#was sobbing so hard when fit found the grave

[skellyfrogs]

They break me

[akingdomscrypt]

War is Over (and what have we done?)

Part Two

Pairing; Graves x male!reader (slow burn)

Word Count; ~4k

Warnings; slight dehumanization near end (not of reader), implied human trafficking (not of reader), panic attacks, dissociation, implied burning alive (no death)

A/n; I highly recommend reading the newest König part (here) first to avoid the spoiler for that fic near the end.

--- "clocks, phone calls, and bad decisions" ---

It had taken months for all of your Shadows to piece themselves back together again. For that little spark in their eyes to relight. Some of them had adapted quicker than others–those who had been in the game longer, those who had already seen their fair share of horrors–while the majority had a much, much more difficult time.

Afflicted with nightmares and a slew of mental irregularities they hadn't had before. It got so bad with some of them that you had given them all the choice to stay or leave. Another thing he would never have even considered. Not until the contract was complete.

Most of them were misfits of some kind; either dead to the world or long since without outside connections. So it hadn't really been a surprise when, even given the option, none of them had jumped the gun at the opportunity to leave.

Underneath the hard exoskeleton of emotional blockades and shitty coping mechanisms, they all just wanted to fit in. Wanted a place to belong. And your Shadows had found that here, even after the slaughter, with the company. With him. With you.

You were the one to catch them when they fell. To stitch up their wounds with your less-than-ideal medical knowledge when there wasn't a more qualified individual around. To provide adequate support and feedback. And, like right now, to offer comfort and security during their most vulnerable times.

Here in the darkness of one of your Shadows' rooms. Their roommate, though you knew he was awake, kept his breathing even and faced the wall. Pretending not to hear the hushed sobs of the Shadow huddled in your arms. Clutching onto your sweater like their life depended on it.

Nightmares. They plagued a majority of the soldiers here and always had. It wasn't anything new. But after the events of that godforsaken city–the mass murder, the cries, the fire–it had cracked your Shadows' minds. Splintering that delicate balance between emotional dissonance and their own humanity.

When it had become clear that these nightmares were affecting even your most strong-willed soldiers, leaving them jittery and lost in another world most of the time, you had made an offer.

At first, your Shadows had been hesitant, afraid to admit to their crumbling mental fortitude, afraid to be so vulnerable around someone who was supposed to be their leader. Then, after a few weeks and a couple of overheard panic attacks, the unspoken rule that what happened during the blanket of night stayed under that shield of darkness became apparent. And more of your soldiers had accepted your help.

So here you'd sit, letting their tears stain your shirt and humming a soft lullaby. Rubbing soothing circles into their back, using your mere presence to give them something to ground themself with.

Some even anonymously tipped you off to a fellow Shadow in need when said soldier was too ashamed to ask you themselves, or you'd failed to notice.

Of course, there were some who didn't want your help. Or didn't need it. But the offer was always there.

Months later and the majority of them had calmed, no longer needing your assistance. But there were still a select few who you would check up on during your nightly rounds. Listening for hitched breaths and shuddering sobs.

You wait until the tremors wracking through their body calm and then stop completely. Sit there and patiently wait for their breathing to slow and eventually even out, keep up that low hum until you're certain they've drifted back to sleep. Even then you hold out a little longer, pick up on the subtle signs of their roommate relaxing back into his bed on the other side of the room, soft snores filling up the dark, otherwise silent room. Then, and only then, do you slide them off of your lap, make sure they're comfortable, and quietly slip out of the room.

The hall lights are dimmed, the compound almost completely empty of life–apart from the occasional Shadow on guard here and there–as you make your way up to that dreadfully grey office you call your own.

Your steps are quick, silent, and efficient. Not allowing the shadows in the corners of your vision to twist and become sentient; the thrum of the overhead air conditioning to become whispered mutterings of your late colleagues.

Telling you you are the reason for their death.

It's your fault. all your fault

If only you'd

been better.

Blaming you, picking you apart. Vultures on your burnt, rotting corpse. Dead. Just like you should be.

If only

you

had been

better.

Taking the stairs, two steps at a time, as opposed to the elevator to provide enough of a distraction as you head to the third floor.

You should have been there. Why hadn't you been there for them??

Why'd you leave?

Abandon them. You abandoned them. It should have been you.

Why wasn't it you??

You should have done more. Should've kept them alive. That was your job. Why did you kill them??

Your mask is wet, the damp fabric clinging to the marred skin living half-dead beneath. Heart beating erratically, painful, and fluttering against your ribcage. Cage. Trying to break free. A gloved hand your hand? curling around metal. Metal should be cold, it's not. You're cold.

Why are you cold? Cold like the dead man you are. A walking corpse.

It's hot. You should be burning- you are burning. The metal is hot. You're hot. Melting, bleeding, suffocating.

Air isn't reaching your lungs,

Stinging smoke and ash sticking and coagulating in your throat. Wet. Wet with your own blood. Warm and wet.

Sticking to your skin, no, melting. Welding.

Becoming one with your flesh

Wet.

When had you started crying?

Something is blaring. Ringing and piercing through the stagnant air.

Tick, tick, tick.

That's your clock. Your clock. In your office.

You open your eyes and are greeted with the bright, artificial light fixated on the ceiling. The ceiling of your office. Your office.

Tick, tick, tick.

Not burning. Not bleeding. Not suffocating.

When had you sat down?

You're in your office. Your office. Not that metal deathtrap. Not being cooked alive in the fire. No smoke in your lungs, no ache in your limbs. No fabric melting into your skin, flesh giving way and exposing fat and muscle.

No. Just you. Alive. In your office.

Tick, tick, tick.

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, taking a few deep, measured breaths. Inhale. Hold. One, two, three. Exhale. Repeat.

Onetwothree, exhale.. Inhale. onetwothree-

What is that ringing?

You peel your hands away from your face, take another calming breath, and try to pinpoint the source of that shrill noise. The only things on your desk are papers, more paperwork, that stack of recruitment forms, pens, pencils, that damn landline phone you never use- oh. Right.

Ringing. Phone. Phone ringing. Of course.

Tick, tick, tick.

Your gaze zeros in on the muted grey object, red light flashing, that damn ringtone still blaring. You don't want to answer it. Not for the usual reason; not because picking up the phone means talking to another human being are you even still human? No.

This call causes your heart rate to spike again, the panic you had just managed to get under control stirring once more. Ice-cold dread fills your lungs as opposed to the burning taste of flames and acrid smoke from before.

No one calls. Not from that phone. No one but her.

It started a little over a month after you all made it back home. A shrill ringing of your desk landline, only ever one person on the other side. You didn't know her name, she never told you it. She knew yours. She knew far too much about you. And you knew nothing of her.

Nothing but an offer. The same goddamn offer.

There was no predictability to when she'd call, just that you were always there when it happened. And it never stopped ringing.

No matter how much you ignored it. You had no choice but to pick it up, hold the device to your ear and whisper,

"Lieutenant _____ speaking, who is this?" Even though you knew damn well who was on the other line.

"Ah, Lieutenant," she'd purr, that thick Russian accent only reaffirming what you already knew. "I'm not calling you at bad time, no?"

"Not at all." You'd force out, walking through the same script you did every other call–well, less like walking and more like trudging through a fucking swamp.

"Good. Good." She'd hum, then ask; "have you given any thought to my offer?"

"Not any more than usual." A small, condescending tut on her end.

"Mm.. you know, we are not that different. You and I." You had nothing in common.

"I hire soldiers by the contract, you raise killers. We are not the same." Killers with little to no morals, from your understanding.

"I mass produce expertly-trained combat warriors."

"Right."

"I take it the answer is still no?"

"..."

"Very well, Lieutenant. I give you little more time." Click. And just like that, the conversation was over. Didn't last long, they never did. The same damn thing every. single. time.

You hated the way she said it, like she was just biding her time. Like you would eventually say yes. As if it were inevitable.

You force yourself to loosen the near-death grip you had on the poor phone, placing it down on the receiver with a little more force than necessary.

It was late. You should try to get some sleep, or maybe finally take a look through those recruitment files. You most definitely should not be standing up, pushing away from your desk, and walking out the door. Only one destination in mind.

You shouldn't be doing this. Not after whatever the fuck happened before the call. Not after the damned call. Not when you were already feeling unstable, when your temper was shot and you could still hear that damn tick, tick, tick echoing through your ears.

None of that stops you and now here you are. Having briefly dismissed the two Shadows you had guarding the door, you now stood alone in the vacant corridor. In front of a locked door, the key gripped tight in your gloved hand.

You haven't visited him since he first arrived. That was a week ago. You shouldn't be here; he was probably asleep.

But, for fuck's sake, you weren't in the best shape right now. And you really, really didn't care if you did wake the fucker up.

At least you had the decency to knock.

Once.

You stand there at the foot of the small cot with your arms crossed firmly over your chest, silently fuming at the man who laid on it. Like a damn creep.

He hadn't changed, not really. At least not physically. Nothing of note besides his slightly smaller frame, a few shallow burn scars here and there, and the fact that his hair has grown out a little.

He otherwise looked the same. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest.

No. He didn't get to do that to you. Not anymore. Not after all the shit he's put you- all of you through. Not when your Shadows still came to you, shaking in their boots, stuttering about the horrors their minds had conjured up. Waking and not.

It was unfair how he lay there, mostly unscathed, while your own body was a burnt, mutilated corpse. An almost physical representation of your own faults; your greatest sins manifesting in thick, tightened tissue and stretched muscle. The disgusting, foul parts of yourself are laid bare for the world to see.

And, he, an almost blank slate despite his own immorality.

It wasn't fair.

You stand there, silently seething and glaring down at the man's almost lifeless body–was he tormented by memories of that night, just as you were? You'd think he was dead if you couldn't see the faint rise and fall of his chest. So far deep, lost in your thoughts, that you don't realize he's woken until that voice you hoped you'd never hear again pierces your eardrums.

"Phantom..?" He grumbles, still half asleep but starting to become more lucid the longer you stand there. You should leave, let him keep sleeping, maybe pass this off as a dream and come at another time-

You are rooted to the ground. The standardized, thin, grey carpet below your feet, under your boots. Still more than he deserves.

"Don't call me that."

"Call you what?" He huffs, that damn self-assured smirk worming its way onto his face. You hated it. You used to love it. "Your name?"

"It's not my name. Not anymore." He's the one who gave it to you in the first place. You couldn't stand to hear it spoken, especially by him. He didn't deserve the honor. You hated the way it made your chest seize, your breath catch.

"Since when?" You hated how it made you remember.

"Since now." Since over half your squad died. Since you all slaughtered an entire town–innocent adults and children–in search of one fucking criminal. Since Viper Shadow 0-9 ended up in a fucking coma. Since that damn tank. Since your uniform melted and became one with your skin.

"Why did you come here, Phantom?" He sighs, moving to sit up. The thin, standardized blanket pooled around his waist. He brings up a hand to card through his hair, giving you a tired, almost annoyed stare. "Did ya come here just to stir up some shit? To blow off some steam maybe?"

You didn't know why you were here. You were angry, sure, furious, even. And you were in the same room as him, staring back at the same man who haunted thrived in your dreams. The man who- it's his fault.

All his fault.

"And what's with the-" he makes a vague gesture at you, then his own face. "I thought you didn't like the uniform? Something about it "separating us from our own humanity" or whatever cryptic bullshit. Though you did greenlight the choice in the end, so ya couldn't have hated 'em that much."

Why are you here? He was just making everything worse.

Tick, tick, tick-

Why the hell was there another fucking clock in this room??

You stew in your own fuming anger, glaring daggers down at the other man. The man who had ruined you.

Even before the betrayal.

"There's much to talk about."

"Right." He deadpans. "In the middle of the goddamn night?"

"It's four in the morning."

He sighs again, dragging a hand down his face. "Right. Forgot how technical you could be."

"Thought that's what you liked about me?" Oh, hell. Welp. This is where it was going. Right.

Should've known you wouldn't be able to keep those weak, useless fucking emotions to yourself.

You used to be wonderful at that. Until him.

Tick, tick, tick.

"Ah, is this what we're doing? Really, Phantom? Right now?"

"I told you not to call me that."

"You're also the one bringing up our past relations, so fucking deal with it, yeah?"

You used to be the mellow one, a clear thinker. Following but also guiding him when he sunk too deep into his own personal hell of a mind.

"You survived."

That was then. This is now.

"Yeah, I did. Is that really such a surprise?"

A lot has changed. And you really, really were tired of that cocky fucking smile of his.

"I was really hoping you hadn't." You grit out in that usual monotone voice of yours.

It was a little harsh, a little brutal. And to anyone else–anyone who didn't know you, not like he did used to–it would seem flat, blunt. But he knew better, could hear every bit of malice, each drop of venom that twisted through every word you forced past your lips.

He deserved every word–and more.

His mouth forms a thin line, eyebrows pulling together in a small frown. It felt almost good. To wipe that damn self-satisfied smirk off of his face.

You wanted to keep going. To lay it on thick. To give him what he deserved–to force him to face all the shit he's put you all of you through–, or at least come close.

Now you both stood on the same side of the spectrum. From hot and cold to an all-consuming inferno. A double-edged sword. Twin flames; in the worst possible way.

Tick, tick, tick.

"You've changed." That is all he says. Not at all the burning fire you had been expecting. The bite and sting you were used to.

No shit. You want to say. You don't.

Because he's right. You have changed.

And you're not entirely sure you're too fond of who you're becoming. Who you've already become.

Tick, tick, tick.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of an answer, you effortlessly withdraw a small, sleek throwing knife from your person. Launching it towards him but not at him.

Striking that damned clock in the center of its face. Piercing the glass but not shattering it.

Tick, tick, tick.

It still works perfectly fine, to your great disappointment. And slight embarrassment; you find yourself thankful for your mostly covered face.

"Damn." He whistles, looking back at the blade protruding from the clock. Then back to you, that smug expression back to being firmly in place on that stupid face of his. "Am I gettin' under your skin, Phantom? I thought it was supposed to be the other way around? Isn't that why you came here?"

You exhale sharply through your nose, tearing your gaze away from that giant man-child and snapping to the door instead.

Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline thrumming through your veins. Not out of fear this time, no, not at all like earlier. It's anger this time.

Pure, unfiltered rage and burning hatred simmering just beneath the surface. Fighting to be free.

You decide you quite like this new feeling. It was so rare you gave yourself the opportunity to feel it.

"You've changed, Phantom." He drawls again, this time less factual and more taunting. You hate it. You love it. It feeds the fire in you. "You've become just like me."

Oh.

No.

The warm adrenaline that has been pumping through your blood abruptly comes to a halt. Cold hard dread freezing in your veins instead.

Hell no.

Stiff as steal, you turn, not bothering to look back at him, and make for the door. Locking it behind you.

The Shadow you give the key back to doesn't question your trembling hands, simply returning to guard duty.

You're numb as you make your way upstairs again. Not even tormented by the usual slew of negativity and hallucinations.

You're not real, simply observing the world from an outsider's perspective. Watching yourself stroll down one corridor, then another, before making it to your office door.

You witness yourself unlocking the door, turning the knob, and walking inside. Sitting at your desk, you don't even register the feel of it beneath you.

Tick, tick, tick.

Maybe you should start combing through those recruitment forms.The company needed more bodies. In case of another unprecedented incident.

A notification popping up on the screen of your laptop brings your world to a stop.

It's from the Captain. You had been waiting to hear back from him since that first meeting had been so rudely interrupted.

You click on it–expecting a new date to make up for the last call, or maybe an apology for taking so long to get back to you–, read through those three brief sentences and all the bubbling rage you'd felt earlier quickly snaps back into its rightful place.

You push away from your desk before your brain even has the chance to register what you're doing. Gloved hands in your hair, fingers tangling into whatever you can grab. Tugging and pulling as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Pacing, breaths coming out in short pants as you desperately try to ground yourself.

Notagainnotagainnotagain-

The phone is ringing.

Tick, tick, tick.

Eyes flying open, body coming to an abrupt pause, you lock onto the offending noise.

Not right now. You couldn't deal with this right now. Not when so high strung. Not when you were feeling impulsive and out of control.

She already called once, why is she calling again? So soon?

You should ignore it. Deal with it later, when you've calmed down a bit. When was the last time you got some sleep anyway?

It takes one more ring and then you're stalking over to your desk.

One hand gripping the edge of the metal ledge firmly, the other snatches the phone off the receiver.

"How are you, Lieutenant?"

"I don't have time for this." You growl out, your voice is unrecognizable. Even to yourself.

"Have time for what? I'm just checking in."

"You already called."

A pause. You'd had one hell of a shitty day, Captain Price's blatant dismissal of you and your company was really just the icing on the cake.

She was talking. "-they don't need to be broken in. They take orders easily, without question. Every one of them-" Singing praise about the same offer she'd given you time and time again.

An email. He hadn't even had the decency or respect to call you. Didn't think you were worthy of more than a few clipped lines.

That they were busy. Didn't have time for you.

That they had more pressing issues to attend to. You weren't a priority.

"Yes."

"Sorry? Can you repeat that?" You know damn well she heard it. You didn't have the energy for this back-and-forth bullshit.

"What can you do for me?"

"Well," she purrs. "I already have one of my Predators claws-deep in that precious little task force…"

At that moment, you wanted to crush Price and his little soldier boys like the pests they were.

"And?" You can tell she's enjoying this and maybe one day you'll come to regret it all. But that day is not today, dammit, and you're tired of being a doormat.

"I can send you one of my Predators, one of the best. Maybe it could teach your Shadows a trick or two."

"Sounds perfect." The old you would've never agreed to this, would never have even considered it.

But the old you wasn't here right now. This new version was. And this new version refused to be bothered by it.

Refused to be like him.

Because, if you were already heading down that path, why not become worse than him? Make him regret ever uttering those words.

Tick, tick, tick.

Make him regret ever crossing you.

"That's great! I'm glad you have come to your senses, Lieutenant." You and her both. For better or worse. "You'll have it by the end of the week."

That regret came sooner than you thought it would.

You stand there a little for a little while longer after the call ends, phone rumbling the low hum of dead air in your hand.

The overwhelming rage has finally calmed to a simmer, the reality of your choices crashing down on you.

What have you done?

At least that meant no more calls.. right? There had to be some positivity to this.

Tick, tick, tick.

The phone drops from your hand, caught only by its wire as it hangs off your desk. The off-hook tone is still blaring from the speaker.

You're standing on the unstable metal of your desk, reaching, then sitting on that same surface. Clock in hand.

Tick, tick, tick.

Rough fabric scrabbling at the latch in the back. Yanking, pulling, peeling back broken plastic and grabbing at wires.

Tick, tick, tick.

Pulling on them, breaking them. Red, yellow, black, blue; you don't care. It all has to go.

Tick, tic-

Finally. Finally. Quiet at last. No more ticking. Just you. Just you; alone, in your office.

Surrounded by a massacre of black, disfigured plastic and colorful wire. On your hands, on your lap, on your desk.

It's almost poetic. How it looks like you.

It's finally quiet.

And so are you.

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Masterpost | One | Next

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[stormberry-12]

Heyy,I love your writing! May I request a JJ fic inspired by the ‘Work Song’ by Hozier?

time comes around ~ jj maybank x reader

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader (jj pov)

warnings: making out, jj's dad being a dick, mentions of jj's good ol' gun, language. (not very well edited)

notes: thank you so much for the request and I'm so sorry it took soooo long. it gave me so much to work with and it ended up being super long lol, i hope it turned out okay I kinda just went with what the lyrics reminded me of.

you also don't really have to read all of them if you don't want, they're all just blurbs off JJ and Y/n's life together. ❤

(i recommend listening while you read>>>>)

Boys workin' on empty Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat? I just think about my baby I'm so full of love I could barely eat

"Jayj!" she giggled, dropping her fork on the table and staring at me.

"What?!?" I laughed in mock offense, crossing my arms and leaning back in my chair.

"You haven't even touched your food," y/n complained, her pretty eyes squinting at me in confusion.

"I-"

"You love food." she interrupted me, a smile playing on her lips, "Probably more than you love anything else in the world, now eat!"

"Not as much as I love you," I whisper, she looks down at her plate with a smile and a blush. "I don't want to eat... I just want to watch you,"

"That sounds creepy when you say it like that, stop!" she choked on her food and I fell into a fit of laughter that squeezed my lungs, making it hard to breathe. She made it hard to breathe.

There's nothing sweeter than my baby I'd never want once from the cherry tree 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be She give me toothaches just from kissin' me

I hummed into her lips, they were sweet, soft, and warm. I tapped her thighs signaling for her to jump up, she wrapped her legs around my waist, hands in my hair.

Her back hit the wall and I slid my hands up her waist. She hummed into my mouth and we broke away panting.

"Missed you too-"

"Shut up." she said and I laughed, leaning my forehead against hers. I was so glad it was finally summer, her family would stay at their beach house for the next few months and we would spend every day together. Love only growing.

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

Boys, when my baby found me I was three days on a drunken sin I woke with her walls around me Nothin' in her room but an empty crib

I woke up with the sun shining through the curtain, y/n was laying on top of me, her arms and body heavy like they were sheltering me from a storm. In this case, the storm was my dad.

She shifted on top of me, rubbing her eyes from sleep.

"Morning," she whispered.

"Mornin'," I said back, shifting our position and sitting up, pulling her into my lap.

"I'm so sorry," she rubbed patterns into my bicep, "I had no idea... do- do you want to talk about it?"

I looked down at her beautiful face and shrugged my shoulders. She looked up at me and I wrapped my arms around her tighter.

"He has no right to do that-" her fingertips ghosted over the scar on my cheek that she had patched up the night before. After I had come knocking away on her window way past midnight.

I felt a pain in my chest, "I'm sorry I bothered you with this, I'm so sorry-" I buried my face in her neck so she wouldn't see me cry.

"Oh Jayj..."

A sob broke my lips and my shoulders shook, god I was being such a baby.

She turned to face me, still sitting in my lap, holding the sides of my face with her hands. Her eyes were watering as she kissed each tear that fell from my face before wiping it away.

"You could never bother me," she said, voice more stern. I silently thanked her.

God, how did I get so lucky.

And I was burnin' up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived But I swear I thought I dreamed her She never asked me once about the wrong I did

"Y/n-" I said sitting on the couch, running a hand through my hair, "I can't believe I did that, I'm so sorry-"

She just watched me from the other side of the chateau, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed over her chest. Her expression was unreadable, eyes stone cold.

I had just pulled a gun out at the kegger, I was so stupid.

And not only did I put it up against Topper's head at some point but I fired it into the air. I let my anger get the best of me, it could cost me my freedom, my friends, or even y/n.

I hoped she wouldn't- oh god.

"Please don't dump me!" I squeaked out.

"Dump you?" she laughed shaking her head.

"I'm being serious, why are you laughing?!?!" I panicked standing up and bringing my hands to my head.

"Cuz your funny," she walked towards the back door and left the chateau. I followed her out back, she was walking to where the rest of the pogues were eating around a fire.

I sat down beside her and grabbed a hot dog and a roasting stick.

"So, we all sorted out?" Pope asked, raising his eyebrows at our sudden appearance.

"Did she give you shit?"

John B chuckled and I flipped him off, "No, actually..."

"Damn!" Kie said. "Your lucky JJ, not many people can put up with your shenanigans-"

The conversation shifted to something royal merchant related, I ate my hot dog and snuck glances at y/n. She was wiping sticky marshmallows off her finger, but it just kept spreading all over her clothes. I looked down and my plate and smiled.

Kie was right, y/n was the only one that could deal with me. But I was also the only one that could deal with her.

We couldn't live without each other.

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

My baby never fret none About what my hands and my body done If the Lord don't forgive me I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

"Hey, y/n!" Rafe called from across the boneyard, "Your not still seeing that dirty pogue are you?"

"I'm sorry?" she said taking a sip of her beer.

Ward Cameron's evil spawn got closer and eyed me up and down, "Honestly, I can't believe you guys are still hanging on, normally JJ would have moved on to a new bitch by now-"

"Ohhhh shittttt," Kelce and Topper called from behind him.

I stood up lighting fast but y/n grabbed my arm to stop me, "How dare you!" she shamed him.

y/n knew I had a past on the island, I had slept around with a lot of girls. I made a promise to her and myself that I was done with that shit, and it was working out for the best.

y/n tossed the rest of her beer on the back of Rafe's shirt as he walked away, he whirled around fuming.

"Try us, I dare you," John B said, he and Pope were now beside me, and Rafe backed off.

Y/n was still holding my hand, rubbing her thumb over my palm.

Yeah, Rafe, try us, I dare you.

When I was kissing on my baby And she put her love down soft and sweet In the low lamp light I was free Heaven and hell were words to me

The sun from the hot day was setting behind the sky and the soft glow of the street lights began to shine. The breeze was warm and the ocean was crisp.

I dusted the sand off my board, "One more go before dark?" I asked her.

She nodded slowly, pulling her hair up into a ponytail and following me toward the water. "I'm still not so good at this Jayj," she said fidgeting with her fingers.

"No, you're doing great!" I encouraged, pushing the board into her hands, "Go on, I'm right behind you."

We joined the rest of the pogues in the water, I watched as y/n got up on her board and rode a wave all the way down. Pride rushed through me as the pogues broke out in cheers.

"LET'S GO BABY!!"

She laughed and sat down on my board paddling over to me, "I'm so fucking proud of you right now!" I said pulling her off the board and into my arms. She giggled and wrapped her arms around my neck.

"Nice one squirt!" John B ruffled her hair and Kie said something about celebratory french fries on her.

I kissed her sweetly and looked into her eyes, "Your fearless, you know that?"

She just grinned at me, but I only spoke the truth, she was.

Love felt so wonderful.

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you y/n," I slurred drunkenly, but it was most definitely true. Drunk words, sobber thoughts.

She giggled and buried her face in my neck.

"I'm serious!" I complained.

"Same." Y/n said, sounding just as deadly serious as I was. We locked eye contact, her gaze reaching mine.

"What if you die before y/n? Like when you're a Grandpa and all your smoking comes to bite you in the ass?" John B countered jokingly.

"Well you know, like when I die, I'll probably get buried and shit-" I felt myself start to ramble, "but then Imma be all badass, and dig my way out!"

"What the fuck?" Y/n cackled, tears brimming her eyes from laughing so hard. Kie choked on her beer and Pope gave her a few good hard slaps on the back.

"Yeah, and then I'll come to find you," I said confidently. "NO GRAVE CAN HOLD ME DOWN!!!"

The pogues broke into laughter and I held Y/n's body tighter, I would never let her go. After all we had been through together, the ups and the downs, I knew at that moment it would always be her.

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

[sl-newsie]

Cool Your Jets- Ch. 11: Shame And Disgrace (Riff x newcomer)

I don’t know how much time has passed when I wake up, but when I open my eyes it’s still dark. I go to check the clock, but it ends in failure when Riff tugs me back.

“Don’t go. Please, Lynnie.” His eyes are still closed.

“What time is it then, Mr. Clingy?” I give him a raised brow.

Riff wraps his arms around my torso and snuggles his face against my stomach. “Time for you to lay back down and go back to sleep.”

I let out a frustrated groan. “Riff, that’s really sweet. But I think I should at least go check up on the Jets to make sure they haven’t torn up half the city by now.”

Now Riff gets a grave look on his face. “You can’t go there now. I won’t let ya. Not unless I go with you-”

He tries to stand up but is still shaking, so I grab his shoulders and gently lay him back down.

“No no, Riff. You’re still too weak to walk. You gotta stay here.”

Riff’s face houses a pained expression. “There’s Sharks ‘nd thugs run’n around and I don’t want you get’n hurt. A goil as pretty as you can’t go unnoticed in these streets.”

I think for a minute, then smirk. “Maybe, but I might have an idea…”

In ten minutes I’ve tucked in the bloodstained shirt and tied a belt around Riff’s jeans. His shoes won’t fit, but my black flats look plain enough. To keep my hair up I’ve slapped a cap on my head. When I step back into the room, Riff starts chuckle’n so hard that he has to clutch his sides in pain.

“Wow- I never woulda thought you could look so good in my shirt.” He wiggles an eyebrow. “Maybe I’ll let ya keep it.”

I scoff. “As much as I like the mobility of wear’n pants, I still prefer dresses. But one look at me like this and any guy’ll think twice ‘bout mess’n with me. Don’t worry, Riff- I’ll be back within the hour.”

“Here, take this too. For luck.” Riff leans in for one last kiss, and I feel him clasp a chain around my neck- his pendant. “Be back soon. Luv you, Marilyn.”

“I luv you too, Riff.”

Outside I find Josephina waiting with a concerned look.

“How’s he recuperating?”

“Much better. Thank you so much, for everything!” I give her a tight hug. “I’d stay longer, but I’ve got to go check on something. Don’t worry- I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“You know he can’t stay here forever. Sooner or later the cops will come looking.”

Biting my lip, I begin to start towards the rear exit. “I know. I’ll be back soon, and then I’ll get him to a safer location. He just needs time to heal and regenerate blood before he’s strong enough to leave.”

“Hurry back, and good luck!” Josephina calls before I shut the door.

I try to think of where the Jets might be, and my foist guess is they’re hiding out at Doc’s. It feels like it takes no time at all to reach the drugstore, and when I see the sign lit up I know Valentina’s keeping the shop open late. But when I get closer there’s something wrong- Grazi and Velma are outside screaming and trying to pry open the closed door.

“Guys, guys! What’s wrong?”

“Marilyn? You’re still here? Thank God!”

“Wh- Why are you in Riff’s clothes?” Grazi seethes.

“So I wouldn’t be seen by crazies in the street, genius! And simmer down, Riff’s alive.”

Her face lights up with new-found hope. “Alive? Oh thank God! How?”

“I brought him to the emergency clinic. He’s alive, but barely.”

“Since Riff trusts you most, the Jets should respect you. Maybe you can talk to them!” Velma wheezes.

Grazi’s eyes are filled with horror and tears. “It’s Bernardo’s girl- Anita. She- she came to give Valentina a message, but now- Now the boys are…” She sobs and points to the window.

I peer inside and see the Jets all in a huddle around Anita, who’s try’n to get away. Immediately I know their intentions and start bang’n on the window, only to get no response.

“No!” I cry from behind the glass. I quickly dash to the back door and break the lock with a nearby metal scrap, then sprint to the front only to find Anita being shoved to the floor by the handsy Jets.

“ENOUGH!” I smash a glass against a metal chair, which gets the Jets’ attention. “Let. Her. Go! Before I poisonally tear you to shreds!”

Slowly but surely they do as I say, give’n me mixed looks of fear and anger.

“Marylin? Is that you?”

“Why’re ya wear’n Riff’s clothes?”

“So I could make it here in one piece without get’n soaked!” I walk over to Anita and glare at each and every Jet. “How could you? How could you possibly stoop this low? Raping a Puertro Rican girl? Riff always kept you in line, but this is so much worse.” I spit at their feet and go over to help Anita up, who’s shaking violently.

“Go, mi querida. Go stay with Maria and don’t come out until I come over. I won’t risk any more Jets hurting you. Don’t worry- I’ll handle them.”

She gives a stiff nod, tears streaming down her face. By now Valentina has run up from the basement.

“Traitor!” Anita seethes at the older woman. Then she turns to glare at the Jets. “You think I want to stay here? In a city full of rugged animals like you? No gracias. Tell Tony- you tell that murderer Maria ain’t coming. Chino, he found out about them. Tony and Maria. He shot her. Maria is dead. You tell him that.” 

Maria’s dead?! My hand flies over my mouth and I instantly find Anita’s hand to give it a squeeze. Meanwhile, the Jets have remained silent.

“Anita- I am so, so sorry. She was one of the foist people to make me feel welcomed here, and now… You should know that this wasn’t Tony’s fault, Anita. He luvs her, and she luved him.” I give the Jets a look of boiling rage.  “And everyone had to make a big deal out of it just because he used to be a Jet!” I turn back to Anita. “Go give my condolences to Bernardo.”

“What?!” The Jets cry out.

“Riff will be ashamed of what you’ve done,” I seethe.

“What?!”

“Yeah, Riff’s alive. And when I tell him about this he’s gonna be so disappointed. He might’ve been a prick at times, but he was still a great leader. And he deserves a much better gang than you! You all disgrace the Jet name, and if any of you have any dignity left, I suggest you disband this ridiculous gang and crawl deep into a dark, miserable hole so you can wallow in sorrow and guilt. As for Bernardo-” I look back at Anita. “All Tony ever wanted was to marry the goil he loves, and Bernardo was too stubborn to let his sister marry a white man. Tell him that Tony and Maria will be gone and married by tomorrow if I have anything to say about it!”

She frowns and gives me a pointed look. “Maria deserves a sturdy life- not one that’s in the hands of a Jet! Bernardo won’t like this.”

“It doesn’t matter. They’re in luv, that’s that. You can’t just stop luv because you don’t like it, Anita, so just ignore it and be happy for them.”

Without another word, Anita walks past the door while all the Jets hang their heads in shame.

Valentina gives them all scolding looks. “I know you. I know all your names since you’s was born. I watched you grow, and you have grown into rapists. You dishonor yourselves. You dishonor your dead.”

I go to follow Anita out the door, but Mouthpiece steps in front-a me.

“No, Mouthpiece. I will punch you square in the face if you don’t let me through! I thought you was better than this, but you’re just as vicious as the rest of them. Don’t ever speak to me again until you’ve come to terms with the shame you’ve bought on yourself, and the despicable things you’ve done.” With that I push past and march out the door, giving Grazi and Velma a look of victory. “Problem solved. Now I’ve gotta go.”

“Tell Riff I said hi,” Grazi requests. “And… I’m sorry for all the stuff I said earlier.”

I hold up a hand of truce. “No problem. After tonight, let’s all put this violence behind us and start over. I’m through with the Jets.”

I’m hoping Riff is too.

[r3dblccd]

what color is your love ?

Arthit - dark stormy blue

Sinking ships, raging seas and tumultuous hearts, love isn't easy for you. It's a struggle, a constant inner fight of should I? Can I? Do I? Feelings are hard and they rumble inside you in a dissatisfied mess that begs to be let out. Your heart screams and cries inside you and you… You can't, you won't. You're scared. And love is scary, it's hard and sometimes it just doesn't work out. People leave, people hurt, people change their minds. And you and your cold stormy heart yearn for the calmness, for the distance, to be allowed and able to simply not feel. And yet, you do. It rages, it fights and storms inside you and you try to keep it down, keep it quiet, to feel pretending not to. It's the burn of childhood friends growing apart, of parents that aren't quite there, of relationships that burn out. So you snuff it down with water, cold and calming and blue, blue, blue. But being loved by you is blue too, just not in that way. It's the soothing, embracing feeling of floating, the moment when you sink down bellow the waves and become one with the water, with everything. It's the balance, the dramatic yet calming sound of waves that crash against a rocky shore. You're the good and the bad, the violence of the storm and the watery peace right after. You're the blue, blue feeling and loving you is watery tears, yelled confessions that no one will hear and burying your feelings in a deep watery grave never to be found out about. Your love is dark stormy blue, it's vast and deep and all encompassing, it's safety in the surface of danger, it's trusting the unruly abyss and yet I'd gladly risk drowning just to feel what it's like being loved by you.

Yongsun - deep staining red

Ripped out confessions, warm velvety whispers and a heart like an open wound. Your love flows out like dripping blood, beautiful, flawed and twisted. It's gut wrenching, the type of painfully dramatic feeling that makes you clutch your chest, picturing dramatic monologues about love and loving and big screen over the top scenes of sobbing into your pillow until you fall asleep. It rips out of you, clawing it's way up your throat more so than tumbling out. Sticky words that just need to be let out, feelings so big they don't fit inside you. Your love isn't easy, it's a true bloody mess, dripping and staining everything it touches in a desperate attempt to be seen, to be felt, to be loved back. And you, you love so hard, so deeply, so much for someone who carries all that pain. Atlas holding up the world, how are you? Is your love still flowing? Is your heart still open? Still pumping and bleeding and dripping with blood and tears? Still painting your beautiful pictures and writing your love letters in deeply personal red ink? Because I see them, I read them, I love them and you, you, you, you. Clench your chest, scream your love, cry it out. Spill your words of loving, keep your heart beating, keep your love coming and paint the entire world red with it. Make it in your image, keep going, it's okay. Maybe one day the whole world can be red and loved and beautiful just like you.

tagged by: snached it from @crue11

tagging: everyone who sees this

[direwombat]

tagged by @cassietrn, @madparadoxum, @voidika, @baldurrs, @detectivelokis, @trench-rot, and @socially-awkward-skeleton to do this picrew (only doing my main girls this time because i was also tagged by @inafieldofdaisies, @cassietrn, @g0dspeeed and @socially-awkward-skeleton for a few uquizes too

tagging (back) for any/all picrew/uquizes that people haven't done yet and also tagging @adelaidedrubman, @fourlittleseedlings, @deputyash, @strafethesesinners, @sstewyhosseini, @strangefable, @purplehairsecretlair, @wrathfulrook, @josephslittledeputy, @clonesupport, @poetikat, @aceghosts, @euryalex, @vampireninjabunnies-blog, @harmonyowl, and anyone else wanting to do these <;3

anyway, syb is stuck in the trials but at least jacob let her keep her cigs, and paola is trying so hard to decipher whether sam is being serious or not...uquizes under the cut

what color does your (oc's) love feel like?

SYBILLE.

DEEP STAINING RED. Ripped out confessions, warm velvety whispers and a heart like an open wound. Your love flows out like dripping blood, beautiful, flawed and twisted. It's gut wrenching, the type of painfully dramatic feeling that makes you clutch your chest, picturing dramatic monologues about love and loving and big screen over the top scenes of sobbing into your pillow until you fall asleep. It rips out of you, clawing it's way up your throat more so than tumbling out. Sticky words that just need to be let out, feelings so big they don't fit inside you. Your love isn't easy, it's a true bloody mess, dripping and staining everything it touches in a desperate attempt to be seen, to be felt, to be loved back. And you, you love so hard, so deeply, so much for someone who carries all that pain. Atlas holding up the world, how are you? Is your love still flowing? Is your heart still open? Still pumping and bleeding and dripping with blood and tears? Still painting your beautiful pictures and writing your love letters in deeply personal red ink? Because I see them, I read them, I love them and you, you, you, you. Clench your chest, scream your love, cry it out. Spill your words of loving, keep your heart beating, keep your love coming and paint the entire world red with it. Make it in your image, keep going, it's okay. Maybe one day the whole world can be red and loved and beautiful just like you.

PAOLA.

DARK STORMY BLUE. Sinking ships, raging seas and tumultuous hearts, love isn't easy for you. It's a struggle, a constant inner fight of should I? Can I? Do I? Feelings are hard and they rumble inside you in a dissatisfied mess that begs to be let out. Your heart screams and cries inside you and you... You can't, you won't. You're scared. And love is scary, it's hard and sometimes it just doesn't work out. People leave, people hurt, people change their minds. And you and your cold stormy heart yearn for the calmness, for the distance, to be allowed and able to simply not feel. And yet, you do. It rages, it fights and storms inside you and you try to keep it down, keep it quiet, to feel pretending not to. It's the burn of childhood friends growing apart, of parents that aren't quite there, of relationships that burn out. So you snuff it down with water, cold and calming and blue, blue, blue. But being loved by you is blue too, just not in that way. It's the soothing, embracing feeling of floating, the moment when you sink down bellow the waves and become one with the water, with everything. It's the balance, the dramatic yet calming sound of waves that crash against a rocky shore. You're the good and the bad, the violence of the storm and the watery peace right after. You're the blue, blue feeling and loving you is watery tears, yelled confessions that no one will hear and burying your feelings in a deep watery grave never to be found out about. Your love is dark stormy blue, it's vast and deep and all encompassing, it's safety in the surface of danger, it's trusting the unruly abyss and yet I'd gladly risk drowning just to feel what it's like being loved by you.

what kind of touch do(es) you(r oc) possess?

SYBILLE.

POWERFUL TOUCH. you leave me breathless. you are someone that is destined to do great things. everything you do is with a purpose and dedication. you are a powerful presence that leaves their mark on the world. focused, confident, and striking is how others would describe you. others come to you for trustworthy advice and honest opinions. you have few that you consider close and whom you will open up to. you often push down your emotions and put up a strong persona because you are scared of vulnerability. you protect others hard and your heart harder. i love you, bad bitch.

PAOLA.

WARM TOUCH. you are the embodiment of a cozy blanket and warm sunshine on a cool day. you give the best hugs, they are truly powerful. you embrace others with your big heart and feel everything to the max. you have a gift for uplifting others and raising the mood of whatever situation you are in. you can easily read the room and give your attention to who needs it the most. you are a joy to be around. others feel at home around you, which leads to lasting meaningful relationships. sometimes, though, you neglect yourself by putting others first. you feel that you will not be loved if you don't care for others. it can be hard to constantly put up a happy facade, i know. but remember, you are worthy of love.

which uniquely human interaction is your oc?

SYBILLE.

WAITING IN THE CAR. those extra seconds sat in your friend's driveway so you can make sure the door closes behind them. you are those watchful eyes. you are saying "i can't keep you safe always but i will make damn sure nothing happens on my watch". you are the action of keeping a stranger's child in your peripheral to make sure they don't get into any trouble. you are holding out a hand to catch the person who stumbled. you are the village.

PAOLA.

COMPLIMENTS FROM A STRANGER. every person has their own taste and every person's taste overlaps with someone else's. you are those overlaps. you are saying "i have made the world better just by existing in it for another day" you are every kind word that has been spoken into the world. you are smiles shared with strangers on the train. you are spreading good into the world

[final-girl96]

Firefly Chapter Eight

Three Days Later

My eyes shot open, a gasp leaving my lungs as I shot up. Pain. So much fucking pain shot through me. My hand went to my stomach as I fell back onto the bed. I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lip. Once the pain somewhat subsided I looked around. I was in a bedroom, one that I didn't know. Taking a deep breath I slowly pulled myself up to sit on the side of the bed. I took a few more deep breaths before standing. My legs were a little weak beneath me but after I found my balance I walked to the door.

I used the walls to help guide me and keep me steady. Walking down the hall and into the living room. A worn couch sat in front of a stone fireplace, a plush arm chair set facing the kitchen entryway. I walked into the kitchen only to find it empty as well. Fear was starting to creep up and the pain in my abdomen didn't help. There was a couple bottle of water sitting on the counter so I grabbed one and chugged it. I hadn't realized just how dry my throat had been.

I looked out the window above the sink and saw Joel. He was kneeling beside a grave. A grave a size of a child. Everything came back all at once. The Adlers, Joel killing Nana after see tried to attack us. The crash, the solider who shot at us. Joel cradling Sarah in his arms, sobbing and Tommy kneeling beside me as I gasped for air. I stumbled towards the door and swung it open letting it hit the wall behind it. Joel turned his head, eye widened before jumping to his feet and coming towards me.

"What're you doing out here? You should be in bed reating!" I down the stairs, staggering towards the grave. "No," I whispered. Before I could even reach it Joel stopped me. His arms wrapping around me gently. "Sa–no, no, no, no." My knees buckled but never hit the ground. Instead my feet left the ground and I was being carried back inside. "Come on. We gotta get you back to bed." I shook my head, "no. I don't want to lay in a fucking bed! What's happening? Where are we? Where's Tommy?"

Tears streamed down my face, hands fitting Joel's shirt. He sighed and sat on the couch instead of going to the bedroom. He kept me in his arms, cradling my head to his chest. "He's put getting supplies. Tryin' to find you something for the pain." I felt him place his lips to the top of my head and move my hair from my face. "We're at an old farm house. Shit got out of hand. Military has kill orders for anyone injured. Doesn't matter what it is. You're ignored they have orders to shot and kill. You're safe. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you. I promise."

Eight Months Later

They were setting up quarantine zones for survivors. Joel, Tommy, and I have been on the road for almost a month now. After I had healed enough to travel we left that little farm house and made our way north. There was a QZ in Boston that was being built. Part of the city was getting a wall around it. There were other place in other cities they were putting QZs too. There was a lot of driving and walking. Highways were either jammed or blocked off. It was hard to get around everything.

We were hold up in an old apartment building right now. We all needed a break. "Maybe we just stay here for a little while," I said. We had just made it out of fucking Texas. You never know how big a start is until you have to drove and walk across it. We were somewhere in Arkansas. We had to abandoned the car we picked up few miles before getting out of Texas. We couldn't find a way past all the traffic jams. There were a couple times that Joel or Tommy had kill someone because they tried to rob us.

Joel wasn't himself anymore. He kept his emotions bottled up now. I mean he never really showed emotions before all this shit but now he didn't show any. And as promised, he protected me. Never straying to far from me and always making sure I was behind him when we did run into other people. There were a few times we had to run from infected. It was almost impossible to put rum them with how fast they are. Especially when they've just turned.

"I'm tried and sore. And we all need to rest. We've been going nonstop, only taking small breaks. Please, guys " Tommy looked at Joel, "place is empty. FEDRA cleaned this build out by the X on the doors. Wouldn't hurt to stay for a few days and rest, get our bearings, figure out our next moves." Joel sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. "Fine, we'll stay," he said. I fell back onto the couch, letting out a long sigh of relief.

"Well, I'm going to go look through some of these other apartments to see what I can find. We're runnin' low on food," Tommy said and walked out the door. "If I didn't know any better I'd say he's trying to get away from us," I said. Joel took his backpack off and pushed my feet off the couch before sitting down. "Think he's trying to avoid one of your bad jokes." I gasped dramatically. "My jokes are not bad!" Joel gave me a look and hummed.

I sat up straighter and leaned down to take my shoes off. "God, I think that might be better than sex," I said. Taking my shoes off felt so fucking good; they have been aching from all the walking and running. "Excuse me? Ain't you a little younger to be talkin' about sex?" My head snapped towards Joel who was trying his hardest not to look at me. "Joel, I'm going to be fucking twenty years old! I lost my virginity at sixteen!"

He held up his hand, "I don't need to know all that," he said. I raised an eyebrow and let out a forced chuckle. In the back of my mind a little voice was saying he saw me more like a little sister. I moved so my back was against the corner between the arm and the back of the couch. Then I swung my legs up to rest over his, tilted my head back and closed my eyes. "Yeah. Yeah. I get it. Big brother doesn't want to hear about all the boys his little sister lets touch her because she's supposed to be sweet and innocent and never grow up."

I kept my eyes closed not wanting to even look at him and any kind of reaction. I was seventeen years younger than him. He was never going to see me any more than that. "Your feet stick." My eyes shot open and looked at him. "First my jokes suck and now my feet stink?! You wound me. At least they won't kill anyone unlike yours. You could knock out a whole army." The corner of his mouth twitched but he tried hard not to let the smile take over. "Old ass man," I mumbled.

I squealed when his hand gripped my ankle and pulled me so I was on my back. Then he was hovering over me and my breath caught in my throat. "Keep it up and I'll bend you over my knee." Instant rush of wetness between my legs. "Careful, Joel, I like being spanked." His brown eyes darkened, his jaw clenched and unclenched. Maybe there was a chance that he doesn't see me–never mind, he's moving away and fast. "I'm gonna go find Tommy." And now he's gone.

I cleared my throat and stood up, deciding to look around the apartment. I walked down the hall, pushing the door open to a bathroom. The next door led to a bedroom that definitely belonged to a single woman. I wished I wouldn't have opened the drawer in the bedside table. I looked through the closet and went through the clothes. "What're the odds that she's my size?" I found a pair of clothes and threw them on the bed then looked in the dresser.

One thing you'll need to realize is that you can't buy new underwear so if you come across clean ones grab them. Luckily for me she seemed to be a shopaholic and had tons to choose from. And they were all really nice. I picked up one of the bras. "I can make this work." I grabbed a sheer black one and the underwear that matched. "Not practical to wear in the fucking apocalypse but girls gotta have a something to make her feel pretty."

I set them on the bed and then walked back out in the hallway. The other bedroom was just set up as a guest room. Walking back out to the living room and into the kitchen I checked the cabinets and pantry. Looks like she had gone shopping before shit happened. I wasn't even going to open the fridge. "Gas stove. Let's see if it works." I found some matches and turned the stove on. "Yes! Gotta live these things!" I turned to the sink, took a deep breath and turned the knob. "No fucking way are we this lucky."

I rushed back to the bathroom and started to strip. If there was water, I was going to take advantage of it and take a shower. And it felt fucking amazing. When I got out I wrapped a towel around myself and walked across the hall to the bedroom, dried off and put the bra and underwear on. I was so in my own thoughts that I didn't hear anyone coming in.

"Yn–shit! sorry!" I turned around to see Joel trying and failing to not look at me. "I didn't even hear you guys. Sorry. I tried the water and it worked so I had to take a shower. And with some more luck this woman used to be pretty close to my size and I just couldn't not take some stuff. Are you okay?" He nodded his head and cleared his throat.

"Mmhm. Tommy…um…went to check out another building," he said. "Alone? Why didn't you go with him?" His eyes finally met mine. "Because I wasn't just gonna leave you here alone. I told you I was gonna protect you. He'll be fine," he said. "Okay. Well, the gas stove works. We got pretty lucky. Maybe you should take a shower. You kind of smell." I smirked at him and he rolled his eyes and walked out.

[schleckermaul]

drabble — lady sharon's birthday.

THE PAPERS STREWN ACROSS HIS DESK ARE CRUMPLED.

   ink, sometimes spilled haphazardly, nonsensical and frantic. it's a picture of despair, carefully tucked away in the safety of break's room, a door locked and a candle lit. he wouldn't have needed it, his eyes not picking up any light, not recognizing even the shape of the sheets of paper. break can't see its flame, and still, there's familiarity in the ritual of it.

   a candle lit. a window closed. an ink pen, alongside the box it's kept in. paper, torn and crumpled, with a few sheets still untouched. his trembling hands, struggling to put down the words.

   already failing at the first word, the first instance. looking at the attempts, spread before him, break knows the mess they must make.

milad milady lady shar dear sharon, my sh sharon, i'm how have you be happy b

   he wipes at his eye, furiously, as something wet hits the paper, the sound of it soaking into the parchment brimming in his ears. he'll run out of them, eventually. this was a stupid idea, he knows it is, knew it the second he sat down to try and start writing. some of the letters are too small to recognize, and he has to press the pen so hard into the paper that it tears, sometimes, just so he can trace over it, check if it's truly visible enough. and when that's managed, he'll be too impatient, trace it before it's dry, ruin the whole thing— how is a blind man supposed to write a letter?

   does it matter, even? he died in her arms. he knows. in gilbert's version of the story, she lived a lifetime without him, spent more time without him at her side than with him. and that's a cruel thought, it is. knows the severity of her affections for him, how badly she wanted to walk alongside him. he was just too stupid to see.

to see. there's a brief flash, of a memory of her smile, hazier and blurrier the longer he stays alive. his breath hitches with a sob, break not attempting to bite down on it, his head pounding.

   squeezing his eyes shut, he breathes, wheezes, frustrated, before reaching for another paper.

sa sharon, i'm sorry.

   he'd tried doing this before, when he was still home. when he was alive. he'd made lists, then, as if writing it down would help, with his ever dwindling focus and strength. his goals, his tasks, what he needed to do before he died. visit lady shelly's grave one more time. have tea with lady sheryl. buy a cake for the raven. leave reim's favourite wine in his office.

apologize.

   he'd never done it. never found the time. there was never any time, always something to do.

   his fingers, shaky, continue.

it's very roude of me to miss my lady's birthday. i hope reim is preparing an ade a fitting celebration in my absence. and i am so

   he can't breathe. his chest hurts, heaves, and it's so much worse than the pain he feels when mad hatter's powers pull blood from his lungs. he wishes, desperately, he could tear it from his chest and toss it aside, but in the here and now, it's the only proof he has of his love for her ever existing in the first place.

   tears keep hitting the paper. he leans back, for just a moment, trying to stop them from falling. she's never going to read this. it's a stupid idea. she'll never see him again. she'll live a life without him, she'll bury him and move on, eventually.

   (he hears her voice, alongside reim's, calling for him. the way they clung to him as his last breath left him. reim's strong shoulder for him to lean against, as his eyes fluttered close. her hand, tied into the back of his coat, small and warm.

   she'd always been so small. so young. how could she ever bear the loss of him, and not lose a piece of herself?)

i am so rry. i never meant to miss any of them. it's unbecoming. lady sheryl would be upset with me. i hope she is well. i hope you ar i hope you are well. i know yo u're not, right now, but i hope also know you will be, so oner or later. you're strong.

   so much stronger than he ever gave her credit for, a small hope that's holding him upright enough to not collapse entirely. she was prepared, in some ways, the same way reim was. and still, they weren't. still, they begged him to live, hours before his death.

   could they ever have been, really?

you will grow. without me. you will live, without me. you, and rei m. you will lead the rainsworth dukedom, and you will do it wonderfully. i know this, too. you will do we ll.

   burying his face in his hand not holding the pen, break makes a small noise, a whimper muffled into his palm. he wipes at his nose, rubs a wet eye.

i'm sorry for leaving.

   he'll never be able to fix it. not even if he ever found himself returning. it's a wound too grievous, too significant. maybe, and only maybe, the cycle of a hundred years will be able to mend it, for them to meet after reincarnation. somewhere they won't have to part so soon. sometime he'll be able to remain without guilt.

happy birthday. most affectionately and faithfully yours, your br xerxes break

   the paper makes a horrible noise when he crushes it between his palms.

   swallowing his next sob, break shakes his head vehemently.

   it's for her birthday. he shouldn't be too glum about it. she should smile, reading it, so that he can hear it in her voice, remind himself of how it looked when he could still see.

   reaching for another sheet—

   he tries again.

[skyrim-forever]

What Color Does Your OC's Love Feel Like?

Tagged by the wonderful @dirty-bosmer, thank you so much this is so cool!

Tagging @faiyamon (more Aeva pls <3) @sheirukitriesfandom @lucien-lachance and anyone else who thinks this is cool :)

You can find the quiz here.

Also I'm going to add in my new OC from my current play through, a Breton mage named Rochelle :) Hoping to make more content for her soon :)

Theodora: dark stormy blue

Sinking ships, raging seas and tumultuous hearts, love isn't easy for you. It's a struggle, a constant inner fight of should I? Can I? Do I? Feelings are hard and they rumble inside you in a dissatisfied mess that begs to be let out. Your heart screams and cries inside you and you... You can't, you won't. You're scared. And love is scary, it's hard and sometimes it just doesn't work out. People leave, people hurt, people change their minds. And you and your cold stormy heart yearn for the calmness, for the distance, to be allowed and able to simply not feel. And yet, you do. It rages, it fights and storms inside you and you try to keep it down, keep it quiet, to feel pretending not to. It's the burn of childhood friends growing apart, of parents that aren't quite there, of relationships that burn out. So you snuff it down with water, cold and calming and blue, blue, blue. But being loved by you is blue too, just not in that way. It's the soothing, embracing feeling of floating, the moment when you sink down bellow the waves and become one with the water, with everything. It's the balance, the dramatic yet calming sound of waves that crash against a rocky shore. You're the good and the bad, the violence of the storm and the watery peace right after. You're the blue, blue feeling and loving you is watery tears, yelled confessions that no one will hear and burying your feelings in a deep watery grave never to be found out about. Your love is dark stormy blue, it's vast and deep and all encompassing, it's safety in the surface of danger, it's trusting the unruly abyss and yet I'd gladly risk drowning just to feel what it's like being loved by you.

Valeria: deep staining red

Ripped out confessions, warm velvety whispers and a heart like an open wound. Your love flows out like dripping blood, beautiful, flawed and twisted. It's gut wrenching, the type of painfully dramatic feeling that makes you clutch your chest, picturing dramatic monologues about love and loving and big screen over the top scenes of sobbing into your pillow until you fall asleep. It rips out of you, clawing it's way up your throat more so than tumbling out. Sticky words that just need to be let out, feelings so big they don't fit inside you. Your love isn't easy, it's a true bloody mess, dripping and staining everything it touches in a desperate attempt to be seen, to be felt, to be loved back. And you, you love so hard, so deeply, so much for someone who carries all that pain. Atlas holding up the world, how are you? Is your love still flowing? Is your heart still open? Still pumping and bleeding and dripping with blood and tears? Still painting your beautiful pictures and writing your love letters in deeply personal red ink? Because I see them, I read them, I love them and you, you, you, you. Clench your chest, scream your love, cry it out. Spill your words of loving, keep your heart beating, keep your love coming and paint the entire world red with it. Make it in your image, keep going, it's okay. Maybe one day the whole world can be red and loved and beautiful just like you.

Rochelle: soft fresh green

Nice breeze, bare feet and freshly cut grass. Your love is a lighthearted hope for the future. It's protecting your eyes from the sun but enjoying the light rays still, it's laying on the grass and feeling it tickle your neck. You look to the side and they look back at you, full of hope and plans too. You plan together and laugh all day and your sunburn will feel like them. Your love is delicate, hesitant. A well curated binder full of collages for a future you can't be sure will come, but you keep going, you keep planning, you keep squinting at the sun and smiling, and running your hands through the grass so it will smell better. You keep holding onto the bright sky even as the sunsets, even as the starry night stares back. But you keep on holding, you keep on dreaming, you close your eyes and feel the sun on your skin and convince yourself that the sunburn is good, it's something to hold on to, just makes it linger a bit longer. Your love is a lighthearted hope for the future. It's sweet and wonderful and it keeps love alive, makes the world a better place. You run your hands through the grass, clench your fingers tighter and keep making plans. And I can only thank you and hope I can learn to love like you someday.

[deathfavor]

WHAT COLOUR DOES YOUR LOVE FEEL LIKE?

deep, staining red

Ripped out confessions, warm velvety whispers and a heart like an open wound. Your love flows out like dripping blood, beautiful, flawed and twisted. It's gut wrenching, the type of painfully dramatic feeling that makes you clutch your chest, picturing dramatic monologues about love and loving and big screen over the top scenes of sobbing into your pillow until you fall asleep. It rips out of you, clawing it's way up your throat more so than tumbling out. Sticky words that just need to be let out, feelings so big they don't fit inside you. Your love isn't easy, it's a true bloody mess, dripping and staining everything it touches in a desperate attempt to be seen, to be felt, to be loved back. And you, you love so hard, so deeply, so much for someone who carries all that pain. Atlas holding up the world, how are you? Is your love still flowing? Is your heart still open? Still pumping and bleeding and dripping with blood and tears? Still painting your beautiful pictures and writing your love letters in deeply personal red ink? Because I see them, I read them, I love them and you, you, you, you. Clench your chest, scream your love, cry it out. Spill your words of loving, keep your heart beating, keep your love coming and paint the entire world red with it. Make it in your image, keep going, it's okay. Maybe one day the whole world can be red and loved and beautiful just like you.

dark stormy blue

Sinking ships, raging seas and tumultuous hearts, love isn't easy for you. It's a struggle, a constant inner fight of should I? Can I? Do I? Feelings are hard and they rumble inside you in a dissatisfied mess that begs to be let out. Your heart screams and cries inside you and you... You can't, you won't. You're scared. And love is scary, it's hard and sometimes it just doesn't work out. People leave, people hurt, people change their minds. And you and your cold stormy heart yearn for the calmness, for the distance, to be allowed and able to simply not feel. And yet, you do. It rages, it fights and storms inside you and you try to keep it down, keep it quiet, to feel pretending not to. It's the burn of childhood friends growing apart, of parents that aren't quite there, of relationships that burn out. So you snuff it down with water, cold and calming and blue, blue, blue. But being loved by you is blue too, just not in that way. It's the soothing, embracing feeling of floating, the moment when you sink down bellow the waves and become one with the water, with everything. It's the balance, the dramatic yet calming sound of waves that crash against a rocky shore. You're the good and the bad, the violence of the storm and the watery peace right after. You're the blue, blue feeling and loving you is watery tears, yelled confessions that no one will hear and burying your feelings in a deep watery grave never to be found out about. Your love is dark stormy blue, it's vast and deep and all encompassing, it's safety in the surface of danger, it's trusting the unruly abyss and yet I'd gladly risk drowning just to feel what it's like being loved by you.

i stole this from my old blog when i did chrollo’s, so feel free to take it! 

Chrollo’s under the cut bc, well i did his before.

cold stark gold

Fireworks, borrowed lighters and sparklers against a dark backdrop, yours is a love that burns stark and bright. It's scary though, like things that burn always tend to be, but for you it isn't the thrill of the open flames that gives pause and a slight stomach drop of terror, but rather the time when the flames go out, the sparkler ends and the night is cold and dark once again. Fireworks, borrowed lighters, a striken match, your love burns bright and fast and then maybe it passes, maybe the feeling dies out and you're left in the cold once again. And that's the feeling isn't it? Of being bored and waiting for someone to light you up again? To be fair, you do know you don't need it, but then again we don't often crave the things we need. And you crave and yearn and burn in the wait, restless in the knowledge that at some point someone will pass and rub you the right way, that some day you'll light up the night sky bright yet again. There's comfort in the darkness and solace in the predictable loneliness of the in between, but your heart still squirms inside you, waiting and willing and begging to burn up again. Your love might not be comfort, it's not one for the sick days, but then again, there's a reason why everyone waits for the shining lights in the sky during holidays.

[tangleweave]

What Color Is Your Love?

Tagged By Thieved From: @brooklynislandgirl​

Tagging: Steal it. You know you wanna.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[ Beta Ray Bill ]

DARK STORMY BLUE

Sinking ships, raging seas and tumultuous hearts, love isn't easy for you. It's a struggle, a constant inner fight of should I? Can I? Do I? Feelings are hard and they rumble inside you in a dissatisfied mess that begs to be let out. Your heart screams and cries inside you and you... You can't, you won't. You're scared. And love is scary, it's hard and sometimes it just doesn't work out. People leave, people hurt, people change their minds. And you and your cold stormy heart yearn for the calmness, for the distance, to be allowed and able to simply not feel. And yet, you do. It rages, it fights and storms inside you and you try to keep it down, keep it quiet, to feel pretending not to. It's the burn of childhood friends growing apart, of parents that aren't quite there, of relationships that burn out. So you snuff it down with water, cold and calming and blue, blue, blue. But being loved by you is blue too, just not in that way. It's the soothing, embracing feeling of floating, the moment when you sink down bellow the waves and become one with the water, with everything. It's the balance, the dramatic yet calming sound of waves that crash against a rocky shore. You're the good and the bad, the violence of the storm and the watery peace right after. You're the blue, blue feeling and loving you is watery tears, yelled confessions that no one will hear and burying your feelings in a deep watery grave never to be found out about. Your love is dark stormy blue, it's vast and deep and all encompassing, it's safety in the surface of danger, it's trusting the unruly abyss and yet I'd gladly risk drowning just to feel what it's like being loved by you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[ Phil Coulson ]

... and [ Stephen Strange ]

DEEP STAINING RED

Ripped out confessions, warm velvety whispers and a heart like an open wound. Your love flows out like dripping blood, beautiful, flawed and twisted. It's gut wrenching, the type of painfully dramatic feeling that makes you clutch your chest, picturing dramatic monologues about love and loving and big screen over the top scenes of sobbing into your pillow until you fall asleep. It rips out of you, clawing it's way up your throat more so than tumbling out. Sticky words that just need to be let out, feelings so big they don't fit inside you. Your love isn't easy, it's a true bloody mess, dripping and staining everything it touches in a desperate attempt to be seen, to be felt, to be loved back. And you, you love so hard, so deeply, so much for someone who carries all that pain. Atlas holding up the world, how are you? Is your love still flowing? Is your heart still open? Still pumping and bleeding and dripping with blood and tears? Still painting your beautiful pictures and writing your love letters in deeply personal red ink? Because I see them, I read them, I love them and you, you, you, you. Clench your chest, scream your love, cry it out. Spill your words of loving, keep your heart beating, keep your love coming and paint the entire world red with it. Make it in your image, keep going, it's okay. Maybe one day the whole world can be red and loved and beautiful just like you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[ Groot ]

... and [ Peter Parker / Spider-Man ]

SOFT FRESH GREEN

Nice breeze, bare feet and freshly cut grass. Your love is a lighthearted hope for the future. It's protecting your eyes from the sun but enjoying the light rays still, it's laying on the grass and feeling it tickle your neck. You look to the side and they look back at you, full of hope and plans too. You plan together and laugh all day and your sunburn will feel like them. Your love is delicate, hesitant. A well curated binder full of collages for a future you can't be sure will come, but you keep going, you keep planning, you keep squinting at the sun and smiling, and running your hands through the grass so it will smell better. You keep holding onto the bright sky even as the sunsets, even as the starry night stares back. But you keep on holding, you keep on dreaming, you close your eyes and feel the sun on your skin and convince yourself that the sunburn is good, it's something to hold on to, just makes it linger a bit longer. Your love is a lighthearted hope for the future. It's sweet and wonderful and it keeps love alive, makes the world a better place. You run your hands through the grass, clench your fingers tighter and keep making plans. And I can only thank you and hope I can learn to love like you someday.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[ Eddie Brock / Venom ]

... and [ Vision ]

WARM BURNT ORANGE

Riding off into the sunset, the hope of a happy ending, the bitter after taste that still in it's own way smells kinda great. Your love is all bitter hopefulness, all about a broken heart that refuses to quit, all about the unshakable knowledge that a burning fire has a great comforting warm and a soft glowing light, all about the way when the sun comes down there's a beautiful starry night. It's stubbornness, it's the refusal to give up, the clutching of broken shards despite the searing pain and being adamant that dammit you can still make a beautiful stained glass window out of it. Yours is a screaming heart, a pleading love, a bitter and almost belligerent hopefulness that things will still work out even if you have to roll up your sleeves and make them. And god, aren't you tired? Isn't your heart heavy? Is all your hard work worth it? Don't you just want to curl up and let it be? Let the fire turn to ashes and the sky turn dark and let love die down and watch people leave? But you don't, do you? You're the bravest out of all of us, so you pick up the pieces and you keep going, you keep believing and you keep your heart full of hope because some day. Some day you know you'll get it. You keep riding off into the sunset and you keep filling my heart with hope as you go because god, how do I wish you finally get it too.

[faerune]

— OC’S LOVE AS COLORS

Tagged by @corvosattano​ and @leviiackrman​! Thank you, dears 💗

Tagging: anyone who hasn’t done this because I’m so, so late :’)

DARK STORMY BLUE

Sinking ships, raging seas and tumultuous hearts, love isn't easy for you. It's a struggle, a constant inner fight of should I? Can I? Do I? Feelings are hard and they rumble inside you in a dissatisfied mess that begs to be let out. Your heart screams and cries inside you and you... You can't, you won't. You're scared. And love is scary, it's hard and sometimes it just doesn't work out. People leave, people hurt, people change their minds. And you and your cold stormy heart yearn for the calmness, for the distance, to be allowed and able to simply not feel. And yet, you do. It rages, it fights and storms inside you and you try to keep it down, keep it quiet, to feel pretending not to. It's the burn of childhood friends growing apart, of parents that aren't quite there, of relationships that burn out. So you snuff it down with water, cold and calming and blue, blue, blue. But being loved by you is blue too, just not in that way. It's the soothing, embracing feeling of floating, the moment when you sink down bellow the waves and become one with the water, with everything. It's the balance, the dramatic yet calming sound of waves that crash against a rocky shore. You're the good and the bad, the violence of the storm and the watery peace right after. You're the blue, blue feeling and loving you is watery tears, yelled confessions that no one will hear and burying your feelings in a deep watery grave never to be found out about. Your love is dark stormy blue, it's vast and deep and all encompassing, it's safety in the surface of danger, it's trusting the unruly abyss and yet I'd gladly risk drowning just to feel what it's like being loved by you.

DEEP STAINING RED

Ripped out confessions, warm velvety whispers and a heart like an open wound. Your love flows out like dripping blood, beautiful, flawed and twisted. It's gut wrenching, the type of painfully dramatic feeling that makes you clutch your chest, picturing dramatic monologues about love and loving and big screen over the top scenes of sobbing into your pillow until you fall asleep. It rips out of you, clawing it's way up your throat more so than tumbling out. Sticky words that just need to be let out, feelings so big they don't fit inside you. Your love isn't easy, it's a true bloody mess, dripping and staining everything it touches in a desperate attempt to be seen, to be felt, to be loved back. And you, you love so hard, so deeply, so much for someone who carries all that pain. Atlas holding up the world, how are you? Is your love still flowing? Is your heart still open? Still pumping and bleeding and dripping with blood and tears? Still painting your beautiful pictures and writing your love letters in deeply personal red ink? Because I see them, I read them, I love them and you, you, you, you. Clench your chest, scream your love, cry it out. Spill your words of loving, keep your heart beating, keep your love coming and paint the entire world red with it. Make it in your image, keep going, it's okay. Maybe one day the whole world can be red and loved and beautiful just like you.

[readingis-fundemental]

Hi! I got my left by the love of my life and i think i want to stay into tarot. i kept this deck for a reason yknow. i dont believe in shit like that really, but i do? like sometimes, sometimes shit was supposed to happen a certain way. idk. im figuring out myself ig

ive done one spread for myself since he left, a couple days ago. it was. idk lol. but it definitely made me realize i feel something with tarot. and if im going go make it in this life, i need to make shit my own. i need to do things in my own way and make them things that work for me and are things that fit my life. right?

i found a tarot spread about deck bonding, but i reread it and i dont like it anymore. so i made myself one, but its quite involved.

1: My reading style

2: Deck's style of telling/showing

3: How I perceive the world

4: How the deck perceives the world

5: What are my goals with tarot?

6: What does the deck do best?

7: Something to keep in mind about me

8: Something to keep in mind about the deck

1: 7 of Cups

My deck shows a very "head in the clouds" figure. Its a woman whose hair is literally the clouds fully becoming the background. Each of the 7 floating cups hold some different fantastical thing: dragons, magic, poison (?), riches. theres also what looks like a theatre mask (art?) and a castle which to me is safety.

My initial thoughts were leaning toward intuition i guess, creativity and deep thinking. After reading the description, it makes more sense.

"indicates that you are a dreamer who is both excited and afraid of the things that you see in your unconscious." this definitely tracks. with my own thoughts but also how i feel about tarot. its exciting and scary and amazing and im so in awe yet so skeptical.

"although it is good to have dreams and wishes, it is even better to take action attaining those dreams." this is just life advice. but i think it pertains to the tarot. i need to actually do things tho, not just plan or avoid them.

2: 4 of swords

based on my last reading when i pulled this card, my first thought was "detatched". looking at it again, it feels a lot more serene and relaxed.

its of a stone grave? with a woman either statue or stone corpse or something resting. shes clearly in a forest under the night sky, with vines growing around her and a single bright star behind the trees.

it does feel detatched, but not hurtfully so. not coldly, just like above it all almost.

the description refers to a "quiet environment, away from it all" and thats definitely the earthly, grounding vibe if the deck. it also says "It is time to re-evaluate, organize and understand your priorities" and i like that. thats a good perspective.

3: 2 of wands

the imagery is of someone staring out iver the ocean, holding a globe in his hand. hes holding a staff in his other hand and the other hands on the wall. at first i felt it was arrogance, but i think its more wanderlust. more wistful. maybe some feelings of insignificance. the world is so big. those all make sense for my perception of the world.

the description talks about planning, about goals and moving forward. i like this part, "it means stepping out of your cocoon and exploring new experiences and worlds. While the beginning might seem tough and difficult, your encouraged to strive on and push forward." thats the outlook im trying have. maybe thats my decided goal.

4: 9 of swords (reversed)

9 swords hang in the wall behind a person sobbing in bed, hiding their face. its dark. its depressing, its miserable and sad.

the description says that, reversed, this is about finding light in the dark. about pushing through the hard shit or failing hard. real shit

5: 9 of wands (reversed)

upsidedown, this card seemed darker than it is. its of a man having planted his staves in the ground, resting on the last one. he has some kinda look on his face i cant determine. he seems proud and accomplished but also concerned and tired.

i feel like this could be knowing what i want my goals to be, but being apprehensive of the journey. of being so tired of the work ive put in. thats less tarot alligned tho, and its reversed. so maybe being apprehensive of tarot, of feeling the ties to where it came from. of being wary of the road ahead.

noticing a theme here of needing to get over shit lol. of situations that need to change, of me needing to take action. i am afraid, and i am very much teetering on isolation. but im hoping tarot helps me see other ways out. sees other perspectives on things. gives me a suggestion of what to do, where to go. becahse im very lost

6: 10 of cups (reversed)

the card shows a portrait of a family smiling happily in front of their home. their framed by a rainbow coming from the 10 cups framing the bottom, and clouds make up a background. idealistic.

it being reversed feels like fleeping dreams into reality. dragging shit out of the clouds. this isnt a real family, its a dream.

the description is geared socially, but i think it proves my thought. it talks about the breaking of fantasies. of realizing reality. i need that.

7: Judgement

Damn lol.

The card shows a woman bursting out from a cauldron, engulfed in flames and surrounded by a phoenix. interesting for judgement, as this feels very changing and growth and evolution. literally rising frim the flames.

but its the judgement card. i can be judgey. im thrown by this card. i wish i had the descriptions that matched the deck. id love it for this one specifically.

its more about reflection, introspection than judgement. i like this line "It is through self-reflection that we can have a clearer and objective understanding about where we are now, and what we need to do in order to grow as humans."

also this: "You may have to let go of the past, so you can move forward with your plans to have a new life" yeah. i know. i need to remember that

8: 2 of swords

a woman sits over the sea, seeming stuck on a stone pillar. shes blindfolded and looks cold and confined. she holds two swords, crossing them over herself. she looks like shed die trying ti make it out. determined, worn but planning her escape.

the description talks about chooce. about the awful limbo between, the stress of choosing. of being unable to see thst evrrything is rught there. her hands arent tied, is she keeping herself blindfolded? did she blindfold herself?

it also talks about "two equal and opposing forces" and i wonder if that's me and the deck?

[calamitus]

what color does your love feel like ?

DAN HENG: DARK STORMY BLUE.

sinking ships, raging seas and tumultuous hearts, love isn't easy for you. it's a struggle, a constant inner fight of ' should i? can i? do i? ' feelings are hard and they rumble inside you in a dissatisfied mess that begs to be let out. your heart screams and cries inside you and you... you can't, you won't. you're scared. and love is scary, it's hard and sometimes it just doesn't work out. people leave, people hurt, people change their minds. and you and your cold stormy heart yearn for the calmness, for the distance, to be allowed and able to simply not feel. and yet, you do. it rages, it fights and storms inside you and you try to keep it down, keep it quiet, to feel pretending not to. it's the burn of childhood friends growing apart, of parents that aren't quite there, of relationships that burn out. so you snuff it down with water, cold and calming and blue, blue, blue. but being loved by you is blue too, just not in that way. it's the soothing, embracing feeling of floating, the moment when you sink down bellow the waves and become one with the water, with everything. it's the balance, the dramatic yet calming sound of waves that crash against a rocky shore. you're the good and the bad, the violence of the storm and the watery peace right after. you're the blue, blue feeling and loving you is watery tears, yelled confessions that no one will hear and burying your feelings in a deep watery grave never to be found out about. your love is dark stormy blue, it's vast and deep and all encompassing, it's safety in the surface of danger, it's trusting the unruly abyss and yet i'd gladly risk drowning just to feel what it's like being loved by you.

TAISHAKUTEN: DEEP STAINING RED.

ripped out confessions, warm velvety whispers and a heart like an open wound. your love flows out like dripping blood, beautiful, flawed & twisted. It's gut wrenching, the type of painfully dramatic feeling that makes you clutch your chest, picturing dramatic monologues about love and loving and big screen over the top scenes of sobbing into your pillow until you fall asleep. it rips out of you, clawing it's way up your throat more so than tumbling out. sticky words that just need to be let out, feelings so big they don't fit inside you. your love isn't easy, it's a true bloody mess, dripping and staining everything it touches in a desperate attempt to be seen, to be felt, to be loved back. and you, you love so hard, so deeply, so much for someone who carries all that pain. atlas holding up the world, how are you? is your love still flowing? is your heart still open? still pumping and bleeding and dripping with blood and tears? still painting your beautiful pictures and writing your love letters in deeply personal red ink? because i see them, i read them, i love them and you, you, you, you. clench your chest, scream your love, cry it out. spill your words of loving, keep your heart beating, keep your love coming and paint the entire world red with it. make it in your image, keep going, it's okay. maybe one day the whole world can be red and loved and beautiful just like you.

[metalbuckaroo]

Mafia Bucky and prompts “seeing you between my legs is so hot” and “I may have left some marks”

Mafia!Bucky can have my heart if he wants it

Warnings: a slight, teeny tiny mention of violence, smut, cursing, oral (m receiving) minors dni

Bucky had been working on his temper. Though, he never did have a short fuse and was usually able to stay level headed. He wanted to be better and the man who was holding a hand over his bleeding nose and mouth in the middle of Bucky's office, took him three steps back.

He let out an aggravated groan, grabbing a cloth from the drawer of his desk to wipe his right hand clean. "Deal with that." Bucky ordered to one of his men.

He slipped his suit jacket off and dropped it on the blood stain that tainted the grey carpet. You'd be there any moment and he didn't have time to deal with it.

Just as he sat in his desk chair, the doorknob turned. "Hey, babydoll." He said with a soft smile that melted your heart. "Everything okay in here?" You asked, glancing down at the suit jacket on the floor as you made your way to him.

"Is now, c'mere." Bucky tugged you onto his lap, thick, contrasting arms of metal and flesh circling your waist as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. "How was your day?" You asked, letting your hand rest on the back of his neck.

He started muttering about the man and what had happened. How he tried but as soon as the man saw your picture on the corner of Bucky's desk he made the wrong comment that made Bucky feel like the man was objectifying you.

It was his favorite picture from a beach trip a few months before, so he hated to have to move it. Captured perfectly of you with a gleaming smile plastered on your face, wearing a sundress that ended up torn on the floor of the hotel room hours later.

"You need to relax, Buck." You sighed, feeling his lips brush the side of your neck. "I am relaxed." He grumbled like a child.

Shifting around you fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. "Want me to help?" You asked, popping the first one open as he lifted his head to rest against the back of the chair. "Do you even need to ask?"

You gave him a smile and moved to stand on your knees between his parted thighs, Bucky watching you with dark, lust filled eyes as you kissed the exposed skin with each button that was undone.

Letting his nimble fingers undo his belt and fastening to his pants, you gently massaged the tops of his toned thighs as his hand dipped under his waistband; wetting your lips when he pulled his throbbing erection from the constricting fabric.

Bucky let out a low groan when you flicked you tongue over his leaking tip, already becoming putty in your hands from the simple action. "Seeing you between my legs is so hot." He huffed, a gravely moan pulling itself from his throat as you took his swollen head into your mouth.

"More, take more, sweet girl." Bucky moaned, bucking his hips into the welcoming warmth.

Bracing yourself with your hands on his thighs, you position yourself so you can take him further; swallowing him to the base. "God, I don't know how you fit me in that pretty little mouth. But it feels fucking amazing." He purred, metal hand tangling in the back of your hair.

You hummed around him, earning another thrust of his hips and pleasured sigh before you were being pulled off of him. "I wasn't-" A soft yelp cut you off from the sudden movement of being lifted onto his desk.

"Love stuffing your mouth, but I wanna fill you up, babygirl." Bucky said, hands palming up the sides of your skirt to pull your underwear off in a haste.

He slotted himself between your legs, hands wrapping around your calves to pull you closer to the edge of the desk; his lips engulfing yours in a messy, lust filled kiss as he buried inside you.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sudden intrusion, not having much time to adjust to his thickness when his hips rolled into yours at an erratic pace.

"Bucky-" You whimpered, arms hooking under his to hold his shoulder blades, nuzzling your face into his neck to muffle the moans and whines he caused.

Bucky did the opposite, letting the vulgar sounds fill the air freely as he bit and sucked marks into your neck, angling his hips up to fuck into the rough patch in the back of your pussy. "No one can hear, babydoll. Be as loud as you want."

The gravely moan that rumbled from his chest was nearly pornographic when your clenched around him, hips stuttering for a moment before he found his rhythm again; grip on your waist tightening. "Make a mess on my cock, sweetheart." He panted, nudging your jaw with his nose as you bit your bottom lip harshly.

Bucky slipped his hand to your clit, pressing sloppy circles to match the ruthless pace that made your head spin. "Louder, baby. C'mon, I need it." He nearly whined, needing every sound and reaction he could get to replace the thought of another man thinking of you.

Your jaw went slack, moans and pants spilling out as you release around him.

Bucky was nearing his own high, gripping onto your thighs with a force that would surely bruise; the swirling in his stomach growing stronger from the whines you made before his head snapped to the opening door.

His hips still against yours, a cold glare being sent to someone behind you. "Can I fucking help you?" Bucky sneered, your eyes blinking open as your breathing started to slow.

The man quickly averted his gaze from the vulgar scene unfolding on Bucky's desk and cleared his throat. "I figured- you- you usually lock the door. There's some urgent business." He stuttered out, trying to keep his eyes on the carpet and not how you were clinging to the front of Bucky.

"More urgent than what I'm doing right now?" Bucky snarked, biting back a groan at how your walls fluttered around him when he shifted slightly. "Of course not, sir."

"Then get the hell out, I'm busy." The man quickly nodded and rushed out of the door.

You looked at Bucky through your eyelashes, the hard look on his face softening when his eyes flicked back to you. "Where was I, sweet girl?" He hummed, nipping your bottom lip. "Lay back."

Nodding, you leaned back on your elbows, throwing your head back in a moan when he returned to his rough, steady pace.

His hands pressed flat against the wood of the desk, trying to pull another orgasm from you before bringing on his own.

You could feel the pressure building again, higher and higher with each punishing snap of his hips. "Please, Bucky, so close." You all but sobbed. "I know, sugar. Cum again for me."

He groped at your chest, hips stuttering and thrusts growing sloppy when you did, your thighs quivering against his sides.

A choked grunt tore from Bucky's throat, spilling into your velvety walls.

A satisfied smirk graced his face when he noticed the blossoming hickies on the side of your neck, both of your chests heaving and skin coated in a thin layer of sweat. "I may have left some marks."

[ieatsuffering]

‼️Ok so some obvious trigger warnings ahead‼️

❗️tw: Graphic depictions of suicide and death❗️

If you are struggling with this please seek help!

Suicide hotline: tel:+18002738255

So the game plan is to have an Mc with poor mental health, express their su*icidal thoughts to the Li’s, then get found unconscious from an ob, with both a good and bad end! I can do this!

**Lmao I’ve tried writing this for so long but I ran into some major writers block so all I could get out was Asra and Julian**

Asra

He knows somethings wrong, he can feel it with your shared heart

You’re just not your self, random fits of crying, spacing out constantly, not eat, spending whole days just laying in bed staring at the ceiling. Even the things you once loved bring you no joy.

It tears him apart to see you like this, an empty shell of who you used to be

He tries so hard to help you, to cheer you up and care for you, but nothing helps

He can feel your pain

One morning he lays with you in bed as you stare into nothingness. “How are you feeling today Mc, do you want to go for walk?”

“Asra...” you start to speak not looking at him “... I want to die...”

His blood runs cold

“I’m sorry Mc, I don’t think I heard you right...”

“Life just feels pointless, I’m done”

He can’t swallow the lump in his throat, his pulse is in his ears. This must be a bad dream

“I’m so sorry Mc...” he cries, it’s all he can do. Just hold you and cry

After you two manage to calm down and have a long talk he’s determined to heal you

He’s nose deep in spell books, never leaving you side desperately searching for something that may help you

Slowly with his support you start to do better, crying less, moving around more. Things start to go back to normal

Or so he thought

One night while he’s out visiting Muriel he suddenly feels this deep blinding pain in his heart.

“Friend?” Faust ask

Asra blots back to shop shop with heart in his throat runnings as fast as he can tripping over his own feet

“Mc!” He call your name as he busts through the shop door

When you don’t answer he freezes

Not again gods please no not again

Slower now he makes his way to your shared bedroom

There he finds you still and motionless on the your bed purple faces with foam bubbling out of you mouth clutching an empty bottle

Asra good ending

With out even thinking he rushes to your side pressing an ear to you chest, he almost breaks down when he hears the slow faint beat of your heart

He’s not too late

Asra springs into action pouring all of his magic into the most potent healing spell he knows

You jolt up right vomiting the potion as the magic forces you to purge it from your system

Both you and Asra are weak and shaking as you lay together

You’re barley conscious but alive

Once again you’re under asras constent watch however this time instead of trying to help you himself he reaches out to Nadia and Julian

With their help he’s able to get you on a medication for you’re mental health

Slowly but surely you start to be your best self again

Asra bad end

With out even thinking he rushes to your side pressing an ear to you chest, but there’s nothing. You’re pulse has stopped

He’s to late

He just lays there hoping you’re heart will start again

He’s in shock

How could this happen again he lost so much to have you back

He just lays there with you as your body grows cold

Until Faust leads Muriel leads to him holding your corpse

He won’t let you go he can’t. If he lets go you’re truly gone forever

Faust finds Nadia and Julian, it takes all of them to separate Asra from you

They all sit in the floor and hold him as guards come and take your body away for burial

Nadia makes sure you have a grand funeral, that you and Asra get the goodbye you deserve

He keeps up a strong front but Muriel knows, he won’t let Asra out of his sight

Between Muriel, his parents, Faust, and your friends everyone takes turns making sure Asra is never alone, no one wants to loose him too

He never truly heals always looking for someway he can give what’s left of his heart to have you back

Julian

He may ignore his problems but he’s very sensitive to others emotions

Between his own experience with depression and working with soldiers, he’s very informed on mental illnesses. PTSD, general anxiety disorder, depression, substance abuse... he’s seen it all

Out of everyone he knows how to help you the best

He’s seen suicide on countless occasions, he knows to signs

You haven’t expressed your suicidal thoughts to him yet, you don’t have to

He’s already watching you like a hawk, constantly by your side. When he can’t be with you he has people he trust watch you.

Of course he doesn’t tell them why just that your feeling down and he’s worried about leaving you alone

On day while he’s working at the clinic he has you spend the day at the palace which is usually the safest place for you between Nadia and Portia

Today however the palace was in chaos. Portia was running around as Nadia is in and out of meetings. You’ll be fine for a few minutes right?

Julian’s face looses it color as he starts to panic when neither Portia or Nadia know where you are when he goes to bring you home

The look on his face is all they need to know that something is gravely wrong

Nadia orders everyone in the palace to search for you and Portia follows with Julian as he runs through the halls screaming your name

Mercedes and Malachoir run up to him howling and crying. Portia tried to chase them off but they nip and bark at julians coat trying to get him to follow

The dogs lead him to a locked pantry in the kitchen

Portia turns to fetch the keys but Julian throughs himself at the door until he breaks it open

There he finds you laying on the pantry floor in a pool of blood with a knife you had grabbed from the kitchen

Julian good ending

He switches in to war surgeon mode rushing to your side to assess the wound on your arm

In truth it was really a pool of blood, but your life was still in danger as the deep gouge on your arm continued to spout blood

He rips his jacket into strips and calls to Portia to bring him wooden spoons for a make shift tourniquet

He uses the rest for the strips as a bandage your arm

He shouts orders to the servants to starilize a room and to fetch the things he needs to mend your arm

Even after he has your arm stitches up and is certain you’re not in any immediate danger , he stays calm and vigilant

Like a machine he cleans your wound, changes your bandages, and makes sure you don’t develop a fever

It isn’t until you come to that he let’s himself break down

He throughs himself around you holding you tight

He cries and screams in agony but also in relief. Heartbroken and furious that you would try to leave him but relived that this time he was there to save you

After this he never really trusts to leave you alone even years after when you’re healed he’ll still get anxious if he doesn’t know where you are

Julian bad end

He goes into war surgeon mode rushing to your side

He can tell it’s to late, he’s seen enough people bleed out in his life to know how much blood is too much

But he won’t let himself believe it. He was too busy the first time you died to save you he couldn’t let it happen again. He couldn’t loose you again because he couldn’t be bothered to care for you

Despite it being a hopeless effort he applies pressure to the gushing wound as your body grows cold

“Come on darling please you can’t leave me”

His hand are shacking covered in your blood

“Nononononono...please.... PLEASE... MC NO DONT LEAVE ME!”

Portia knees to his side placing a gentle hand in his shoulder, “Ilyushka, she’s gone”

He lets out a chocked sob holding your stiff body covered in you blood

He manages to stay strong just long enough to attend your funeral

But the moment they put the last bit of dirt on your grave he’s a wreck

He spends all day in bed and all night wasted getting into fights hoping someone and one will put him out of his misery

One night after getting into a fight with an especially rowdy thug he gets his wish