#there’s a war going on between the two sides

[adhd-fandom-hyperfocus]

✧₊⁺ This Was Not In The Codex ✧₊⁺

Pairing: demetrian titus x reader(f)

Summary: Titus is on a much-needed leave on Macragge. While there he runs into you, or rather you run into him escaping terrible punishment for being unable to tell a lord no.

Part 1/?

Arthur's Note: I am terrible at keeping POV when writing in the third person and try to do omniscient, but again I am no real writer.

Warnings: Pregnancy (reader is pregnant), mentions of SA, and general gimdarkness.

18+ Minors DNI

★。------ ＼｜／------。★

There were several reasons Titus was planet side, from a wound he sustained that required more rest than normal, and Calgar seemed all too aware that with everything that had happened, there was still lingering broken trust among his brothers. Moving Leandros to Chaplin was a means of stopping the boy from doing more harm, but it wasn't a move Calgar hadn't been overly pleased with.

But Titus seemed to understand the will of their Gene-sire better than most, and his humanity despite it all remained intact. Something Guilliman wanted to make sure was nurtured.

Titus lumbered through the streets, drawing eyes as he did. Even within the great Macragge people were still awe-struck to see an Astartes. It was odd the monotonous sounds of everyday life felt more overwhelming than the loud cacophony of war. Though the smells were much more desirable. Scents of smoked meat were pulling the large man along when his ears picked up commotion and then something small bumped into him.

Oh the pitiful creature that had run into him. You looked worn beyond your years, weak from malnourishment and shaking like a leaf in the wind looking up and seeing what you ran into. Your lips busted and scabbed over from dry blood. Your feet are torn and broken apart from no proper footwear.

The thin rag you call a dress barely hides your bump. Your hands instinctively wrapped around it, as if you could protect your unborn child from such a giant. A smell rose into his nose as he heart the faint trickling of liquid. You were so terrified you were urinating yourself. Titus had seen this fear in warzones. What in the Throne had you so scared. His size aside.

Titus could see law enforcement coming up, chasing her. But they weren't local militia, these were private. His mind reeled all the practicals and theoreticals there could be to this situation.

"Can you get behind me, please? Are you able to move?" he asked quietly, as gently as he could, though with some urgency.

You nodded weakly and moved behind him, his massive body hiding you.

The guards stop short of Titus gazing upon the Asartes. His aura gave them great pause, mostly seeing how you were hugging one of his large legs.

"I see you are one of the Emperor's angels. Lord, she is a wanted criminal, and have been tasked to bring her back to our lord's estate." one guard finally spoke, but there was a shakiness to his voice.

"Wanted? On what charges, and why back there and not turned over to proper authorities?" Titus pressed. The rough timber of his voice becoming more pressing against the guards.

The guard looked uneasy and agitated, going between the two emotions rapidly, "This matter is hardly of note for one such of you My Lord, please, let us take her."

Titus shook his head, "No. You have not answered my questions. What is her crime and why is she to be taken to your lord?”

“Is not enough that she is a serf who has abandoned her duties?” the main guard responded, “She is to be taken home and punished. On top of that she is to be questioned by the Inquisition for heresy for seducing our lord with foul magic.”

Titus choked down a snarl at the mention of the Inquisition. Of course, a group of religious zealots could be tricked into seeing a poor serf as a heretic, so a piss poor excuse of a lord could get rid of his dirty laundry.

Perhaps his primarch was right and this Imperium was a rotting corpse.

“Then this is cause for my concern. I will take her into custody and our librarian will see to her.”

You start to plead and move away, as vain as you know it to be, but a large hand stops you. Holds you in place. It is firm, but not harsh.

The guard tried once again to argue but Titus cut him off, this time not holding back so much on his voice's power, “Are you challenging a member of the Astartes guard? I am not beholden to you, and she is in my charge now, so she is no longer either. Tell your lord if he so wishes to continue this nonsense he can do so with me. Now leave unless you wish a more physical understanding of my words.”

The warning was understood and the men scattered, and after a moment the crowd that had gathered went about their daily lives. Sounds of a busy community returned.

Titus turned to you, his hand still upon you. He knelled so he might be close to your eyes, “Hello, Little One. I am Lieutenant Titus, of the Ultra Marines. Would you allow me to carry you back to our fortress? You are safe. I give you my word.”

What choice did you have? None really. He could crush you with no effort, and you were dead anyhow. You just hoped when he decided to end you, it would be quick, and he would spare your baby.

You nodded, but sob quietly, “My Lord...I...” you were ashamed, “I soiled myself, I would not want that on you.”

Titus smiled, “Hush now,” he spoke cradling you in one arm and standing, “Far worse has been on me. There is no shame. I will see you get some clean clothes, food in your belly, and a Medicae Mortus to see to you.”

A soft chuckled rose from him, it was unnerving, yet comforting. This angel, was being so kind to an undeserving serf like you.

“Our Apothecaries are not specialized in baseline human needs. I am not even sure they know how babies are made, or how they grow inside you. But ask them about how to deal with a wound from a spawn of the warp? Collect gene-seed? Well then they don't shut up.”

You looked up at him with some confusion, “you do not know where babies come from?”

Titus felt warm suddenly, and adverted his gaze, “I mean. Well. It was not something they deemed important for us to know.”

You could only hum a response. Resting in his powerful harm. Held so delicately and carefully. It was dangerous. You knew this, but it was still the safest you felt in months and your worn body, gave out and forced you into a sleep that was deeply needed.

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Part XI

Word count: 3900+

Warnings: swear words

Autumn themed divider by tsunami-of-tears

Part X | Part XII

Ever since Eris saved you, you two became inseparable. Literally and unromantic, unfortunately.

When you said that you wanted him, you meant like a man, a husband. You couldn't name the feeling that led you to that as you'd never encountered it in your life. Desire and lust weren't so unfamiliar to you, you knew them well and definitely felt them when he was around, but what you felt exceeded even such mundane wants. The moment he stepped out of the flames in that dark room carved into stone, it grew into a constant need and it was slowly driving you crazy.

Sometimes you thought of it as a disease because dry throat, pounding heart, shortness of breath, sweating and stuttering were common symptoms. However, no medicine could cure you. You were doomed.

It was excruciating to just sit, watch him from distance and listen his voice that often spoke about such things that it sounded like a foreign language to you. You weren't proud of it, but you weren't educated in anything except of how to submit, keep quiet, stay still, dance and serve well to your husband. Males in Hewn City held an opinion that educating females was just a waste of time because there was no way they could understand such complicated things as economy, politics, war or ruling.

While you dreamt of his warm hands touching your body in all inappropriate places, his lips breathing life into your hurting heart, his skin rubbing against yours, his voice whispering to your ear and about other parts of his body that you hadn't seen yet, Eris every morning calmly knocked on your doors and escorted you to his office. He insisted that you must not leave his side, so you ended up sitting behind him even on meetings to resentment of all present lords.

The closest you got to doing what you wanted to do with him, was when he took your hand and you went out for walk or to feed and play with his smokehounds.

Eris didn't know so much about flowers and herbs as your friends Ellen and Irene, but you were never bored with him. Sometimes he relaxed enough to talk about his childhood, at least about nice memories he had, sometimes he tried to explain you what the meeting was about. Either way you always learned something new and most importantly, you had an excuse for staring at his lips. You tried really hard to pay attention to everything he was saying, but your heart had a mind of its own.

You often found yourself imaging the taste and texture of those lips on yours and more - the feel of them sliding down the column of your neck to your chest, playing with you. The fact that you felt his long fingers in your hand made it even worse. All of sudden you felt them touching your body, weaving through your hair, filling you-

"Were did you go?" His husky deep voice snapped you from your fantasies. Amber orbs with dangerously swirling flames were piercing you and you blushed. Despite being outside his scent was wrapping around you, so thick it was suffocating.

"I'm here, listening to you," you almost moaned those words, dazed. Of course you weren't.

"Hmmm, really?" With wolfish grin he leaned so close that you were sharing a breath. "So tell me, my dear, what was I talking about?"

"You asked me where did I go," you whispered. Only an inch. There was only an inch between your lips, separating you from what you desperately wanted.

"Cleaver," he murmured, seemingly as drunken as you. "And before?"

You blinked. What did he say before?

"You said that villages near Summer have a hard time?" you tried your luck.

His grin grew wider. "That was maybe a half hour ago." His fingers ran along your jaw to your lips, gently parting them. "What should I do with you?"

Kiss me! If only you were brave enough to say it aloud.

His gaze was glued to your mouth now. For a moment you thought you heard his heartbeat, but it must have been just your imagination because there was no way his heart beated in unison with yours. Suddenly he lunged forward, his mouth crashing into yours with such strength that you had to wrap arms around his broad shoulders to prevent a fall. His palms clasped back of your head and your hip, tugging you impossibly close. His tongue slipped into your mouth without warning, but you didn't mind it slightest.

You were responding to his every desperate touch and stroke of tongue with your own. This was it. This was what you dreamt about for days now. You moaned into his mouth, drawing a growl from the depths of his chest.

He was greedy. His hot lips moved down the column of your neck feverishly while his fingers pulled the dress from your shoulder. None of you minded that you were in the garden where anyone could see you. In that moment only the two of you existed in this world.

He sucked and nipped the thin skin of your throat and you welcomed it. You wanted him to leave a mark on you. You clung to him, enjoying what he was doing, rewarding his ministration with loud moans. Your fingers were clawing on his back, trying to get to his skin. You wanted him, needed him.

However when he got to your shoulder he stilled, heaving heavily. His fingers were digging into your flesh almost painfully while his body trembled.

"You drive me crazy. You and your delicious scent," he groaned with lips on your skin. "Please, have mercy with me. I can't hold back for any longer." He sounded like on verge of tears.

You entwined fingers into his soft strands. "So don't hold back," you whispered nuzzling to the crook of his neck.

He snorted and fixed your dress. "You'll be death of me." With that he pushed away, hiding his face from you. He took your hand and pulling you behind him, he was leading you back to the castle. "There's a meeting with merchant leaders in five minutes."

Since this small encounter in the gardens, he closed up, watching you every now and then with sadness and something that resembled great longing. He was still kind to you and attentive, still tried to explain you things they discussed at the meetings, it just felt different. Thinking that you did something wrong, possibly even hurt him unknowingly, you tried your best to behave, to control your fantasies and eventually cooled down a bit.

Your evening routine had changed, too, as if Eris was scared to be with you alone after night fell. Instead of staying in the office until it was time to sleep, before the dinner Eris took all documents he needed to your chambers. After eating together he continued his work on that small dining table, while Ellen and Irene kept you company.

They seemed to be ashamed to run their mouths in presence of the High Lord, so you usually retired to your bedroom leaving doors ajar. That was the only condition Eris insisted on.

"And after that? What happened?" Ellen leaned closer, urging you to continue. It took you some time to gather courage to tell them about the kiss, but here you were, sharing your worries.

You shrugged. "Nothing. Eris had a meeting, so we headed back."

"And at night?" Irene whispered. They both knew that your marriage wasn't consummated yet, but just like you, they still hoped. "Did he come to, you know.. continue where you have stopped?"

You shook your head. They both frowned.

"Is that male impotent or what?" Ellen said too loudly and clasped hands over her mouth in shock. She didn't mean to shout it. You all turned to the doors, but you heard only constant scrapping of pen on paper from the other room.

"Or maybe he isn't interested in females," Irene suggested.

"No way," Ellen shook head. "We both grew at this Court, so you certainly heard it, too. All brothers had a lot of lovers in the past, all females. Even our High Lord had a few affairs. Less than his brothers, but still."

"Yup, I think I heard it, too," Irene sighed and blushed.

"Do you think that I messed up?" you bit on your lower lip. "That I somehow insulted him?"

"No, definitely not," they both said in unison.

"Males like when females show interest," Irene said, rubbing your shoulder.

"It usually turns male on, not discourage him. Especially, if it's married couple," Ellen added.

You sighed, feeling even worse. There was something really wrong with you two.

"And what about you and Killian?" you turned to Irene, trying to change topic.

"Well.." she fidgeted with her fingers. "He asked me out."

With Ellen you immediately came alive, tension growing. "And?"

"And I said yes," Irene smiled shyly. "He'll take me to the city next week."

All three of you squealed happily, holding hands. It was just about the time. Irene was head over heels for him for years and ever since she became your maid you saw Killian flirting with her every time he came for chitchat.

The doors flew open and on threshold stood Eris with dagger in hand. He scanned the room, then his fiery gaze fell down to you and your friends sitting on ottomans, baffled, with smiles frozen on your faces.

"I heard you screaming. Everything alright?"

"Yes," you spoke softly, "absolutely fine. We just.. We are sorry that we disturbed you. We'll be careful from now on."

He nodded. Eyes lingering on you, he just stood there. You gave him a puzzled look. He shook head and leaving doors again ajar, he returned to his work.

All three of you blew a breath.

Irene turned to you with sad smile. "He seems like someone who cares for you dearly. You should have seen him when you went missing. He turned this place upside down, looking for you. He was furious when he couldn't find anything with your scent."

"He was so desperate," Ellen agreed. "And the look he just gave you.. It was full of longing for sure. He wants you."

"Then why?" You flapped down on your back, looking out the window at stars that shone sadly tonight. They had no answer for you, too.

The most exciting part of Eris's work was when he had to visit some village or small town. Nature of Autumn Court was breathtakingly beautiful and fascinated you with all those radiant colours. Whether it was just a wild forest or fields you wanted to see it all.

Even Fae who lived there. Most of them was hostile and alert when High Lord came to them, willing to help them personally solve their problem. However, Eris was able to cope with it and handled it brilliantly.

It was interesting to watch him interact with his subjects. He was strong, sharp and terrifying, yet he didn't shy to show kindness and understanding. He seemed to be especially skilled with children. Wherever you went, soon enough a group of kids followed him all around and he didn't mind at all. He only smirked and even played with them when he thought that no one was watching. He was kind of cute in such moments. It was easy to imagine him with his own children, running through hallways, ballrooms and gardens, scaring staff and then laughing at it. Your heart clenched with pain every time such thoughts flashed through your mind.

Eris made sure that on the way you could see every river, lake or rock. Winnowing would be much faster, yet he always opted for horses and didn't hesitate to do detours just to show you nice places. Since you couldn't ride, you always ended up on his horse, pressed into his chest and with his arms around your waist, holding you in place. That made these trips even more special for you. The joy of sharing beauty of his Court was visible not only on his face but mainly in his eyes. He was a different male as soon as he left castle grounds, more happy, unfettered and wild. He was like the nature around him and you liked it a lot.

If only it was the main content of his duties.

Sadly, most of the ruling was made from his office. You spent there so many hours that you lost count. At first Eris let you do whatever you wanted which meant that you sat near the window switching between view of garden and your diligently writing, reading and frowning husband.

Years of training this made you last quite long, longer than any other person would last, but since coming to this Court you got a taste of freedom. Simply said, you became bored after a while. You understood the importance of his work and didn't mean to bother him in any way. However, it was physically impossible to suppress yawning or stop constant wiggling when your body screamed for change of position.

You thought that Eris hadn't noticed it, but after few days he rearranged the office and added smaller desk and sofa that he clearly didn't need. It was for you.

One day, pretending he just needed to stretch out, he walked to the shelves of books, randomly picked out one and handed it to you.

"Wouldn't you like to read something?"

It was the book about the medical herbs that you started to read before you were kidnapped and hadn't finished it yet. You smiled at him gratefully. You thought that he would mind or that page turning sounds would bother him, so you didn't dare to bring it with you. But as it turned out, he didn't mind it at slightest and after that, a whole section of books about plants magically found its way into his bookcase.

You were eager for knowledge and devoured the books in just a few weeks. It didn't went unnoticed.

Next time Eris tried to explain you problems discussed at the meeting, he took out a book, opened it at certain page dedicated to the similar issue and let you read that, too. You really appreciated this gesture. Whether he knew about your hunger for knowledge or not, he was supporting your eagerness anyway. He went so far as preparing you books of certain topic and when you were done with them, he discussed it with you and explained parts that you didn't understand. Killian obviously liked the idea and often joined you or took Eris's place when he was too busy.

They didn't mind discussing even the Court's issues with you and Eris himself asked you questions and intently listened to your opinions and solutions. You were surprised to find out that with minor changes he presented some of them at meetings. It brought you two closer on a new, deeper level, and you started working together. Eris entrusted you with some documents and reports that he believed you could solve on your own, while you kept studying. If someone before told you that just in marriage you could get the keys to complete freedom, you wouldn't believe them. With Eris anything was possible though.

One day, Killian entered the office with unusually serious expression.

"Eris, the news about certain matter arrived," his eyes drifted to you.

Erin frowned and leaned closer. He apparently knew what Killian talked about. "And?"

Killian put his hands on the table, leaned towards him and lowered his voice. "They couldn't find the body. They searched the entire place and nothing. He had to survive it and get out. Or someone helped him."

Eris inhaled sharply through his nose and your gazes met. His amber eyes hardened, burning like fire.

They didn't need to say who survived. You already knew, but still you needed them to confirm it. You subdued the tremor. "Who-.. who are you talking about?"

They exchanged the look. Jaws hardening they pulled lips into thin lines, avoiding your gaze. If you already didn't know they were siblings, now there would be no doubts about it. They were so alike.

"You are talking about males who kidnapped me, right?"

"Y/N.." Eris sighed, pinching bridge of his nose.

"Yes," Killian gave you a pitiful look while Eris eyes shot up to him, the fire in them burning holes into his head.

"It's better when she is scared but careful than when she runs into hands of death because she didn't know about the dangers that lurk around any corner," he shrugged.

Eris dragged hand down his face. "Fine," he grunted, "go ahead, if you want to scare her so badly."

"Asshole," Killian narrowed eyes on his brother. Then he turned to you. "The thing is... Lord Nail, the one who kidnapped you, escaped and we can't find him. And.. our brother, Volkan.. Eris thought he is dead, but.."

"You couldn't find the body to confirm it," you repeated what you heard earlier.

"Yeah.."

You hesitated. There was one question that bothered you ever since you woke up on that cold ground. "Why?" you stuttered barely audibly.

They both raised brows at you.

"Why did they do that?"

"We aren't sure," Eris watched you with sad eyes. "When I became High Lord, I announced at meeting that I plan to marry you. Some Lords didn't like the idea, but Nail was strongly against it. His family believed that his cousin will be my wife. He revolted and I banished him from this Court. He also used to support Volkan as a heir and future High Lord.."

"So we think that either it was a payback for his cousin or he did it to lure Eris out, so Volkan can kill him and become what he always wanted to be."

A huge lump rose in your throat and for the rest of the day you couldn't focus on anything. Thoughts swirled in your head and more questions popped up. Why did Eris choose you? Why he went to so much trouble when he wasn't even interested in you in that way? What he expected from you? A friendship? Companion? Where you just some kind of gag to shut up Lords, so he could sweep the question of marriage off the table? Or was it a payback? To whom?

The whole night you spent tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. The next day you were miles away, mindlessly following Eris around the castle. That day you weren't able to focus even on reading. Your husband tried to talk with you as he usually did, but you was hardly able to give him one-word answers. In the end he gave up and didn't press you further. You didn't notice the tension in the air nor that his mood gradually worsened with every hour you spent trapped in your thoughts.

Eris immediately knew something was going on when he saw you and those dark circles under your eyes in the morning. He watched your silent form sitting in his office like a ghost and grew nervous. He wanted to get into your pretty head to see what bothered you, shake with you until you spit it all out. But he couldn't and that annoyed him the most.

As if it wasn't enough, Lords at the afternoon meeting decided to try out his patience. Some village on outskirts of Autumn Court near borders with Summer couldn't pay the taxes because they had a bad year. A flood of locusts had eaten up the crops and they actually needed an aid to survive. But these mother-fuckers wanted to punish them as his father would do. The old bastard never cared for the reason people couldn't pay. He simply killed them or turned them into slaves.

Eris was in a foul mood, muscle ticking in his jaw, and wanted to kill someone, preferably these idiots. All of them. He glared at the papers in front of him while they quarreled which punishment would be more effective. Until the papers burst into flames. The room went silent, all eyes at him. His verdict was clear: no punishment, send an aid. With that he dismissed them.

The meeting ended without you even noticing anything of that. You were imprisoned in your own head, drowning in uncertainty and pain, and you couldn't take it anymore. You needed answers.

While you ran after Eris who was making his way down the hallways with long strides, you decided. You would ask him. Now or never. You had nothing to lose and if Eris answered.. Well, it depended on his answers.

Eris held the door for you and then closed them so harshly that the walls shook. He strode to his desk and slammed his fist on it.

His brother, the male who hurt his wife, was alive and nobody could find a single trace of him. His wife was.. What was she? Scared? Terrified? Traumatized? And he couldn't help her because she wouldn't talk with him, wouldn't let him. His subjects needed help and he had to fight Lords to get the help they needed. Everything around him was collapsing and he couldn't stop it. He could only stand and watch.

"Eris?"

"Yes?" Frowning he looked up from his desk.

"Why did you choose me as your wife?"

His jaw tightened and he looked away. He wasn't in mood for this kind of conversation. He wasn't ready for it. Not today, not anytime soon. "Because I wanted you."

"But why?"

"I already told you."

"So why haven't you consummated the marriage yet?"

"I won't discuss that with you. Not now, not.. never."

"Don't you think that I deserve to know?"

He was quiet, hands clenched into fists on the desk. Whenever you asked him something, he gladly answered you, so why not now? Silver lined your eyes as you watched his hard, angry expression and felt your heart breaking into million pieces. Normally, you wouldn't insist and let it go. Normally, you wouldn't even dare to ask such things.

But today wasn't that day.

"Please, Eris. I need to know it.. If you ever cared about me, sincerely cared, answ-"

"I haven't fucked you yet because I. Don't. Want. To," he snapped, his fiery eyes piercing you. "Is that what you wanted to hear?!"

He never shouted at you, never spoke with you like this. He didn't even raise his voice at you until now. You winced and took a step back. And then another. Your lower lip quivered and before you could stop it, you burst into tears. You couldn't stay there. You needed air, fresh air and distance. When Eris saw your reaction his face contorted in pain. He started to reach out for you, but you pivoted and ran out of the room.

"Y/N!"

His broken voice followed you to the hallway. You didn't slow down and kept running up and up.

You had no idea where you were heading to until you dashed through the door and a cold gust of wind stung your wet face. The sky began to turn red, evening was approaching.

You walked over to the battlement and looked down. You were on the rooftop of the tallest tower. The guard on the courtyard below wasn't bigger than an ant. Good. No one would see you up here and no one would come looking for you.

You were cold and hurting so much that even breathing was too painful. You slid down to the ground, curled into a ball and cried. You were there for less than ten minutes when affected laughter cut through the air.

"You make things so much easier for me."

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

Why do you think the tides have slightly turned from "Elia deserves better than Rhaegar" to shipping her and Rhaegar together? Like what is the psychology behind these people because I've seen some of them like/reblog anti Rhaegar posts while also shipping Rhaegar x Elia at the same time.

hey anon! my thoughts are a bit messy, but i’ve done my best to explain them coherently :)

so, rhaegar was the best man anyone could have when elia was alive, and most people want the best for their favs. he was considered the most handsome, didn’t have a bad personality, and he was crown prince—meaning elia was almost queen, which is often seen as the greatest role a woman can have. the narrative also treats rhaegar as a beautiful, tragic, haunting figure, and elia actually had this very aesthetically pleasing man all to herself at one point! she was married to him, had children with him, and her life was so close to perfect! but rhaegar just had to go and ruin it. 😠

for many elia stans, if rhaegar hadn’t fallen in love with another woman (they want him to have been a completely different character), then everything would’ve been perfect, and elia would’ve had the best, most desirable life. however, that’s not what happened—elia met a very tragic end, and as a result, these stans feel double the bitterness. because of this bitterness, they blame rhaegar for everything (even though it’s not logical to do so), but he’s just too ‘perfect’ to let go of. so, for years these stans have made rhaegar revolve around elia, filling his tag with posts about her out of bitterness. so, i do believe that this obsession with rhaegar x elia has always been there, but i think it’s become a more favorable stance on the elia stan side of the fandom because of a mix of reasons.

plus, rhaegar is one of the few canon relationships we know elia had, since she’s not much of a character. because of this, and the fact that most people don’t like to stray too far from canon, most elia stans are forced to focus on rhaegar, which has created an echo chamber. basically, if a sentiment about elia and rhaegar’s relationship becomes popular, then the whole elia stan side of the fandom will likely regurgitate the sentiment. (also, this desire to stick close to canon is likely why the elia x arthur ship was so popular. while it’s a total crack ship, it had good aesthetics, and since elia and arthur at least knew each other, it allowed the stans to create their perfect fanfiction whilst sticking it to rhaegar. but remember, elia was actually married to rhaegar and had children with him, so while arthur is cool, rhaegar was always ‘top dog,’ meaning arthur would never be able to match up to rhaegar to most elia stans. also, the arthur x elia crack ship is likely her second most popular ship, which just shows how little elia stans have to work with, so they’re always forced to eventually return back to rhaegar for a lot of things.)

however, even if the elia x rhaegar ship gains more popularity, these stans will never stop hating rhaegar because he wasn’t ‘perfect’—and he wasn’t perfect because he didn’t love elia. plus, rhaegar loving another woman and supposedly kidnapping her is what began the war that led to elia’s tragic death. that’s bitterness times 1000. and while i don’t actually blame rhaegar for the war, i do think that this is how an elia stan sees it. i also don’t view rhaegar’s complex relationship with elia as a bad thing—it’s actually a very realistic take on an arranged marriage between two decent people. but most elia stans will never be able to get over the fact that they almost had everything, which is why many have it out for lyanna, as they consider her a thief who ruined their ‘perfection.’

tbh, that might be why so many elia stans are so obsessed with the idea that rhaegar only got with lyanna because of the prophecy—they don’t want to believe that rhaegar actually loved a different woman and not their perfect self insert elia. that’s a bit mean of me… but i don’t know what else one would call the ‘elia’ elia stans have created.

now that i’ve laid all those thoughts out, i’ll try to explain why the tides seem to be turning… i think it may have something to do with the ‘targaryens are all evil and bad’ sentiment losing popularity. i think this shift has occurred due to a mix of factors, such as years of fandom fights and fandom cycles leading to the targs being more liked now than before. it helps that canon doesn’t actually condemn the targs/favors them quite a bit, and the influx of new targ fans from HOTD has also contributed. this combination of reasons seems to have shifted the way the mainstream fandom discusses all the targaryen characters, including rhaegar. so, with this shift, it’s only natural that some elia stans/elia x rhaegar shippers—who’ve always been there—are using this opportunity to push their agenda. while these stans still hate rhaegar and see him as the bad guy, they just can’t let go of him. and as the mainstream fandom moves away from the anti targaryen sentiment, these smaller corners of the fandom, which tend to be echo chambers, are also affected, which has therefore led to a rise in rhaegar x elia shippers and the ‘shifting tide’ that you’ve also noticed.

[ultravi0lence14]

Miss World

sam winchester x fem!reader

1k | fluff

summary: your mind was a whirlwind of anger and unresolved struggles that plagued your mind. turns out sam was the calm after the storm.

*based off the song miss world by hole

anger was an emotion you grew heavily accustomed to from a young age. a feeling that would brew inside your gut until it exploded in a fiery, filled rage.

it was almost as if you were never calm, always jumping to conclusions or finding something to get angry about. it was a life you hated living, but nobody wanted to help you, so you sat in a rage filled silence as your peers around you tried their best to steer clear of you.

growing up was hard. not being able to control your temper on the playground, not having the ability to hold down a friendship for more than six months. from an elementary school age you knew it was your own fault. you made your bed for how you acted and now you had to lie in it.

you never wanted to be this way, for your mind was a labyrinth that no one wanted to explore.

your parents always vowed to be the perfect family. so as their daughter grew up and started struggling with her own mental battles, they pushed it aside for they didn’t want to be known as the people with a depressed kid.

the only way you could think for them to notice your pain was for you to act out, get angry and finally have some sense knocked into them. but it never worked, and your mom and dad just peacefully went on as you were at a war with your mind every single day.

nobody cared. no one noticed your eyes wandering to the side so that they couldn’t see the pain behind them. no one noticed how you lied and lied and lied about how you were fine and that everything would be okay. no one listened because nobody cared, and all of those feelings started to make you even more angry.

sam cared, and that was the first thing you noticed when you met him and his brother dean on a sunny morning in rural tennessee.

the first interaction you had with the brothers wasn’t a thoughtful memory. how could you forgot overhearing dean call you a bitch for your hostile attitude and hard gaze.

sam was different. you could see it in his eyes at the time that he had a more gentle approach when talking to people. the worrisome glances he was giving you also didn’t help. it felt as though he was reaching into your very soul and reading every single nagging thought and emotion all at once.

the next time you ran into the weird brothers was during the process of them killing a werewolf. coincidentally, you happened to walk past the wooded clearing just as dean put a silver bullet between it’s eyes. the sight was jarring, but you were mainly focused on the fact that you weren’t surprised these two guys would be into some weird shit.

when they noticed you, dean tried to spew some half assed story about some crazed guy on drugs, but you weren’t stupid. you weren’t a stranger to the supernatural world. yeah you didn’t know as much as sam and dean but you knew enough.

your friendship after that wasn’t something born from a hallmark movie. sam and dean had to go back to kansas, and you had to stay in tennessee for your job. that’s how life works, and you were content on keeping it that way until sam gave you his phone number.

he had told you to call or text whenever. telling you that if you ever needed a friend or someone to talk to that he was there. you wanted deep down to believe he cared, but the nagging part of you said he just noticed how friendless and lonely you were, feeling pity.

that didn’t seem to be the case at all, because on a particular night, when your mind was going a mile a minute and too much to bare, you called him. surprisingly, there was no fake niceties from his end, he genuinely wanted to talk with you, and that was something you’d never experienced before.

sam had given you the comfort and support that no one would ever do for you, not even your parents. he’s the one who encouraged you to finally see a therapist, something you’d been wanting to do desperately for years but were too afraid.

this man who you had only known for a couple months had finally listened to you. the only person who understood that you struggled and you needed comfort. he was there for you when no one else was.

it wasn’t long before you had driven all the way to an underground bunker in kansas to see him, and it wasn’t long after that when he asked you to be his girlfriend and you moved in with him and his brother.

getting used to living with sam and dean wasn’t easy, for you and dean always found a way to butt heads and argue with each other. his stubborn nature and your quick tempered anger didn’t mesh well, and it usually ended with screaming matches in the library that sam would have to defuse.

afterwards, sam would find you in your room and give you a longing hug and a kiss on your forehead. comforting you by saying that dean would come around, and you two would be best friends soon.

he wasn’t wrong. it took only a couple of months for you and dean to call a truce. since then sam has to practically tear you two apart, for you guys were always giggling together and bothering sam all the same.

when a panic attack would find itself racking through your body, sam always found a way to calm you down. he knew whatever made your breathing regulate, what jokes made you laugh, and what pulse points had you falling into a deep slumber.

he would stay with you for hours on end after, holding you tight in his arms as he rubbed your back in slow, circular motions. sometimes he would hum under his breath, allowing you to drift off easier and let your brain take a break.

sam’s eyes would trace the features of your face, seeing your eyebrows not furrowed and your eyes closed with beautiful dreams dancing behind them.

a smile would takeover his face, sam leaning down to whisper in your ear. “i love to see you at peace, sweetheart. it makes me happy.”

[nothazellevesque]

there is something so extremely tragic about Thalia Grace. She was a child looking after her baby brother. just a nine year old little girl with a two year old boy clutching onto her sleeve while she tried desperately to protect him from their cruel world and their mother. She looks away from that little blonde boy for just one moment, and then he’s gone forever. Dead. She runs away from home. She meets another blonde boy. An older one. His eyes aren’t quite as blue as Jason’s, but he still reminds her of what her brother might’ve been if he’d only gotten the chance to grow old. they find another child in need of protection. A little girl with blonde curls like her mother’s. And this time is going to be different. This time Thalia won’t fail. This child will be safe. They will all be safe.

She is twelve years old when she dies alone on a hill to protect annabeth and luke. the closest thing that she had left to a family. I wonder if she thought of Jason as she lay there. I wonder if she saw her friends make it to safety as she fell. I wonder if she thought of home, wherever that was. A picnic in the forest with Jason? A safe house with Annabeth and Luke and Grover? An empty mansion in Pasadena? it doesn’t matter. because her body becomes a monument. In death, she can finally be the protector that she’d always tried to be. She’s a symbol of safety now, not a lost, scared little girl who was condemned to a life of hardship because of who her father was.

Except it’s not the end. Thalia comes back. Everything’s different now. The little girl that she once raised is now older than Thalia ever got the chance to be. Luke is gone. Thalia closed her eyes for the final time as a twelve year old girl and woke up a fifteen year old, suddenly the star of a prophecy that she’d never gotten the chance to learn about. To the campers, she’s still the tree on the hill, still that symbol of safety and hope. To Luke and his army, she’s a symbol of the failures of the gods. There is no space for Thalia Grace the person. She is now the figurehead of a war that she never wanted to fight, the mascot for a side that she’d never agreed to join, and the closest people in the world to her are total strangers now. and through it all, the clock keeps moving forward. She’s running out of time. There are at most four months between when she comes back and when the prophecy is scheduled to kick in. She has no time to breathe, no time to adjust, she’s just thrown back into the fight.

And then she chooses immortality. She’d never wanted to be the prophecy child. She’d never wanted any of this. All she’d wanted was to protect. All she’d wanted was safety. She’d lost everything. Jason was dead. Annabeth had grown up without her. Luke was someone that she didn’t recognize anymore. So she chooses to remove herself from the story. She is an eternal protector now, only one day from sixteen for the rest of her days. She watches from the sidelines as her friends grow up and move on without her. At least this time, she can be conscious through it.

Luke dies. She doesn’t get to say goodbye. She doesn’t get to see those blue eyes close for the last time. Another blonde haired blue eyed boy has been ripped away from her. Annabeth is sixteen now. She’s found love, friends, a place to belong. And Thalia is no longer a part of it. So she moves on and focuses on her duties as a huntress.

Jason is alive. Her first failure was all part of some greater plan. She’d never failed him at all. He was safe. He was her age now, but he was safe. He didn’t remember her, really, but that was okay, because he was alive and they had time to fix things. Except they don’t. Because he dies. She’d barely gotten him back before she loses him for good. The boy that she’d once held on her hip, the baby who drove her away from her mother, towards Luke and Annabeth and becoming more of a figurehead than a person, he’s gone. Neither of her blond boys got the chance to grow old. And Thalia is right back where she started: a tree on a hill, standing forever still while the world moves on around her.

[tsvwords]

They tell me I’m in shock. No. 

First they tell me I’ve caused an international incident. Then they tell me I’m in shock.

This comes after:

some eight months of negotiating,

a temporary Peninsulan holding cell which begins to feel increasingly permanent over time,

a lawyer from my own country who holds his finger to his lips as if to indicate that our private interview room is not private,

a considerable amount of furious shouting,

assertions from Peninsulan policemen, policewomen and policepeople that I will never see my homeland again, and I should just come clean about my plot to destroy the town of Bellwethers with two servants of an illicit faith (and by the way, if it transpired that the Conclave of the Consolidated Linger Straits had funded or in any way enabled said plot, that would be useful information that would make things go a lot easier for me),

a final, frenzied agreement between nations,

a car to the border,

a hurried exchange,

and another holding cell on the CLS side of the border, with different flags hung over the supervising sergeant’s desk.

I’m interviewed by two detectives from the Nesh municipal force, as well as someone who introduces herself as a political attache and leans sourly against the corner of the cell when everyone else is talking.

You can see them frowning as they scribble on their notepads, trying to construct some, any kind of coherent narrative out of what I’m telling them.

Over time, they seem to acknowledge that I am probably not a covert member of the Parish of Tide and Flesh, but they continue to probe at me all the same, looking for other angles: what am I holding back from them? There has to be more to it than this, surely? Some final secret, some last revelation that makes sense of all this?

Eventually, they give up on me, and this is when the doctors come to run their tests, see if I’ve been brutalised or tortured in any way that could make for effective political capital.

And I begin to understand that there’s another, contradictory narrative emerging: that I’m in shock, a victim of horrific circumstance, and in some undefinable, whispered sense...a hero.

After all, nobody has forgotten the atrocities committed by the Peninsula in the last war. The disasters that transpire, year after year, when their gods go astray. The polluted islands, even now, that stand between our coastlines, a monument to their recklessness and callous disregard for our citizens.

It seems pretty clear to all concerned that Bellwethers was caused by one of their own experiments, and now they’re casting about for blame, trying to stir up trouble against us.

One of the doctors takes great care in smiling at me and squeezing my hand as he leaves. 

“I’m just glad we got you out of there in one piece,” he says.

And soon after that, the forms are signed, the doors open, and I stumble back out…home.

— Chapter 18: If My Hands Could Shape The Flow.

[readerstories]

When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 1/?

God I'm a sucker for a soulmate au. (AO3)

Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, eventual slow burn

Wordcount: 2347

Summary: You’ve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least an hour. And you certainly don’t expect to have another.

Other info: About this au - Soulmates find each other through touch, which establishes a mental link that lets feelings through, and if solid and built up enough over time, simple thoughts/words can also come through. Some bonds are purely platonic, about ⅓ in total. Multiple soulmates are not unheard of, but rare, more common with platonic soulmates. 

Quickly about the reader - mercenary/gunman/thug for hire. Great shot with pretty much any gun, has two knives as backup weapons, has fought with swords before. Looks wise he has hair and is shorter than Wade and Logan, but I try to keep no specific height in mind while writing. Has a few scares scattered over his body, but nothing specific as of yet. Does not want a soulmate, thinks it just leaves people vulnerable. Lives on his own in an apartment he owns and is content with his life.

All you were, really, was hired help.

All you were supposed to do was stand around and look scary with a few other tugs in a warehouse with high shelves stacked with crates, while your employer (a generous word for the drug dealer that hired you) met with another drug dealer.

It had gone tits up the second a man wearing a red and black spandex suit and katanas on his back of all things came crashing through a window.

You had dived for cover, because there are gunshots ringing out in the milliseconds after the glass shatters. You curse, reaching for your gun, with just one single 10 bullet magazine, because your stupid employer had insisted you only needed one when you asked for more. So to have something more you had your adamantium knives strapped to each thigh, hidden enough under your black joggers.

You curse under your breath, cause this is fucking awful. You hear gunshots over and over again, people are dying, wood from shipping crates are splintering, metal is hitting the floor. 

And there’s talking. 

Fucking talking.

“Come one guys, your aim is all off! Did none of you ever train on the neighborhood cats?”

Well, more like yelling. Because even though the warehouse wasn’t empty, it still had an echo. You are used to the loud sounds, it fuels your adrenaline as you peek out from behind the crate you are using as a shield.

The man, you are just going to call him Red for now, is flipping and bouncing between crates, avoiding any big hits. A few bullets graze an arm, but he doesn’t seem to take notice as his own bullets find their marks, bodies dropping around him. He’s nimble and quick about it, taking down guys from both sides with equal gusto, and you find yourself just watching him carefully. He’s almost elegant, light on his feet, and a jab or taunt spewing out of his mouth every few bullets. 

Careful not to alert Red or anyone else about your position, you shift, gun in hand watching him saunter over to your employer, the last man standing. Well, not really, since he’s down on his knees, begging for something incoherent while fat tears and snot roll down his face. 

“Newsflash asshole, I don’t care for your tragic backstory that the writer won’t let you talk about.” Red raises his gun, one last loud bang filling the warehouse before it’s quiet once again.

“Last fucking one, my counting skills once again making me win.” Red claps his hands together, before moving his hands to his hips, looking around the warehouse. “What a fucking mess.” He shakes his head, and you see your opportunity now that he thinks it’s all over.

You move up, pulling the trigger as soon as your gun is aimed right. Red doesn’t even get to turn before six bullets go through his chest, two through his throat, and the last two finding their mark in his skull. You shouldn’t use all your bullets on one target like that, but still you do.  Red drops like a sack of potatoes, and you draw a sigh of relief, lowering your gun as you too look around the warehouse. You’re glad it’s far away from anything else, because it should take at least a few hours before the cops are alerted, and by that time you would be far away from this warehouse that is by now covered in blood, bullet casings, and dead men.

Your earlier relief turns into utter confusion as you hear shuffling, and when you turn back towards where Red’s body is, you see him shake his head where he lays crumpled on the floor, and seconds later he’s on his feet with a groan.

“Okay, good shot whoever that was.” You gape, words slipping out of your mouth without meaning to.

“What the fuck.” Red’s head snaps towards you.

“Oh, there you are.” His voice is light, almost like he’s halfway into song. “I would return the favor, but I’m fresh out of bullets so this will have to do.” He pulls out the katanas strapped to his back. You grab your knives, managing, somehow by the grace of whatever runs this universe, to bring it out just in time to block both katanas that were coming at you in tight formation.

“Oh so you weren’t just happy to see me.” Red jokes, and though you can’t see his face under the mask, you are pretty sure he is grinning. You grunt, because there is no way for your brain to form words as you parry another attack from him, retreating.

You are in no position to attack, so all you do is stop his, and try to escape, backing off. Or rather, you try to, but Red is not letting up, so all you end up doing is walking backwards through the warehouse in a vague path between boxes and shelves as he attacks. 

He manages to get a few slashes here and there to connect, but they are shallow, just enough to draw blood and sting. One on your left arm, two on your right arm, three on your left leg. You wonder if amounts are on purpose. He seems to take it all as encouragement, laughing, keeping up his quick attacks. 

You don’t know you hold out, breathing heavy, arms and hands hurting with how you are clutching and shielding with your knives like your life depends on it. 

Because it 1000% fucking does, that’s why you manage.

Red finally lets up, just enough that you can create some space between the two of you. You don’t dare to actually turn and run, certain he has no moral code of cutting down someone from behind. So you just try to slowly create even more room between the two of you as you watch for his next attack.

“Oh I am having fun!” Red tries to clap, but he just knocks the hilts of his katanas together. “Though we are just a little unevenly matched here.” He sounds like he’s breathing just a little bit harder at least, even though there are no cuts next to the bullet holes riddling his suit. He tilts his head for a moment, then bends down, and then there’s a katana sliding over the floor, bumping into your boot. You look down at it, before looking back up at him.

“Come on, pick it up.” Shifting your knives into one hand, you keep your eyes on the white eyes of his mask as you bend down and pick up the sword. 

“Oh yeah, look at me during.” You ignore his comment, feeling the weight of the katana in your hand. It’s heavy, but perfectly balanced, feeling perfect as you spin it in your hand a few times, the hilt still warm from Red’s earlier hold. 

“Hot.” Red says as he twirls his second katana, mimicking you. Once more ignoring him, you put your knives back in their sheats. “Do you have them there to distract your enemies by making them think you are going to jerk off mid-battle?” You snort.

“No, they are there so they are more hidden, and more difficult to grab.”

“If you wanted my hands in your pants all you had to do was ask, baby.” You think Red is winking at you through the mask. You roll your eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Shut the fuck up.” With both of your hands on the hilt of the katana, you are ready to defend yourself from his first attack.

“Ohhh, you remind me of someone. I think the two of you would get along, he’s also a man of few words. Maybe I’ll let you live so you can meet him and fight him too, more material for my spank bank.” He definitely winks this time, then you are defending yourself from another attack from him. It pushes you backwards, again, but this time, you are able to attack back.

Though you can’t help but wonder if he’s letting you, just indulging you. Because you can feel how strong he is when you parry his strikes, you felt how strong he was when all you had was your knives.

It’s a dance, a dance he lets you participate in as you block, attack, block, attack, block. Redirecting his sword coming for your throat so it splinters wood instead of flesh.

“How did you learn to fight like this?” Wade asks, almost spinning as his energy is redirected away from your body. He is at least breathing a little heavier, and for some reason, you find yourself having a little fun, even though you think you know how this is going to end.

“I was a loser in high school. What about you?” You speak through gritted teeth, the sound of metal on metal filling the warehouse as you block another attack. You don’t even know why you ask him back, but it feels right.

“Something similar.” It’s still kinda hard to tell, but you think he grins under his mask as you attack back.

You do get a few cuts in, deep enough that it slices through his suit and the skin underneath, but it leaves you with little satisfaction as you see the cuts heal in seconds. Though at least his suit can’t fix itself, growing more tattered by the minute as new slashes and old bullet holes make a mess of it.

“So you are not just a pretty face, there’s some skills there.” You frown, anger flaring, and you are about to say something, but with a quick move that you have no opportunity to block, and that  truly demonstrates the difference between the two of you, he nicks you with just the tip of the katanta, just on the left corner of your mouth. You startle, but on instinct your tongue goes out to lick at the blood now sliding down to your skin. It just gives you more motivation to strike back, a big one that leaves behind what could almost be called a titty window on his chest, showing textured skin underneath.

“Ohhhh, freaky.” Red taunts, slicing your chest too, though your skin doesn’t heal when metal connects after slicing through your shirt like air. You curse, adrenaline causing your ears to roar, and the world to go a little fuzzy at the edges. You touch your chest, fingers coming back bloody, watching Red. Your own katana pointing towards the floor, ready, but down as you breathe heavily.

“Leaving yourself all open for me? You shouldn’t have.” Red coos, and that is what you are counting on. Letting him attack you straight on, thinking you have given up, so you can shove the katana through his skull, killing him again, and leaving you at least a few moments to high tail it out of there.

It’s what the plan is.

It does not work out like you intend it to.

It goes in a whole new direction.

Because when he comes close enough, you manage to get a hold on his shoulder, which gets you a hopefully not deadly slice over your abdomen for your efforts. You are moving quickly, seconds away from stabbing the katana through the bottom of his jaw. But then your fingers touch a bare spot on his shoulder where his suit had gotten torn, and there’s a sparkler going off in your brain, a sizzling sensation that settles in the back of your head as feelings of excitement, adrenaline, and happiness that are not your own speeds through your mind.

You gasp out loud.

You can’t help yourself.

Because you know what that was.

And there is no fucking way.

WHAT. THE. ABSOLUTE. 

FUCK.

Fucking no.

A soulmate.

You have a fucking soulmate??????

And this is how you fucking meet him????

In all of your turmoil, you have dropped the katana that was destined to go through Red’s skull. He is a few paces behind you, not immediately attacking, just watching you as you turn around in your now mostly frozen state.

“Wh-”

“Touch me.” Red blinks, owlishly even with the white eyes of his mask.

“Wow, so forward. You know, con-” 

“Shut the fuck up.” You march over to him, and in what seems to be confusion he lets you tug the glove of his hand that is not holding his katana. You interlace your fingers, the motion absurdly tender for the moment that is currently playing out. You see his eyes widen behind the mask, and you are sure his mouth opens and closes several times even hidden as it is.

“What the fuck.” The words are so soft out his mouth that you are not even sure he said them. Not that it matters, because a second later he is wrenching his hand back like you burned him. He runs past you, and you watch as he picks up his katana where you dropped it, and then keeps running after that brief slowdown, heading towards a door you hadn’t noticed while you were fighting. You startle yourself into action finally, following him, but he’s out the door before you can reach him.

On the other side there’s a hallway, and his back is quickly retreating, and all you feel is panic. You are not sure which of you it is coming from.

You try to keep up with him through multiple hallways, but he’s fast, getting out of the building before you do. It’s enough of a headstart that you only see backlights and hear the roar of a motorcycle speeding away.

You run over to where the cars you all arrived in earlier are parked, but of fucking course all tires are slashed. Not like you had any of the keys anyway, but they would have been easy enough to find in some dead man's pockets.

“Fucking MOTHERFUCKER!” You know he can’t hear you, but you hope Red feels your frustration through your bond as you punch the hood of a car, denting the metal.

[angelslaughterz]

you're a dog ( and i'm your man ) - written by eric w.

( tw: probably everything you can think of tbh. it's based off of bones & all so... take that as you will. & please lmk what you think !! feel free to throw an ask in my inbox .)

cal eats the man who killed him first, sharp canine teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his throat. father-blood warm in his mouth, he feels something stir in him. he's covered in blood--in his fair blond hair, dripping down the pale line of his neck, staining the fabric of his shirt.

andre thinks he's beautiful, the way his blue eyes roll back at the first breaking of skin. he doesn't know why cal does it, just knows he's so angry, so hungry. andre cards his fingers through the blood-soaked hair, like he's a sick, feral dog.

blackflies swarm around them, drawn to the coppery scent of the blood. the room's sticky warmth is suffocating, the air thick with the smell of rot. cal's panting fills the silence, his eyes glazed with something wild. he pulls back, blood dripping from his chin.

"cal," andre whispers, his voice tight with a mix of fear and fascination. cal's eyes refocus on andre, and the feral, intoxicated look fades. he wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing it across his cheek like war paint.

cal stands, coltish legs trembling beneath him. he stares at his hands, the blood still wet. andre's eyes follow the crimson rivulets down cal's arms, over his trembling fingers, and onto the floorboards. he wants to kiss him, kill him, crawl under his skin. he doesn’t know which is worse.

the heat suffocates them as they bury his father. sunbaked earth, red as a fresh wound, crumbling beneath their boots.

his father's house, a tomb now. perhaps it always was.

andre's going 65 on the back roads. cal gets sick on the side of the road, rejects his father's flesh. andre holds his hair back, runs a hand along the curve of his spine.

they've been driving for hours, the radio static filling the silence between them. andre's jaw is set, dark eyes fixed on the road ahead. cal feels like he’s been pulled in a dozen directions, his emotions tangled and raw, nerves set on fire. he glances over at andre, takes in the way his broad shoulders hunch over the steering wheel, the way his dark hair falls over his forehead. he thinks about how they have killed together, bled together. they're like magnets, he thinks. opposites that somehow fit together.

they drive until the sun sets, casting the world in a bloody hue.

the motel is a blur of neon and shadows, dark wood panelling and stale cigarette smoke. the clerk, a tired-looking woman, doesn't bat an eye at their blood-spattered clothes or the wildness in their eyes. they pay in cash, and she slides the key across the counter.

cal scalds beneath the showerhead, scrubs until his skin is red and raw. the water runs red, then pink, until it finally runs clear. he stares at the drain, watching the last of his father's blood disappear down the pipes. it's a strange sort of purification, he thinks.

andre steps in behind him, his arms wrapping around cal's waist. cal jolts, gasps at the touch.

"it's me," andre murmurs, pressing his mouth against the downy nape of cal's neck. cal melts against him, his eyes slipping shut. "come to bed."

the moment andre touches him, he's all teeth and ache and need. all he wants is to crawl into andre's skin, to feel something other than his father's blood on his tongue. his hair's still damp when andre pushes him down, golden lamp-light shattering across his skin. he kisses hard enough to bruise, teeth clicking together.

cal tastes like iron and salt, and andre thinks maybe he's crying. they're both panting into each other's mouths, half-moon marks on cal's hips where andre's nails dig in. all cal can think is god god god he's so hungry. andre presses two fingers into him and it feels like the sweetest death. the animal-want claws its way out of cal's throat, a keening sound that's almost a sob, pools low in his belly. andre crooks his fingers, hits the spot that makes heat flood through him. it's too much, too much, too much, and he's so hungrysohungrysohungry he has to he has to he has to--

cal brings his forearm to his mouth, bites down hard. blood floods his mouth but it's different this time because it's his. his eyes roll back and he's shuddering apart, clawing at andre's shoulders. andre works him through it until cal gasps like a man drowned, until he's boneless and panting and sated.

andre withdraws, wipes his hand on the sheet. his eyes find cal's arm, dripping red. he takes it in his hand, turns it over to examine the wound. cal thinks he's going to bandage it, but instead, andre leans down, licks a slow line along the wound. his brown eyes lock with cal's, and something shifts between them, something raw and dark. everything blurs into a deep animal-want. andre can't remember whose hands are where, can't tell where one body ends and the other begins. just heat and teeth and blood.

it crashes down around them all at once until it destroys them both, until they go limp and collapse. it doesn't take long to fall into a dizzying sleep, tangled in each other.

cal wakes in the middle of the night with his body on fire, every nerve exposed and raw. he has to bite his lip to keep from crying out. it is the worst hunger he's ever felt, the kind that gnaws at his bones and makes his teeth ache.

andre sleeps beside him, and it takes every muscle in cal's body not to tear into his throat. he physically has to push himself away, an unconscious whine humming in his throat.

throwing on the first shirt he finds, cal stumbles out into the motel parking lot. the night air is thick and warm, a living thing that clings to him like a second skin. his eyes scan the shadows for something to sate the hunger, something to quiet the screaming in his head and cool the heat that burns him from the inside out.

a rabbit darts across the asphalt, and cal's breath catches. he used to catch rabbits with his bare hands when he was a kid, would hide in the tall grass by the house, waiting for one to get close enough. his father had taught him how to snap their necks with a quick twist.

the rabbit freezes, eyes wide and black as onyx in the motel's sickly lights.

cal moves, silent as a ghost, his feet barely touching the ground. the rabbit darts again, but cal is faster. he lunges, his hand closing around its soft fur. the creature struggles, its tiny heart hammering against his palm.

"m'sorry," cal whispers, voice strangled, before he snaps the rabbit's neck. the bleat of pain is pitifully small. he holds the limp body to his chest, feeling the warmth leak out of it. something sings in his veins, which scares him more than the kill.

the first bite lights him up, a spark of agony-pleasure that sends cal sinking slow to his knees. he doesn't think about how it would look if there were anyone around to see it--the blond boy with the dead eyes eating a rabbit raw under the sickly yellow lights.

his teeth tear through the fur and into the muscle, blood pooling in his mouth. he should be sick, should feel the horror of what he’s doing, but all he feels is an all-consuming relief. an oasis in the wasteland of himself.

cal hides the remains in the bushes and stumbles back to the room, his mouth and hands sticky with rabbit blood. the door opens with a soft creak, and he slinks inside, not wanting to wake andre.

andre stirs, eyes fluttering open. "cal?" he murmurs, voice groggy with sleep.

cal freezes, his hand hovering over the now-blood-smeared doorknob. "yeah," he whispers back, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice.

andre leans up on one elbow, turns on the bedside lamp, casting a soft glow across the room. at the sight of cal, his eyes widen, then narrow.

"what the fuck." andre says, his voice tight.

cal tries to wipe his mouth, but his hand comes away sticky. "i'm sorry," he whispers. "i just couldn't-"

andre sits up, the sheets pooling around his waist. "cal, the fuck did you do?" he demands, the words echoing in the quiet room. cal flinches, his eyes darting to the floor.

"i had to," cal whispers, his voice tight with pain and need. "i couldn't-" he can't find the words.

andre's gaze is hard, but there's something in his eyes that softens. he slides out of bed, his bare feet hitting the floor with a gentle thud. "did you kill someone else?"

cal shakes his head, the motion jerky. "a rabbit," he confesses, feels himself about to cry. "i had to, andre. it makes me--"

andre doesn't let him finish, instead crossing the room to wrap his arms around cal's trembling shoulders.

"it's okay," he whispers, pulling cal into a fierce embrace. "it's okay, i've got you."

[wilcze-kudly]

https://www.tumblr.com/miss-sweetea-pie/755138140549808128/something-that-ive-been-thinking-about-is-how?source=share

Hi! Apologies, but I've decided that I would no longer be responding to having zk takes sent to me! I started doing these bcs people sent them to me and I saw other people doing it and, don't get me wrong, it was fun to write analyses based around them, after realising that posting a link to the OPs blogs might put them at risk of harassment/hate, I don't think it's worth the cheap thrill of spending like half an hour researching the symbolism of La Pietà and then infodumping it.

This doesn't mean I will stop doing analyses cokpletely, but if you do have requests for me to do them, please just send an ask containing a subject, not a link.

I will be still writing metas about Avatar, but I think I will be trying to remove myself from the Kataang/Zutara ship war. While it's fun to pick apart arguments and research filmography etc, the animosity between the two sides is genuinely quite upsetting and I've noticed its been taking a toll on me. I just find it very suprising how many people view Zutara and Kataang as some sort of dichotomy.

I will still gladly talk about Aang, Katara, Kataang and Zuko, but I want it to be less in terms of going against someone else and more because I genuinely love these characters.

I don't like that I may have contributed to someone getting hate over a questionable, but ultimately rather benign take and I also don't like how I've handled certain conflicts and situations.

I also know that a certain zutara shipper has access to my blog, despite me having blocked them particularly to avoid conflict, which is very cool and not at all disconceting.

So to that person, if they may be reading this, I genuinely apologise for reaching out to you when I did, it was never my intention to cause you discomfort or upset. I had previously seen some of your metas on other characters and I enjoyed them and found your points intriguing and wanted to learn more about them. I apologise for using the term "arguing in bad faith", because I may have used the term incorrectly, trying to express that you didn't seem to interested in discussing the subject, which I understand, as I was the one reaching out to you. I apologise that I missed any cues of discomfort or unwillingness to engage. I take responsibility for that and I mishandled the situation and may have gotten too pushy. I just wanted you to know that I never wished to come off as disingenuous or pushy or make you uncomfortable in any shape or way.

[rileylastname]

emotional pixar movie about chess pieces

[ourflagmeansgayrights]

community that has only seen themselves represented in a small handful of romance stories that aren’t explicitly about their real-world oppression, watching a new show or movie where they are represented in a romantic story that isn’t explicitly about their real-world oppression: getting a lot of “that other show with a queer romance that isn’t explicitly about real-world homophobia” vibes from this

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

Iran is bombing Israel apparently, FAFO moment truly.

Both Biden and Trump are vowing to defend Israel with harsh military force against Iran.

If they follow through with it and the US moves against Iran, this will actually become a war.

Do not stop pressuring politicians to support Palestine. Do not stop advocating for Palestine. Do not stop protesting Israel. Do not stop protesting genocide.

From the river to the sea.

[nishihii]

rennala marika toxic yuri i cant get you out of my head

[peony-pearl]

If we're gonna get into Azula's dream and how she views Zuko without his scar, I'm kind of interested that she dreams of Iroh as an older, portlier man, the version of her uncle that she wasn't on good terms with.

He doesn't resemble his Dragon of the West days, when he was respected and a ruthless warrior.

Perhaps she's dreaming about the version of her Uncle that helped Zuko through tumultuous times - and it's something she craves is that kind of unconditional love.

[several-ravens]

i have counted 13 episodes about the stranger for now (the others have an average of 6.2), which is approximately 15% of episodes since the beginning

that's a lot

[da-riya]

Highlights from my EU4 Austria game up to 1600s