as you can, desperately craving the affection he gives you for some more. 

He broke the kiss, gazing at your flushed face as he lifts your chin to prevent you from looking elsewhere with a small chuckle, "Now, that isn't so hard, isn't it?" 

How you hate it that he could pull this confidently without getting flustered as you are. All the more reason when he is enjoying it. But you can never resist him, can you? Not after he has taken so much space inside your heart.

"F... Fyodor..." Your lips tremble calling after his name, there was desperation laced in your voice, a need in your eyes. He looks into you with an adoring unadulterated gaze. 

"Hmm?"

"May I...?"

"What? Oh? You mean that..." Understanding what you want from him, Fyodor spread his arms widely. "Alright, you may as you wish." 

Enveloped by his frame dearly with his consent, your hands hug his warm body and you rest your head against his solid chest, hearing the rhythmic beat of his heart. Although he plays such beautiful music with his cello, there's no music that ever sounds better than this. You feel his warmth spread on you, and when he returns and gives you a hug back, placing his hand at the back of your spine and he begins to stroke it, your heart swells with happiness. His touch is like a remedy to your starved soul, and it wasn't frequent that you get the chance to be with him this way since he was rarely present at the base. 

Fyodor is indeed a strange man, and his mind is always complicated to understand. You never know or could tell what he was thinking. He is no God like Prometheus, not son of Lapetus and Themis. Not the champion of mankind known for his wily intelligence, who stole fire from Zeus and the gods and gave it to mortals. He is just he, a human named Fyodor Dostoevsky. A man who is acting in the place of God to carry the Good and Evil in this world. To bring salvation and destruction that humanity needs. He took the burden and huge responsibility on his own. That is something that you do admire him greatly. Albeit feeling a bit sad that you could do nothing but can only watch his back.

When he talks, you love to listen and take every detail in. You take a breath in and take in his scent again, calming you, feeling safe to be with him despite the reputation he has. Fyodor is not a man that is a fan of great affection; skin contact with another human being is a foreign concept to him. His ability could be activated at any moment if he so desires it, and then you would die in his arm in serenity. He would cleanse you off from your sin without any pain that torments you further. But he let you savor and indulge the solace he could provide you for now, as he did not dislike the company you have provided him as well. Strange as it may sound to him, he now secretly craves for the attention you give to him, as if he is the only center in your life and you are the only one for him, his dorogaya. How you wish you could stay like this with him forever.

However, you know, forever is a grand wish to have, as there is never a good thing that will last forever as it is with evil in this world.  Until the end, he will stand alone, just like God he aspired to be.

[hallospaceboyy]

Blood Lust

Zelda x Fem Vampire Reader

Warning for smut, blood drinking, strong language

Zelda puts her complete trust in her girlfriend, and asks her to drink from her during a most intimate moment.

You had thought Zelda would turn you away when she found out what you really were. A relationship between a Witch and a Vampire was almost unheard of, despite your kind both being immortal. When you had broken it to her, let the sharp points of your fangs descend to show her, her alarm was there for all of a few seconds, and then she smirked. She had smirked, and told you it was okay, and that was that.

Now, Zelda lay bare beneath your own naked body, writhing and bucking beneath you as your fingers ghost over her clit, and you chuckle as you marvel at her so desperate for you, brow beautifully creased, mouth slightly parted, eyes squeezed shut. You kiss tenderly at her neck, lick at her flesh, and Zelda groans, tugs on your hair as the other grips your ass.

“Drink from me,” She moans breathily, and you freeze, eyes widening and pulling away to look at her. She stares back at you with heavy lids, smirking and biting her lip.

“Wh-What?” Your pupils are already blown at the mere thought of tasting her in that way, but it is a boundary you’ve never crossed before, never even danced around, although you knew it wouldn’t harm her – would never even so much as consider it if it harmed her.

“You heard.” She chuckles and presses an open mouthed kiss to your lips, and when your own lips part she flicks her tongue out to brush at your teeth, and she hums as you let your pointed teeth descend. When she pulls away, she gazes at you with dark, lascivious eyes. “I’ve researched extensively. I know it wont hurt much, after the initial puncture. It's supposed to be quite pleasurable, actually. I want to try it. I trust you.”

Your mouth is watering now, and you swallow thickly. This wouldn’t be your first time tasting witch blood, had partaken in this with other witch lovers, and the blood of witches tastes divine, tangy and rich, like fine wine. You know that Zelda's blood will taste even better, better than anything you've ever tasted before. Zelda watches you as the cogs turn in your mind, deliberating.

You finally nod your head, smiling at her, and she shivers with excitement, grinning and pulling you back down with her.

“Oh this is exciting. I've never been feasted upon by a vampire before.” Her voice is deep with arousal, and she is still grinning as you resume your kisses to her neck. She gasps when you lazily rub her clit, slow, deliberate circles, and her hips roll against your hand. She shudders as she feels your teeth graze her neck, and when you bite into her, the points sinking into her flesh, she hisses at the sharp pain, and then groans, bucking her hips. I see. Quite the masochist, apparently. You chuckle against her, and moan as you gently suck at the small punctures you’ve left, warmth spreading through you at the taste of her. She tastes positively delightful, somehow both bitter and sweet, the liquid is thick, and rich and you can’t help but think it is the best you’ve ever tasted.

You slowly enter Zelda with two fingers, curling them deep within her, and she cries out loudly. Her slender hand grips your hair painfully tight, and she's pressing your face to her neck, and you know the pleasurable part of the drinking has taken hold now, and Zelda is euphoric, so far gone, at the pleasure coursing through her every limb, bucking and grinding her hips to meet the deft movements of your fingers as you fuck her faster.

“Fuck fuck fuck Y/N that feels so good.” Her voice is breathy, barely above a whisper, and she's speaking erratically, mumbled profanities pulling from her parted lips as she writhes beneath you. Her cunt tightens around your fingers, and you add a third, instantly pumping them hard and fast inside of her as you suck on her neck, groaning as she comes hard around your digits, and her blood coating your tongue is revitalising, and you grind your core against her thigh as the taste of her sends a pleasurable warmth through you.

Zelda goes limp beneath you, and you plant a kiss to her neck as you pull away, removing your fingers from her cunt, clamped deliciously around them. Your eyes rove the redhead's form as she lays splayed on the bed, panting heavily, and you gently lick away a single stream of blood that drips down her neck, and she shivers, biting her lip.

She reaches up to touch the small wounds on her neck with a shaking hand, and with a whisper it is healed and you smile affectionately. Her green eyes meet yours, and she flashes you a lazy grin.

“That was-That was the most intense experience I have ever had.” Zelda states, her breathing finally returning to normal. You raise your eyebrows at her, smirking.

“Well, that’s quite impressive, considering your centuries of experience.”

She chuckles, rolling onto her side and draping an arm over your waist. “I'd say it's quite the accomplishment, darling.”

“While we’re on confessions, I must say, I have never tasted anything so delicious.”

The redhead blushes, much to your surprise, and she presses a soft kiss to the side of your breast. “Are there any particular benefits you acquire from drinking witch blood?”

You hum in affirmation, stroking the pale expanse of her back. “It makes me stronger. Sometimes I gain a little magic, for a time. But don't worry, it doesn’t drain a witch of their powers. I don’t know exactly how it works, but I've gained small abilities from many lesser witches than you, and it never affected them.”

Zelda nods, closing her eyes, and you find yourself with the beginnings of tears in your eyes, as you allow yourself to think of the intimacy of all of this. Zelda's complete trust in you, offering herself to you completely, and the way it has both left you feeling, a hazy contentment, a spreading warmth like nothing ever before. The word soulmates comes to mind, and you shake it off with a frown, but your thoughts are filled only with her – Zelda, Zelda, Zelda, and you're overwhelmed, inhale a shaky breath.

Zelda peers up at you, and you relax your face, but she has already seen, and frowns herself. “What is it, darling?”

“Nothing Zelds.” You smile reassuringly, and although not convinced, Zelda doesn’t probe any further, rests her head on your chest again and relaxes into you. You press a kiss to her hair and close your eyes, content to lay there with her forever if you could.

[crazyfreckledginger]

Leonardo Da Vinci x Reader x Comte De St Germain - “Between Old Friends” [Part 2]

After someone tried to kill the Comte, and his old friend gets in the crossfire as well, you thoroughly worry them during their painfully slow recovery. When you understand that Rouge isn’t helping enough and there is a chance the attempted murderer comes back to finish the job, you take the matter into your own hands, and you’re not taking no for an answer.

A/N: I don’t know how good this smut is, it was hard to write, over a bunch of days and I simply don’t have the time to proofread anymore, I’m sorry for disappointing all of you.

Warning: oral sex, biting, threesome, riding, fingering, teasing, basically take the title of the fic literally with a bunch of kinky shit lmao.

“Huh?” His eyes widened in surprise, she didn’t have to look to know that his friend was equally caught off guard.

“No,” he replied sternly.

“You know you have to, whoever did this to you will come back to make sure you are both dead, so you need to heal as quickly as possible and the only way to do this it to drink from me.” She explained.

Leonardo was frowning now as well, understanding her point but not wanting to diminish her to a blood bag.

“Please, just until you are both fully recovered.” Her pleasing eyes must have got to the Comte because he glanced at Da Vinci, until a silent agreement was made between them.

“Do you know what you are getting yourself into?” He towered over her now.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“You’re a good girl,” his hand gripped her wrist and pulled her against his chest. Comte dipped down, lips grazing her ear before they trailed down her neck, making a shiver course through her entire body. His tongue slithered out and licked her shoulder blade. The sound of a screeching chair didn’t snap his attention out of the moment as Leonardo planted himself right against her back, hand nesting among her hair.

A small wince escaped her gritted teeth as St Germain sank his fangs into her skin.

Her slender fingers grasped his shirt as he kept her wrist against him, other hand tightly pressing her against him to keep her secure.

No sooner than that, her head was pulled back by her hair and the back of her head was firmly held down on the inventor’s shoulder by his gloved hand before his nose nuzzled down to the opposite side of her neck.

Her cheeks flushed beautifully, feeling her skin become hotter and hotter until it burned overwhelmingly. Her breathing became ragged as le Comte sucked a little more forcefully as his old friend sank his own fangs into her.

The ecstasy she was feeling was so unbearable that the girl didn’t even register the second set of teeth that protruded inside of her.

Small whimpers and cries escaped her throat as Leonardo smirked, clearly enjoying this.

“You make the sweetest of sounds, cara mia,” he purred. Her fingers gripped le Comte’s shoulder tightly as he pulled his fangs out and left a trail of kisses along her skin.

(Y/N)’s eyelids struggled to remain open as Leonardo followed suit, discreetly removing his gloves before a hand slid down her clothed chest and towards the waist band of her skirt.

The woman gasped loudly before the pureblood captured her lips in a hungry kiss.

Da Vinci’s hand traveled down inside her panties, making her moan into the other’s mouth. Skillfully, he rubbed her already soaked bundle of nerves.

“Mmh, you’re so wet for us.” He chuckled, rubbing her faster.

Whining, she held onto his wrist, wanting him to go a little slower so she wouldn’t collapse on the floor from the rush of pleasure.

Ignoring her silent pleas, her hips bucked against his, ass creating friction against his crotch. He groaned loudly into her ear, biting his lip in arousal and muttering an italian curse word as well.

Comte’s nimble fingers unbuttoned (Y/N) shirt before pulling it right off, and exposing her bra-supported breasts.

Almost inconspicuously, his fingertips slid her bra straps off her shoulder, replacing the fabric with his own lips.

With Leonardo’s other hand, he unclasped her bra and held her waist tightly to prevent her from squirming so much.

As her naked breasts revealed themselves to golden eyes, Comte pinched and teased her nipples, kneading and licking her chest. One of her hands slid into his hair and pulled lightly, her throat attempted to release a sound but the skillful work of the inventor in assaulting her cunt with a few fingers only silenced her further.

The latter’s teeth teasingly nibbled on her earlobe, occasionally groaning at how hard he was getting from her hips pushing against him, as the Comte’s teeth nibbled on her nipple, squeezing her unassaulted breast with his hand.

Whining and whimpering, they could both tell she was getting close. Her walls clenched around Leonardo’s fingers deliciously. Curling his fingers inside of her made her legs nearly give out from under her until they were held tightly by the two vampires.

The lewd noises from her dripping arousal mixed with her loud moans made him quicken his pace and race her to her orgasmn.

“L-Leonardo,” she cried, clenching once more before the knot in her abdomen let loose and she cummed around his digits.

Shakily, she clung onto the owner of the mansion.

Noticing she was the only one fully naked, Comte slipped his jacket off and unbuckled his trousers, slipping out of the fabric and laying on the nearest couch. He smirked as he beckoned the girl over, her cheeks beautifully flushed when she glanced over at the other vampire only to see him suck his fingers clean. 

She crawled on top of him.

“No no, other way,” his fingers twirled around and she did as she was told until her ass was hovering over his face.

Leonardo walked up to her, pulling her hair so she was staring straight at him.

“Undress me,” he ordered, his previously amusement-held eyes were now only filled with lust. 

Crouching up comfortably, she stared up at him as she fiddled with his best, his thumb pushing through her lips, as a response, her tongue lapped at his skin, sucking and nibbling it. He licked his own lips. 

The girl felt a hand rest against her ass cheek as Comte steadied himself, before licking a hard trail up from her clit to her slit. 

She moaned loudly, resting against the inventor’s lower stomach to glanced back at the pureblood, who only returned a hungry gaze as he kisses, and flicked his tongue along her slit. 

Biting her lip, she was redirected back to Leonardo and her hand slipped his belt out of his trousers before unzipping him. 

Her breathing hitched slightly from seeing the dent in his underwear but with a slight nudge, she pulled the last piece of clothing down and his cock sprang out. After le Comte adjusted her so she was where he wanted her to be, he gripped her hips and slowly sank her onto him. 

A gasp escaped the woman, feeling how big and thick he was.

“Mmh, you’re beautifully tight, my darling,” he praised, caressing the view he had of her back and ass as she started riding him slowly. 

Her tongue kitten licked the other man’s tip, smiling up at him as he chewed on his lip in frustration. Agonisingly slowly she sucked on his tip, and then finally, she took as much as she could in her mouth, moaning softly as Comte took over from her and jerked up inside of her. 

Leonardo’s fingers combed through the woman’s hair. Understanding the silent order, she focused back on her task, squeezing what she couldn’t reach and bobbing her head a little faster.  

His eyes sunk through her, taking in her naked form that was being roughly fucked by his friend, the pleading eyes that were gazing up at his, trying hard to bring him over the edge despite the intense pleasure her cunt was receiving. 

Comte groaned loudly, feeling her thighs squeeze slightly from around him as Da Vinci started insisting on the pace and how much she took of him. 

He pulled lightly on her hair as well, bucking his hips down her throat and cursing under his breath. 

The girl gagged, placing her palms against his thighs to stop him from forcing himself so far down her mouth. It made her slightly uncomfortable but feeling both of them use her to pleasure her and themselves made her groan at the feeling and make even more of an effort to accustom herself to the experience. 

A whine escaped her as Leonardo pulled out of her only to push back in between her lips. Her walls were clenching around Comte’s thick cock, the sound of slapping skin only growing bigger as he grunted as well, seemingly getting closer to his release. 

Moaning, Leonardo twitched inside her mouth. She held a hand up to cup and knead his balls, before he thrusted a few more times down her throat and, after one last grunt, he pushed himself as deep as possible and cummed down her throat. 

He pulled out of her, nearly losing his balance but sat down on the nearest chair, biting his lip as she gulped down his seed.

“Now turn around,” Comte ordered, stopping his pace entirely. A small gasp escaped her lips as she pushed him out of her and turned around so she was facing him. Now, he had a beautiful sight of her face, cunt and breasts. 

His fingers gripped her ass and she hovered over his chest, sinking down on his girth, and, slowly bouncing on him, now, he wanted his release, as well as hers. He didn’t want to reach his end when she was blowing Leonardo, she wanted her full, undivided attention, and now he had it. 

Her palms pressed against his sturdy chest before she started grinding on him, moaning softly as he gently shot up inside of her. 

His hand reach out to her, cupping the back of her head and pulling it closer to him. 

Dipping down, she placed her lips onto his, grunting every now and again from a particularly rough thrust, until she bit down on his lower lip, feeling herself clench around him. Kneading her breasts, he pinched both nipples before trailing his fingertips down her sides and to her hips, helping her move up and down his length. 

He groaned, sitting up and burying his face between her breasts. Muttering a string of curse words as he twitched inside of her. 

The sound of footsteps made him peek from above her chest and he perceived a grinning Leonardo reaching down for one of her breast and the other slipped between her legs to rub her clit wildly. 

“A-ah,” she cried out, holding onto his arm as she rode Comte. Quickly, she squeezed around the pureblood, moaning loudly as he could feel himself twitch once again, and this time, he wasn’t going to prolong it. 

Squirming, her legs started shaking as she attempted to close her legs, but Leonardo spanked her ass, keeping her firmly on his friend’s lap. 

Comte growled loudly, twitching again before releasing inside of her, but he didn’t stop. 

Soon enough, after a few sloppy thrusts, the man got the hang of it and pounded into her dripping cunt, biting his lip and panting heavily. 

His breathing hitched as his gaze trailed up and down her form, so beautiful and perfect. 

(Y/N) cried out, finding it difficult to keep going as she clenched harder around him, taking him out of his thoughts. 

Roughly and mercilessly,  he rushed her to her end, making her scream and buck against him, spasming as she held onto Leonardo’s arm in desperation.

Breathlessly, she closed her eyes. Arms slid around her waist and the man lifted her off of the Comte, essentially pulling him out of her. She released the quietest of whines at the loss of contact before her eyes slowly fluttered closed.

“Rest, cara mia.”

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