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cuubism · 1 day

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Hope for the Future

~2k, Dreamling, 1589 era, post-Eleanor's death, dream conversations and revelations. cw death in childbirth

Dream and Hob meet at Eleanor's deathbed, in a fashion.

Ages ago I wrote Patron Saint, a fic about Hob's friendship with Death. For a while I wanted to write a companion piece from Dream's POV since Dreamling is a background ship in that fic but their trajectory is different from canon. But lbr it's been 2 years and I haven't done that-- early on, though, I did write one scene from Dream's POV because I wanted to flesh out a potential moment that Death mulls on in Patron Saint, when she was visiting Hob after Eleanor and the baby died:

“So many babies die,” Hob says. “Mothers, too, I—” he runs a hand through greasy, disheveled hair. “Do you think it will be better in the future? Because I haven’t seen that much improved. Not in my time.” “I imagine so, yes,” Death says. Dream would be able to answer this question for him better. Dream would be able to tell him what doctors might be imagining solutions to the problem, what midwives were dreaming of new ways to care for their charges. Hope for the future is Dream’s business, whether he accepts it or not. She wishes Dream were here. She has a strong feeling Hob would find even his stoic pretense at apathy comforting. Caring for others is strange like that.

Anyway I wanted that scene, I wrote that scene, I didn't write anything else to flesh out a companion piece but I think it stands on its own and can be understood even without reading the original fic.

Dream would assert that he did not care about Hob Gadling. He was not interested in Hob Gadling, beyond a passing curiosity in his approach to humanity, sated every hundred years. He was certainly not thinking about Hob Gadling, or his wife and small child and knighthood and other life goals he’d managed to accrue in this century.

And yet, as he felt a particularly vicious nightmare go for Hob in his sleep, not long after their last meeting, he took note.

He wasn’t sure why he took note. Perhaps because Hob had been on such a disgusting high last they’d met, it seemed strange for this to happen now. Perhaps because he knew this nightmare particularly well, had crafted it from deep in his own soul, as he so rarely did.

He followed the thread of the nightmare.

Hob was running. Both from and after something at once. A darkness chased him. And another darkness retreated from him.

“Wait!” he yelled, reaching for it. Smoke slipped through his hands. Hob heaved for breath, stumbling to a stop as he ran out of air. He leaned on his knees, panting and coughing. “Wait,” he sobbed, but the darkness did not wait.

The other wave of darkness caught him, knocking him off his feet so he sprawled on the ground, hands scraping on the dirt. It didn’t attack him, just hovered over him like a blanket of fog, blocking the meager light.

“You weren’t supposed to go,” Hob said into the darkness. It didn’t reply.

It was not an unreasonable nightmare for a father to have, Dream knew well enough. But the sharpness of those dark shadows – this nightmare was not pure fiction. It was drawing more from memory than he’d thought.

“Enough of this drama,” he commanded the nightmare. “Show me the truth of things.”

The scene of darkness faded to reveal an ordinary, if well-appointed bedroom. An air of sickness hovered, and death also – Dream could feel the echo of his sister near.

A sickly woman, heavily pregnant, lay in the bed, and it was she that Dream knew was calling Death forth. She, and the tiny baby cradled in her womb, not quite ready to be born, and now would never be.

And Hob – not dying, he couldn’t, but he looked about as close to it as a man could come. Ashen, shaky, trembling.

“I love you,” he was saying, kissing Eleanor’s hand. “You know?”

This was still a dream, and this had all already occurred, Dream knew. There was nothing he could do here, not that he would. He turned to go, feeling stiff and cold in a way he decidedly did not like, when Hob looked up, and saw him.

Dream had not meant to be seen.

“My friend,” said Hob, surprise temporarily wiping the grief from his features. “You’re here.”

“I… am,” Dream conceded, and, drawn in despite himself, sat in a chair beside Hob.

“I’m grateful for it,” said Hob. Dream didn’t know what he could possibly be providing that Hob was grateful for. Then, “There’s no hope, is there? I mean. I don’t know why I’d think you would know.”

Dream looked at the mother and baby before him. Hob had called him friend. A friend, he thought, would tell Hob that there was always hope. But that was not what Dream believed.

“I do not think so,” he said. “I am… sorry.”

Hob sighed. He was still holding Eleanor’s hand. “I have to tell you, I– whatever I might’ve said to you at our last meeting, I’m struggling to feel any of it right now.”

“That is understandable.” More understandable, Dream thought, than his declaration of Life is rich! that Dream had found so hard to swallow.

“I’ve known others who’ve lost wives, children,” Hob said, and Dream looked down. Hob would have no way of knowing who those others might have included. “But I guess I always thought, not me, never me, never my Eleanor. Not until she was old and gray, anyway. But I guess everyone thinks that, don’t they?”

“Perhaps.” Dream thought he himself had always known the cost would come due. Destiny might have said that was one of the reasons it did come due. You make your own end. But that would not help Hob.

“It’s got to get better,” Hob asserted. “It’s got to. It’s got to stop some day, doesn’t it? All these children, and mothers dying.”

The instinct to sneer at his optimism jumped up Dream’s throat, but he managed to bite it off. He did not want to be… cruel, he realized, to someone who was suffering. Especially within a dream; dreamers’ minds were not for him to subject to his own feelings.

“In Guangzhou,” he started slowly, the dreams coming to him like a light rainfall, “there is a doctor who has just crafted a new medicine to ease pain during childbirth. She has been dreaming of it for years. In Oyo, a healer is learning to tell earlier and earlier when a pregnancy is troubled, that they might intervene in time. A few months more, and they will have it. And down the street, here in London, a midwife is just planting the seeds for the hospital she will open to help unwed mothers with nowhere to turn.”

Hob stared at him. He seemed to be holding his breath.

“Dreamers abound,” Dream said, “but it takes time for their work to come to fruition.”

Hob continued to watch him. Something shifted in his eyes, as he looked at Dream. Dream wasn’t certain he liked it.

“You know everything, don’t you?” Hob said.

“Not everything.”

“You know all of that,” Hob mused, “all these things that are happening. And… you still come to ask me if I wish to live?”

Dream bristled, and Hob raised his hands in surrender. “Never mind, never mind, forget I said anything. You’re entitled to your own feelings on the matter. Thank you, for those stories. It helps. Truly. And I’m glad that I’ll get to see it. One day.”

“‘One day,’” Dream echoed. “‘One day’ is a time when no children die and no famine walks the earth, when soldiers break their swords before the fight, and later bread with their enemies. One day is always one step into the future, Hob Gadling. Ever-moving.”

“Aye,” said Hob. “That’s the point.”

Dream frowned. What pleasure could be derived from wanting and wanting, and never having, he could not fathom. He had crafted nightmares thus. What hope to find in hope itself continually being dashed?

“I look forward to seeing you every century, you know that?” Hob added. “No matter what else happens. Bad days, or good ones.”

Dream kept frowning, unsure of the connection.

“It’s important to have those things,” Hob said. He squeezed Eleanor’s still hand. “Even now. Especially now.”

In Dream’s own… aftermath… he could not imagine finding comfort in anything. What help could some nebulous future date possibly be?

“If that is what helps you,” he said.

Hob cast him a look like he just knew that Dream didn’t get it, and it rankled. But there was no true criticism in that look. Hob looked at him with an unfathomable fondness, always.

He turned back to Eleanor, just gazing at her face with an expression Dream found difficult to witness in its softness. Were this the waking world, she would have certainly passed by now. But moments could freeze indefinitely in the Dreaming.

“Do you think I’ll forget her?” Hob asked quietly, still looking at his wife. “The details of her face, I mean? Her voice? What she smelled like? My memory’s far from perfect, and there’s a lot of time for it to fade.”

Dream knew without having to actively make the vow to himself that he would be sending frequent dreams Hob’s way to ensure he did not. He should not do so. He should not interfere.

But.

“There are some things one does not forget,” he said.

Hob swiped at his eyes. He was crying now. “S’pose you’re right.”

If Dream was any sort of friend – and he was not sure that he was, though Hob had declared him so – he would end this dream now and spare Hob any further torment of reliving this memory.

Instead, he sat beside him, far longer than he intended. Sat in silence, listened to Hob’s breaths, his sniffles as he cried, the subtle movements of continued life. He stayed in this sea of human endings and sickness and grief. With Hob. Something unnameable sitting heavier and heavier within him. And more than once he told himself to rise and to end the dream, and he did not.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Hob finally said, when much time had passed and they still sat side-by-side. And it was this that finally reminded Dream that he should not be.

“I should leave you,” he said, standing abruptly. “This dream is–”

“Wait.” Hob took his hand. Dream should– Dream should yank it away in offense. He should take his leave of Hob instantly for the familiarity, the daring.

He did not. He merely stood frozen as Hob pressed his hand between both of his own. His touch was very warm.

“Keep all those things in mind,” Hob said. His eyes still glittered with tears, but his words were steady. “Those infinite things you know about the world. Wherever you’re going.”

“I have much in mind at all times,” Dream told him. Hob had no idea how much.

Hob smiled at him sadly. “I’m sure. Just think about it, okay? Those doctors in those faraway places. Alright?”

Dream studied him, but gleaned no additional information from it. “Very well,” he said at last.

Hob squeezed his hand once more, then let him go.

A friend might comfort him again, in these circumstances. But Dream was not certain it was necessary. He could see in Hob, even now, the spine of a man who would not break, even when he was so far down.

It was… curious.

Hob bid him farewell, eyes just crinkling at the corners. “Until we meet again, dear stranger.”

Dream stepped back into the comforting arms of the Dreaming proper, discomfited by the moment in a way he could not quite pin down, and by his own willingness to stay and engage in it at all. To involve himself in Hob’s life in a way he had not intended.

“Until then, Hob Gadling,” he said, letting the scene dissolve around them, “this dream is over.”

#continuing to clean out WIPs and stuff that I'll probably never finish #this thing is so old #dreamling #patron saint #my writing #cw death in childbirth

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ragingbookdragon · 1 year

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How To Save A Life

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.5K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: Hi, I made a part 2 so no one would be sad :) -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It’s been a week since Price let them have leave after the mission, but no one left the base, most feel like they can’t. Price, being the saint he is, let them handle training for the new recruits instead of forcing them to leave. It’s easy work. Yelling at fresh meat is always something officers can do with perfection, whether it be to eat, shit, shower, or shave.

This time, it’s a meeting.

The meeting hall of the base is filled with chatter, laughter, and arguing. Multitudes of metal tables fill the floor. The officers of the 141 are sitting at a table of their own near the front, waiting for Price to start when the doors open and two men walk in flagged by a third.

“Admiral on deck!” One shouts.

Fifty men hit their feet at attention as the old man steps in behind the two, tucking his sunglasses into his breast pocket. The uniform he wears is old, World War Two old, they realize as they stare at him. He’s old and whitened, trimmed white hair and a mustache to go with it. His wrinkled hand wraps around a cane as he steps past, but it’s almost like he doesn’t even need it, legs still firm and strengthened.

He doesn’t give them the call to stand relieved, and the enlisted are looking to Price and the others for their next move; they’re still standing at attention. He’s old. Retired no doubt, and they don’t have to salute or stand at attention to him, but they’re not about to argue.

The old man walks past to the wall across the room and admires it. “‘Those Who Went Above and Beyond’,” he reads, whistling at the end. “Quite a few souls this task force has acquired.” He looks over their pictures before falling on the one that had joined a week before. “What a pretty dove,” he murmurs to himself, pulling the picture off the wall.

He walks over to a table and turns the photo face down, slamming it on the hard corner. Glass shatters on the front and everyone save the officers jump at the action. He snags the photo from the frame, letting it fall without care as he raises it in his hand, a woman in her enlisted uniform, barely out of the cusp of her adulthood.

“I tried to make her into a well-respected lady, but she never wanted to be anything but an officer.” His smile is prideful. “Went behind my back to enlist. Was madder than a hornet when I found out, but when I saw her in that uniform…I was never more proud.” He shows everyone the photo. “My granddaughter. The only surviving child of my only son. The woman I raised.”

They know her, all of them do. She’s the one who died last week.

His eyes don’t leave her face. “And someone here in this room is the someone she died for.” He finally scans the room. “I don’t know who he is. I don’t particularly care to know anything about him.”

For once in his life, Ghost wishes he wasn’t who he was.

“Ghost,” he says and all eyes in the room shift with a palpable force to the masked man at the front table. “Where are you.”

“Here, Admiral,” Ghost replies and the old man takes his time to get there, standing in front of him.

“What’s your rank, son?”

“Lieutenant, sir.”

“How many kills do you have to your name?”

“Over three-hundred.”

“Hmpf.” Ghost’s a giant compared to him, but he stares like he’s a foot tall. He raises the photo. “She talked about you. About the task force in her letters. Kept talking about a ghost in them. Could never figure out what she meant by it. But…I see now.” He puts the photo in front of his face. “Look at her, Ghost.”

And Ghost does. Follows the order, but wishes he could feel anything but the overwhelming regret.

“Have anything you wish you could’ve said to her?”

He does.

He has hundreds of things he could tell her.

Don’t die for me.

Die for something worth dying for.

He says nothing and the Admiral nods, turning the photo back to himself. “She was the light of my world. The hopes of all my pride and joy.” His smile is almost contagious. “They used to ask us what we were fighting for in the War. I had nothing. But if I’d had her back then, it would’ve been her.”

His hand dips into his pocket and he pulls something out, punching it through the top of the photo; a tack.

“And now I buried her. Shot dead in the asshole end of Russia by an enemy she had no business fighting. Dying for her superior. I wonder if she ever wished for a more honorable ending. I wonder if you tried to save her.”

“She died for you, Lieutenant. My little girl died for you.” He put the photo square in the center of Ghost’s chest and raised his fist, slamming it against the man. Ghost didn’t even flinch as the metal pierced his clothing, skin, and into the bone of his sternum. “Don’t you ever fucking forget it.”

He turns, walking back to the door and leaves without another word.

Price relieves them but no one even wants to move; they’re all still staring at Ghost.

And Ghost, Ghost doesn’t move from his attention, feels nothing but a three by five piece of paper burning itself into his chest. Something starts to feel too tight in his heart. Twisting so painfully that he can’t breathe. There are too many eyes on him, too many murmurs he can hear. He feels the heat on his hands, looks down finally at them and sees blood, he blinks, eyes widening as the world around them him shifts. Snow crunches under his boots as he looks up, sees her in the distance held in the arms of a man who looks awfully like him. He starts moving, feet carrying him in a sprint across the battlefield as puffs of white air escape through the mask. The man is shaking her, screaming at her to wake up, and he can’t breathe, hands outstretched for her as he slides to his knees. He touches her and—

***

Ghost shoots up with an audible gasp, lifting the mask above his mouth so he can suck in air into his deprived lungs. Sleep-filled eyes suddenly awake. He shudders as warm air fills his body and looks around the hospital room, at the monitor still steadily beeping along, the clean sheets on the bed, and the woman tucked in, quietly breathing as she sleeps.

He lets his shoulders fall in relief as he settles back into the uncomfortable hospital chair. He remembers now. Soap and Gaz taking out the shooter, Ghost calling in a rescue after she’d fallen unconscious. The chopper picking them up, keeping her stable until they arrived. The surgery. The survival.

She’s alive.

She’s still fucking alive.

Ghost takes a look at her, her expression calm; his hand moves on its own accord, gently brushing along her cheek. Her skin is warm under his fingers and he dips his hand down, laying it in the center of her chest. Her heart beats solidly beneath, strongly. Too stubborn to die, she’d muttered when they’d gotten her to the hospital.

He wishes he’d never hurt the heart beneath.

He’s so focused on the feeling of her beating beneath him to notice her eyes have opened. It’s the change in her breathing that alerts him and he looks up, doesn’t remove his palm as he meets her slitted gaze.

“How you feelin’, rookie?” he asks softly, and she merely smiles at him.

“Hey, LT…” she whispers, throat scratchy with cotton. His thumb brushes in a calming line and she adds, “Knew you liked me too.”

Ghost laughs, corners of his mouth pulling up as he smiles. He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t pull away from her either. He simply keeps his hand there and stares at her as she stares back, both smiling at each other.

“I’ll spend as long as it takes to repay you for saving my life.”

She shakes her head, or tries to and lifts a shaky hand, laying it atop his. “Take me out on a date…I’ll consider it even.”

He breathes deeply.

Ghost doesn’t know if he can trust himself to love.

Ghost doesn’t do love.

Ghost has never kept anyone close enough to attempt love.

But Simon Riley loves.

He stays with her all night. They talk as long as the medicine allows for her to stay awake until the periods where he simply watches her in silence. Protects her when she’s vulnerable. Simon feels the burn in his chest. The coldness of the dead organ beginning to de-freeze to live again. He’s scared. Unprepared for what’s to come with this. But something in there too feels like it’s been saved. He’s been saved.

And I would’ve stayed up with you all night, had I known how to save a life.

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aleksanderscult · 5 months

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Why do you hate Mal?

(TW!: verbal abuse! slut shaming! alcoholism!)

Well, long story short, he's a huge dick.

I could write three long metas about his toxicity and why I dislike him but I don't want to tire my fingers for him. 😑

Maybe because of his slut-shaming behaviour?

Oh and what is this? Ah yes, Mal being angry that Alina found happiness away from him:

I'm so sorry Mal that Alina wasn't tortured so you could feel okay. I'm so sorry that she didn't feel insecure enough to run back in your arms, needing you and depending on you like you always wanted for her.

You know, that's the thing with Mal. He did nothing to Alina.

Not when his "friend" was mocking her appearance (and yes this is serious for me because I too have a very thin body and people from my own family have mocked me for it. So it's no joke).

Not when she was apparently sad that he fucked around girls knowing that she knew.

He did literally nothing until Alina wanted to fuck the Darkling and showed interest for him.

(slut shaming her even here)

From then on he ✨magically✨ noticed her out of nowhere and he said that "now I see you".

BULLSHIT!!

According to Mal, it's okay if he fucks girls every other night but it's not okay when Alina wants to do it with a man that....I don't know. Supported her power and abilities maybe?

And he seems constantly so concerned that she has fucked him that he apparently doesn't care if she's truly okay.

What a normal person would say to Alina: "Are you okay? Did he hurt you? I'm sorry you had to go through this."

What Mal said to Alina: "FUCK TORTURE! DID HE FUCK YOU BY ANY CHANCE?!?!"

He's so unserious FR

That's his only concern. If Alina likes or fucked the Darkling (sometimes I wish she had done the latter just so I could see Mal's face after it).

Also! He's an extraordinary bad influence for Alina and her confidence! 😍

A few minutes ago, Alina decided to return to the Little Palace to lead. To do the right thing and stand in this war.

And now we have Mal threaten her: "If you go, I might not follow!!"

And that shattered Alina's confidence. Now she feels ashamed ("maybe he doesn't want me", "maybe he'll leave me") and after that passage when Mal exits the tent, Alina starts thinking "What am I doing? I'm no soldier, or Saint. How will I make it?"

Mal is an influence that constantly wears her down emotionally by making her doubt herself, making her have guilts and making her thoughts come back to him constantly ('cause he's always "What about me?? Think of me!! Look at how shit I feel!!").

Again, he makes the whole matter revolve around him.

There is a civil war ongoing and Mal is like "Okay, but what about me, Alina??!!?!"

LIKE BRO NOBODY GIVES TWO SHITS ABOUT YOU!! THERE ARE PEOPLE DYING HERE!!

And another toxic trait of his. Apparently, if a woman says "no" to him, it's unacceptable:

(The first passage is when Mal tried to kiss her but Alina saw the Darkling behind his back and the second one is when Alina saw Mal kissing Zoya, btw)

He gets angry for the fact that Alina withdrew from his attempted kiss. And apparently he "knows what that means" because every girl he had ever kissed was willing to him.

I'm sorry, Mal, for the fact that a girl changed her mind at the last minute.

If a girl changes her mind, then you must respect that. Not shout at her. NO MEANS NO, MAL.

Mal is that type of guy that throws you in bed, you kiss him and all, and at the last minute when you change your mind and don't want to go for it (for whatever reason the girl might have of course) he gets angry and says "BUT YOU SAID "YES" TWO MINUTES AGO!!!"

He gives me the ick for real, guys.

And, of course, his fury for Alina's power and status. Because, since she gained them, she's no longer depended on him.

Yes, people. Mal wanted to take out a piece of her soul essentially, so he could have her! Romantic!! 🤩🤩

Also, the fact that he was constantly looking like shit in S&S because he was drunk every night is also selfish of him. Mal was Alina's personal guard and protector. One of her three closest ones. By doing this, by having this behaviour, he gives a VERY bad image to Alina.

Imagine what the nobles would think if they saw him this way. The power of image is everything. Nikolai knew it. The Darkling knew it. Even Alina came to know it. By having one of your protectors drinking heavily all night, get into fights and look like shit makes Alina feel embarrassed for the image she gives to the other people. And she was actually in a very delicate position at that time, because she had to gain the trust of the King, his counselors and nobles. Mal should know better than embarrassing her.

Imagine if you were in a high position for the first time in your life, trying to make an impression so everything could go alright and, in the meanwhile, your guardian walks around drunk.

This is not good. In today's world, they fire such people from their work.

And all these bullshit from him in R&R saying "I told stories of you from your childhood so they could see the real Alina" is also bullshit. Bitch, if you wanted to do something good, look respectable for the part. If you want to cry and drink kvas 24/7 then resign, lock yourself up and do it. Don't embarrass your boss.

Also, Bardugo had said that after S&S she received a lot of negative comments about Mal's character. So it's no wonder she made him suddenly all "good" in R&R. She wanted to give reasons to the readers to like him and support his eventual marriage with Alina.

Anyways, I know people will say that the Darkling was no better but, guys...

This is not a competition. Of who is better or worse.

And just like another person had once said in this fandom "The Darkling represents a fairytale character while Mal reminds you of every jerk you've met in your life"

And it's a perfect quote to describe them.

The Darkling is the type of guy we all fall in love in fiction. A fantastical character that does bad deeds but still you swoon over.

While Mal is that asshole you met in high school treating you like shit. That boy you were seeing in corridors flirting with every girl he saw and being a fuckboy. That relationship you had that undermined your value.

Mal is a character that hits very close at home for the readers (with his actions and personality).

This post about him and M*lina explains my thoughts perfectly.

Go read it when you can, guys. It's an incredible mini meta.

#fuck that man #reminds me of a relationship my sister had with an asshole #so his character really hits close at home for me too #FUCK! HIM!#the Darkling should be redeemed by the very fact that he wanted to kill M*l #Aleksander + the readers 🤝 wanting to obliterate M*l's ass #anti mal oretsev #anti mal #anti malina #grishaverse #shadow and bone #siege and storm #ruin and rising #grishaverse trilogy #alina starkov #the darkling #pro darkling #aleksander morozova #pro aleksander morozova

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thebadgerclan · 1 year

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After

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x reader

Summary: After the Civil War, you carry on...

A/N: So based on something Jessie said during the red carpet premier, I’m 99% certain that Aleksander’s going to die this season, so here’s this

I also cried while writing the dream sequence in this

General Nazyalensky hated you. She never said it, but you knew why: you had been Kirigan’s wife, the object of his affections, the owner of his heart. And when the war had ended with your husband’s death, you had been pardoned. It had been Aleksander’s dying wish that you go on, that you keep fighting for your people, and you would do just that. If not for yourself, then for your Aleksander. You still remembered the first few days after the war, they were imprinted in your mind:

You were seated before the new King’s hastily assembled council, still in your bloody, singed, torn kefta. There was blood and dirt on your face, your hair was a mess, tear tracks cutting through the grime in your cheeks. “Y/N Morozova,” King Nikolai said, standing with his hands planted on the table. “As it is, you have been charged with high treason. We both know what the punishment for that is.” You did: death. “However, the Grisha are fractured, and I’m feeling merciful. So,” the King unfolded a piece of paper and slid it across the table to you.

It was a pardon, a royal decree: By order of His Most Royal Majesty, King Nikolai Lantsov, Grand Duke of Udova, Ruler of the Double Eagle Throne, Y/N Morozova is hereby pardoned from all crimes and offenses committed during the Ravkan Civil War. In exchange for this leniency, Vdova Morozova will take all reasonable efforts to bring the rogue Grisha to the Crown, as well as serve on His Majesty’s council as the advisor to the Grisha. Vdova Morozova, by accepting this pardon, swears loyalty and fealty to His Majesty, King Nikolai and all of his descendants and serve on their councils.

“You’re not going to kill me?” you’d asked, still in shock from everything that had happened. The King had sighed, pinching his brow. “As it turns out, you’re useful to us. And if Nazyalensky is going to be leading the Second Army with Genya and David, I’ll need an advisor. So no, I’m not going to kill you.” So here you were, almost 3 years later, an advisor to the Crown, alive, but not quite free.

Your pardon had been expertly worded: you would live for centuries thanks to the power your husband had gifted you, and King Nikolai had ensured your loyalty to he and his descendants. You’d succeeded in bringing Aleksander’s Grisha back to the Crown, something that did nothing to endear General Nazyalensky to you any further. They were traitors, she said, they deserved to die. But you, according to the Squaller, deserved to die more above anyone else. But you were under the King’s protection, thanks to your pardon, so there was nothing she could do but simmer in her hatred.

The General found you in the Royal Chapel, knelt at the altar, a strand of prayer beads in your hands. “I never took you for a pious woman,” she sneered, crossing her arms. You were silent for several minutes, crossing yourself as you rose. “I’m not. But if my husband is to be worshiped as a Saint, then I will pray to him.” You straightened the skirts of your black silk gown, both your husband’s color as well as the color of mourning, the color you’d worn every day since your husband’s death.

Zoya stepped closer to you. “So when that cult shows up at the gates, you’ll throw yourself into their arms? You’ll raise an army against the crown and commit treason once again?” You straightened yourself up, forcing yourself to be composed. “My loyalty is to King Nikolai and no one else. I can pray to a Saint and not follow the crazed followers of His cult.” “You say that now, but if those zealots show up, I guarantee you’ll be running to them, Vdova Morozova.” The use of your title, widow, was intentional, a reminder of what you’d lost, and it stung, even after all these years

“I would watch yourself, General,” you said. “I could very easily advise His Majesty to remove you from the Triumvirate. There are plenty of Etheralki who would be honored to take your place. Now, is there a reason you interrupted my prayer?” Zoya bristled, but nodded. “King Nikolai wishes to see you.” “Of course,” you replied, sweeping from the chapel without meeting her gaze.

“Moi tsar,” you said, curtseying when you entered the council chambers. “You called for me?” “Indeed. You’re a difficult woman to track down, Y/N. We searched half the Palace for you.” “I was in the chapel,” you replied, seating yourself at the table. “What can I do for you?” The King needed your council on how to implement the new training regimen for graduates of the Grisha school, which you handled with little difficulty.

When you were dismissed, you returned to your chambers, richly appointed chambers in the guest wing of the Grand Palace. There were two guards posted outside your door at all times, as much for your safety as they were there to ensure you didn’t try anything. But what would you try, anyway? You were a widow who ought to have been executed; instead, you were living in luxury, a seat on the King’s council. You were far more fortunate than you deserved to be.

As you dressed for bed, your eyes landed on the portrait from your wedding; you and Aleksander, wrapped in each other’s arms as you danced, eyes only for each other. Your heart ached, as it always did, and you climbed into bed, curling into yourself. Nights were the best part of your day; when you could slip into dreams and see your husband again. Maybe it was your subconscious giving you a shred of joy, maybe it was tour Sasha visiting you from the afterlife, you didn’t care, so long as you saw his beloved face.

You were in your rooms in the Little Palace, in your old bed, the black silk sheets cool against your naked body. The sun shone through the drapes, and you turned your face into your pillow. A strong arm wrapped around your middle and pulled you backwards into a warm chest. “Shh, go back to sleep, milaya.” Tears pricked in your eyes and you turned over, facing your darling husband.

“Aleksander,” you whispered, and he smiled, kissing your forehead. “My love, my beautiful, beautiful bride.” Tears fell, and Aleksander wiped them away. “Don’t cry, sweet love,” he soothed, kissing your forehead again. “I miss you so much,” you cried, pressing your face into his chest. “Sasha, I miss you.” “I’m right here, sweetheart. Right here.” You sniffled, and your husband held you tighter.

“But you’re not,” you said quietly. “You’re gone and I’m still here. Without you. I miss you so much, Aleksander, I miss you so much it hurts.” “Oh darling,” your husband cooed, gently coaxing your face from his chest. “I know. I miss you too, Y/N. But I’m still with you. Every day, I’m right there with you. You don’t see me, but I’m there.” Your body shuddered as you sobbed, and Aleksander held you, gently stroking your hair, kissing your forehead, telling you how much he loved you.

“You have to wake up now, sweetheart.” “I don’t want to,” you whispered. “I don’t want to leave you.” “I told you, darling, I’m always with you.” He kissed you then, long and sweet, as reluctant as you were to let you go.

When your eyes opened, you were back in the Grand Palace, your cheeks wet with tears. You managed to drag yourself from bed and prepare for the day, scrubbing your face and pulling on another of your plain black gowns. As you made your way to the King’s council chambers, you noticed a shadow in the corner twist, and as you continued, you saw it trailing along the baseboard. Tears pricked at your eyes, but they were happy tears, knowing that your Aleksander was still with you. Even though you couldn’t see him, he was at your side, and so long as he was there, you could carry on.

#aleksander morozova x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #the darkling x reader #general kirigan x reader #shadow and bone reader insert

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lastflowerofyourhouse · 5 months

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tonight i bring you, a scene from a fic entitled The Saint of Awe is not Unmerciful.

i do still plan to publish it at some point, but it needs quite a bit of revising and editing. and honestly, this scene will probably be retooled a bit in the final cut. but as it stands, i already quite like it. so here it is, the scene in which harrow approaches ianthe about. ahem. sleeping together. but not like that, ew.

(to be clear, this is genuinely a safe for work fic. they are actually just sharing a bed.)

Maybe she should've kissed Harrow. But it was so hard to find an in with her. One wrong move could send the little prude running, and that might set her progress back months.

***

The electric lights were dimming on the Mithraeum, the simulated sunset turning Ianthe the First's room an odd shade of orange which glistened off the newly gilded bones of her right arm. She was practicing with it. Parry, thrust, lunge. But really, she didn't need to. It felt just like her old one, and Naberius knew what to do with it. But she liked watching it glint in the light, reveled in the easy fluidity of movement. She could've kissed Harrow.

But she couldn’t shake the memory of Harrow's look of intense concentration, like nothing else in the world had ever been so important to her, Harrow's bony knees poking into the tops of Ianthe's thighs and all her nerves on fire. The way Harrow's hands had moved, so gentle, so careful, like she was trying not to hurt her—or perhaps only trying not to disrupt her own progress—and yet, the brutal efficiency with which she had lobbed off the transplant arm, the absolute bloody-minded composure. The trickle of blood sweat down Harrow's temple. It had traced the curvature of Harrow's cheek and landed on her lips, red and tempting. She hadn't even paused to wipe it away. She had been too focused. Absolutely and unwaveringly focused on Ianthe.

Ianthe wasn’t even practicing what Augustine had shown her, really, she was moving just to move, slashing and stabbing like a child handling a practice sword for the first time. She could feel Naberius’s annoyance faintly tickling in the back of her skull, but she really didn’t care. There was a sheen of sweat—real sweat, not blood—building on her forehead and her arms were starting to burn. Her heart rate was picked up, it was past the point that should have been uncomfortable, but it felt clean and bright, not like a panic attack at all. Was this what Coronabeth had always been going on about? Was this what all those exalted cavaliers had signed up to die for?

There was a knock on the door. It was a familiar knock to her, short and sharp, almost perfunctory, the knocking of a girl unaccustomed to closed doors. She really could just walk in, if she wanted to. It wasn’t like Ianthe was accustomed to closed doors, either.

She didn’t stop moving, simply shouted, “Come in,” and the door opened.

Harrow looked better for having slept, which wasn’t to say she looked good. She still had the shifty eyes of a prey animal, and that ridiculous sword strapped to her back, which left her with a perpetual hunch. She still hadn’t washed her hair. It was such a shame. With her bone structure, her eyes, the soft ringlets that her hair was just dying to fall into, if only she would care for it properly—she could be so pretty.

“I don’t believe that’s proper form.”

“Oh, like you would know.” Ianthe finally came to a standstill, breathing hard, and she knew she was grinning, and she almost didn’t mind. “Harry, this is amazing. It’s—It’s mine.”

“Yes, I know it’s yours. I wish you hadn’t gone through with gilding it. It’s garish. You could’ve simply regrown the rest; it’s not like you don’t have the talent for it.”

“I didn’t want to regrow the rest of it. I wanted to gild it.” It felt so good to say. It was an exhilaration almost as good as picking up the sword for the first time. Her arm, her bones, her whims governing them. What a fucking concept.

Harrow made no response, simply twitched an eyebrow in that way she had, as if Ianthe weren’t worth the brainpower it would take to argue with her.

Harrow’s body language was doing something weird. She was standing in the middle of the room, looking almost aimless, as if she wasn’t certain what to say next. Quite the departure from her usual imperious self-assurance. So Ianthe prompted her, “What do you need, Harry?”

She wrinkled her nose at the nickname. “What makes you think I need something?”

“Because you’re not half so mysterious as you think you are. Out with it.”

Harrow paused, with a look on her sharp, painted face like she was swallowing bile. “I need to sleep here tonight.”

“Oh?”

“And very likely for some time after.”

“Harry, are you asking to–” “Don’t.” “–sleep with me?”

“I am begging sanctuary.”

This caught Ianthe off-guard, almost. Harrow had straightened up a bit, jutted out her underfed little chin, and standing more than a full head shorter than Ianthe, she looked terribly young. Horrifically young.

“You haven’t packed anything.”

“I haven’t been back to my room.”

Ianthe sighed. If Harrow would only allow herself to become a lyctor, if she would only give in, only waver for one second, this would all be over. She wasn’t going to let that fact get lost in Harrow’s big, dark, flinty eyes. No amount of poorly masked vulnerability was going to change the fact that Harrow had chosen to put herself in this position, and could get out of it just as easily. The stubborn little romantic.

She leaned her rapier against the nightstand and crossed to the wardrobe. She didn’t own a black nightgown, and though she had been eagerly waiting to see Harrow in a color, she already knew that buttercup yellow would not be ideal. It was, however, the most modest nightdress she owned.

She turned and tossed it to Harrow, saying, “Here, it’s got sleeves and everything. You can change in the bathroom.”

Harrow took it, only grimacing a little, and went to do so. And after the door had closed between them, Ianthe also dressed for bed. She would never get a word of thanks from Harrow, of that much she was certain, but she couldn’t say no. Or, she could, actually, but she didn’t want to.

She always felt Corona’s absence most at night. They had shared a room for their entire lives, and on nights when Coronabeth was sad or scared or simply in need of companionship, she had never gone to their parents. She had always crossed to Ianthe’s bed and snuggled in against her. Funny that Corona, in all her cavalierish muscle and bravado, had always been the one who turned to Ianthe for comfort.

She suffered no illusions that Harrow would do the same, but still, there was an easy familiarity about this role. She knew how to provide this. And it was, maybe, close enough.

She was finished dressing by the time Harrow emerged from the bathroom, dragging her longsword behind her in one hand and clad in a shade of yellow that absolutely did not compliment her skin tone. It made her painted face look even more ridiculous and displaced than it usually did in Ianthe’s rooms. Maybe, if this arrangement fostered any sort of closeness between them, she could convince Harrow to let her brush her hair. It was long enough now for a braid starting high on the head. And if she pushed her luck, she might be able to curl it. Not dramatically, just enough to emphasize its natural texture. Something to frame her face.

Harrow, she noticed, was avoiding her gaze.

“You can’t really mean to sleep in that paint, Harry, you’ll get pimples.”

“Pimples are the least of my concerns right now, Tridentarius.”

“I’ll say. But why add them to the list? I’ve already seen your bare face, anyway.”

Harrow looked startled, then confused. A drop of blood hit the carpet between her feet and she put a hand to her nose, almost absently. “Have you?”

Ianthe realized, too late, what she had said. “I visited your hospital room while you were incoherent.” It wasn’t even entirely a lie.

“Why?”

“An abiding sense of loyalty and affection.”

“Right.” Had she almost smiled?

Harrow went and climbed into bed, not laying down but sitting with her knees scrunched up and her back to the pillow, and set her sword down the middle of the mattress. Ianthe did not resent this. She had done the same thing, when they had shared the first time.

“Well, if you’re going to insist on sleeping in greasepaint, at least let me put something down on your pillow. That’s real silk, it’ll stain.”

“Fine.” Harrow had still not looked her in the eye.

She thought of grabbing a towel from the bathroom, but went for the wardrobe instead. She didn’t wear her clothes from home very often anymore, but there were still some decent fabrics among them. She dug around for a moment before pulling one of her old shirts from the back. It was soft enough to be comfortable, and it would cause less smearing than a towel.

The lights were dim enough now that she would normally turn a lamp on, but Harrow seemed to be intending to sleep immediately, so Ianthe simply handed her the shirt and then lay down on the other side of their big, metallic chaperone.

Later, in the dark, she could almost feel Harrow breathing. She wasn’t certain if Harrow was falling asleep or only, finally, relaxing. She could see her, almost. A slight up-and-down movement of the blanket, a suggestion of dark hair splayed across the white shirt. She was so small, and she slept on her back, like a corpse.

“Ianthe.” It sounded as if she were trying not to whisper, quiet but startlingly loud in the silence.

“What?”

“Do you ever feel like something is—missing?”

Ianthe found this question intensely interesting. She had long wondered how completely Harrow had torn out her own grief, if it had left roots. “In what respect?”

“I–Nothing. Forget I asked.” With that, she rolled over, back to Ianthe, and did not speak again.

Soon afterwards, Ianthe fell asleep. With the sound of another person breathing evenly nearby, she slept better than she had since Canaan House.

#fic fragments #my fic #my post

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radiance1 · 7 months

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I have this idea.

About a goddess who loved too much, and her saint, who stayed loyal to her towards the very end.

It's not anything big, really.

Just a goddess (Probably of Light) who loves her creations far too much, felt far too strongly. Even towards the creations of a god who wanted nothing more than her fall and the end of her creations, creations that scorned them.

This, would lead to a war between the gods.

A god consumed by hate, and one that loved far too much.

A goddess who wanted to save, and a god that didn't want to be saved.

The goddess has to make a choice, to destroy, or not to destroy. A painful decision, considering she loved both sides of this war, but a decision she had to make when it involved the complete and utter destruction of everything else.

Such, is where the Saint came in.

Ever loyal to her he was, he took the duty of being her sword, self-imposed as it were. He would willingly take on her burden of destruction, leaving her hands unstained.

At the end, there stood only one, goddessless, Saint.

The Saint was strong, able to cut through a hoard of endless monsters and demons by his lonesome, but he could not compare to a god.

So in the final battle, the Saint lay injured, high-ranking forces of his enemy cut down, his own forces stuck down. Only two gods, and a Saint.

The Saint was heavily wounded, and was going to use whatever life he had left to create an opening for his goddess to vanquish their foe. Except, when a god dies, a great calamity would befall the area in which they fell in.

The goddess didn't want her Saint to die.

So she sacrificed herself, using her power to both kill and prevent the calamity that came with the fall. In the end, what was left was her Saint, clutching onto her slowly weakening body.

To prevent her own calamity, she chose to depart her power onto her Saint.

Thus, marked the end of a war, the death of two gods, and the birth of a Saint with god-like powers.

The Saint was... broken. The subject of his loyalty, dying before his very eyes and leaving behind a mortal body after giving the power that would let her live, just so he could, was something he couldn't bear.

Thus, he disappeared.

Laying the body of his goddess down in a glass coffin, a spell encased and cast upon her own body for her corpse to never age a day past her divinity.

He stood guard outside of the room.

Throwing aside bodily needs of sleeping, or eating, for he was now immortal, incapable of death. He would not age, he blessed with eternal youth far before the war by his goddess, a wish that was granted to him so he will be able to stand by her until the end. His powers were that of a god, but his mentality was that of a mortal, although it was stronger than most.

Standing within the same place for years and years on end, the same surroundings being his only company as he stood guard, endlessly watching.

Endlessly waiting.

The knowledge of what laid beyond the door kept him firm.

He will wait and continue to wait, until the day he could return the power bestowed unto him by his goddess. Until the day he could return to her side.

Loyal to the end.

#writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writing prompt #Just an idea tbh #goddess #saints #gods #Idk what to tag here so yuh

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carefulfears · 1 year

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Thoughts on the X Files Revelations episode and what it brought to the mulder x scully relationship?

okay i just rewatched this one so y'all are gonna get some exhausted bullet-point rambles from me <3 much love

the first thing that i noticed while rewatching is that when mulder and scully are speaking with "saint owen" in the attic, mulder is standing with them and engaged in the conversation until it turns to scully's personal religion.

when owen points out her cross necklace, mulder turns to face the wall while they discuss it, only barely peeking back for his smartass church joke.

this almost reminds me of the way he tends to freeze and avert from loss (his mother's hospital room in herrenvolk, scully in the ICU in redux ii, emily's coffin, the little girl's body in paper hearts, etc); he often tries to avoid realities that he isn't prepared for, as though he's surprised and bowled over every time.

in this moment here with owen, he's being avoidant and catty, but it similarly appears that scully's faith is something he's taken aback by, even just in evasion.

after owen is killed, scully begins the autopsy, and mulder continues his comedy routine/bible lecture.

when scully says that she believes in miracles, she believes that god's hand can be witnessed, mulder asks, "even if science can't explain them?"

this is really the core conflict of episodes like this, that center around faith or religion. neither of them know how to move forward outside of their roles, and so much of scully's position depends on only adhering to what science can prove. it's what she's told him so many times over the years in response to his own theories, and both of them waver in the loss of that absolutism.

a couple of episodes earlier, in nisei, she told him that believing is the easy part, that she needs proof, and he had responded, "you think believing is easy?"

part of what makes faith-centered cases difficult for them both is that mulder doesn't have it, and believing is easy for scully.

mulder spends his whole life wanting to believe in something that would allow the kind of comfort people find in faith. it isn't easy for him. it's hard to always be seeking.

he needs proof in order to believe too, but scully has her beliefs without the science that she holds him to, without the burden.

later, in gethsemane, she tells him that proving extraterrestrial life is not her dying wish. and he asks, what if you could prove the existence of god? wouldn't you try, like i try?

she says no. that god can't be proven or disproven, and it doesn't matter to her.

in revelations, he shuts down her claims of faith, and doesn't consider her point of view. when he leaves on another bad joke, the pause that she takes before returning to her work is so telling. this isn't how they interact with each other. something is different, with this case, with this topic.

the look on her face and the way she squares her jaw is almost of someone who's ashamed/afraid to speak up, who's biting her tongue. this isn't what she does, with him, either. and it has a different connotation on rewatch, with the things she says later in the series about authority.

in conversation at the motel, things haven't changed. mulder is still a laugh-factory, dismissing any explanation with religious connotations. scully is still watching him and learning from him, as she has been since day one.

when she finally just snaps and asks, "how is it that you're willing to go out on a limb whenever you see a light in the sky, but you're unwilling to accept the possibility of a miracle?"

he responds instantly, "i wait for a miracle every day. but what i've seen here has only tested my patience, not my faith."

he waits for a miracle every day. it wasn't that long ago that we saw him weep in a church.

"well, what about what i've seen?"

what about what she's seen? what about what she believes? what about her experience?

in the end, mulder's being a sweetie, bringing her coat and asking if she's okay. it worries him when she's not being logical. when she's acting like him.

he says it, in all souls, another faith-based role reversal: "i’ve never seen you more vulnerable or susceptible or more easily manipulated and it scares me because i don’t know why."

i hate to see people call him hypocritical for this; they both do it. they adhere to their roles so strictly, and there's something uneasy for them that comes with watching the other stray from what they find solidity in, whether that's belief or rationalism.

this scene captures the intent of the script so well, it is sad. this is a sad episode. she's watching him and learning from him and she knows that she cannot share this experience she's having with him.

in one of the series' most affecting scenes, scully goes to confession for the first time in years. not to confess, but to confide. the language in this scene is so specific and emotional, as she tells the priest that normally she can talk to her friend about things but she cannot talk to him about this.

that's such an isolating place to be in, for your closest person and your most pressing struggle to be so at odds.

she tells the priest that she believes she saw things that helped her to save a life, but she wonders if she even saw them at all, because her partner didn't see them. he didn't believe. and usually he believes in everything.

that's such an isolating place to be in, for your hopeful seeker to turn a blind eye.

this isn't the last time that scully will be in this position, so alone in what she experiences, wondering if it's even real if mulder doesn't see it too.

and this scene sets the tone for so much of her character, as she confesses that she is afraid. that maybe god is speaking, and no one is listening.

i know this one is less thought-out than usual, if there's anything here y'all want to chat more about/go into deeper just shoot me an ask. kisses.

scully in this episode is something i've dabbled around with a bit in my writing before here.

#asks #revelations #i really love this episode a lot #it has a lot of depth to it #also i love it when mulder is a jackass about religion because i am also a jackass about religion. but that’s beside the point.

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angelicangel444 · 1 year

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Bruises˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Summary: Joel Miller is a lonely man; there’s only one solution he can come up with to fill that lonely feeling.

Warnings/Additional Tags: Rape/Non-Consensual Sex, Age Difference, Size Kink, Rough Sex, Loss of Virginity, Breeding Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Joel Miller was always a lonely man. And even before Ellie, he didn’t quite feel like he was always welcomed into peoples lives, especially with Tess.

Tess was independent, and while they worked great as a smuggling team, they didn’t always see eye to eye on certain situations. And while he was so hesitant on taking Ellie to the fireflies, Tess was determined to make him do it, as her dying wish it seemed. And yet he failed her out of his own selfish need to feel like he belongs in Ellie’s life. The loneliness having taken over him. And even after he continued to lie to Ellie after the events that took place upon their arrival at Saint Mary’s Hospital, he eventually found Ellie drifting away from him, certain that Joel lied to her.

And now that they’ve been settled in Jackson for about almost a year, he’s never felt more lonely then he’s felt before as he watches Ellie leave their shared home to hang out with Dina.

Joel would admit that he’s a lonely man, the last time he was close to someone that wasn’t a family member was way long ago with Sarah’s mother. And even after Sarah’s mother had abandoned them as soon as Sarah was fresh out the womb, Joel didn’t have much time to go out and meet new women, much less make new friends besides the people he worked with.

So now he’s just socially awkward, closed off and not to mention really rude to people that give him long looks as he walks home from patrol or from the diner after his dinner.

And Joel wasn’t ugly by any means, with the way all the ladies looked at him when they thought he wasn’t looking. He could have his picking, and yet he couldn’t help but to feel selfish and want a younger woman. A younger woman like Veronica.

Now Veronica is five years older than Ellie, way younger than Joel who’s fifty two going on fifty three. And there was no possible way that he was going to get her. And Joel bet that she didn’t even notice him when her father is asking Joel about Ellie and how they’re doing. Not when she has a hoard of older brothers always trailing behind her when she walks about the town. They’re younger than Joel, just as equally tall as him, but have more muscle mass and are quick, so if Joel even wants to consider having a conversation with Veronica, it had to be alone, under the pretense that he needs her help with something insignificant as helping Ellie with her homework.

So that’s how he finds Veronica standing on his porch, hands in her oversized black sweatpants, her oversized black hoodie over her head, she looks smaller, almost tiny in her own clothes.

Sometimes Joel wonders how she looks underneath the baggy clothes she always wears, but she sure is pretty, with her wide blue eyes, freckles brown against her pale white skin, her full lips painted in black lipstick, and even if she has a giant scar upon her right cheek, was was still pretty, and even if she had her hair up in a messy bun and looks like she would rather be somewhere else rather than here, she still looks pretty.

“Uh, hi Mr. Miller…my daddy mentioned that Ellie needed some help on her math homework? Is she here?” Veronica stares up at him with those beautiful blue eyes of hers, and maybe Joel imagined it, but he swears she batted her eyelashes in an attempt to seem innocent.

“Uh…no she’s not here at the moment, but if you want, you can come in and wait for her. She shouldn’t be late on getting home now.” He watches her as she looks behind him and into the dimly lit hallway of the old house. “Oh, okay…I’m not really supposed to be alone with men that aren’t my family, so I think I’ll just come by a little more later when she’s home.” Joel feels his jaw tighten under the forced smile he put on, “I understand, but maybe it’s more convenient for you to wait. ‘Stead of going all the way back across town y’know.”

Joel doesn’t want to seem too eager, doesn’t want to scare her off when this could be his only opportunity. But he can’t help but to continue looking down at her, she’s just too cute for her own good.

“That’s true…,” she says as he turns to look at the empty street behind her, covered in a thick blanket of white snow, the sky a dark grey. She looks back up at him, “well if you don’t mind…I’ll wait for her here, I’m sure my family wouldn’t mind me being alone with you, I mean…you’re kinda my daddy’s friend.” Joel smiles down at her as he moves aside to let her in the warm house. “By all means, make yourself at home.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Veronica feels awkward. She’s never been in Ellie’s house before, and it’s not like she knows Mr. Miller or the younger girl that much. So it came as a surprise when her father had mentioned that Ellie needed help with her homework, said that Mr. Miller was worried she was falling behind with the other kids at school, but was just to embarrassed to ask for help from the teacher.

So that’s how she finds herself sitting on their comfortable couch in their cozy living room, there’s a fire blazing from the fireplace and the house smells like warm cinnamon apple cider. She’s surprised that her brothers didn’t protest to her coming over, and it’s not like Ellie’s the best influence either, for such a young age Ellie was nothing but trouble. From sneaking out, to smoking weed…and yet her daddy wanted her to be nice and lead Ellie on a better path, but Veronica could care less for the girl, honestly.

She’s just trying to be nice.

She can tell that Joel struggles in raising Ellie all by himself, and it’s not really her business, but she hears from the other girls at church that Ellie wasn’t even his biological daughter. Why did he even bother with her? Maybe it’s cause they’ve been through so much together, the trauma making them stick together because they can relate. But from what Veronica can tell, Ellie seems wary of Joel, she’s hardly at home most of the time anyways. Veronica always sees her hanging out that weird girl Dina, the same girl who would stare at Veronica as she walked home from patrols, and it irritated Veronica to no end…that girl had a staring problem.

“Thanks so much for stopping by, Ellie’s been falling behind on her homework a lot. I really care for her so I appreciate the help.” Veronica hears Joel talk to her from the kitchen, having offered her a drink in the mean time as she waits.

“No worries Mr. Miller, it’s not like I’m doing anything important either way.” She leans back onto the couch, looking up at the ceiling. “Joel is just fine sweetie, no need to call me Mr. Miller.” Veronica watches as Joel makes his way back into the living room, looking up at him as looks up he towers over her, his right hand extended towards her to give her the mug full of hot chocolate. “Oh okay, I just didn’t want to seem rude…thanks for the drink.”

“No problem.” Joel sits on the opposite side of the couch, having gotten himself a glass of whiskey. Joel watches as Veronica takes a sip of the hot chocolate he made her, blowing on it slightly with her painted lips, she cautiously takes a small sip and sets the mug down in front of her on the small coffee table.

“Can I ask you something?” Joel suddenly speaks up, watching as Veronica turns to look at him with a confused look. “Uh…yeah sure. What’s up?”

“Are you a virgin?” The look of confusion upon her face turns into a shocked expression, and Joel can’t help but to chuckle slightly as she looks at him weirdly.

“Excuse me?” She moves away from him, “you heard me,” Joel simply replied back, placing his glass of whiskey on the side table beside him. Joel can tell that she’s uncomfortable, but she doesn’t let her discomfort get to her as much because before Joel even knows it, she’s answering his question.

“I don’t think that’s any of you’re business.” She’s turning away from him then, quick to make her way towards the front door of the house, but before she can even have her hand reach for the doorknob, Joel’s pulling her towards him with a grip on her wrist that’s painful it makes her whine pathetically.

She glares at him as she begins to struggle against him, attempting to wrestle her way out of his grip but he’s stronger, taller, and more experienced with hand to hand combat than she is. She let’s out a loud gasp as he shoves her down onto the ground, not bothering to turn to even look at him, she attempts to crawl her way forward, thinking that maybe if she made it to the back door, she’ll be safe.

“Don’t ya’ think it’s rude to leave without a goodbye, didn’t that daddy of yours teach you any manners?” Veronica let’s out a loud yelp when she feels Joel grab at her hair and pull her back towards him. Her back slamming harshly up against his solid chest. “Fuck you!” She yells through the pain, attempting again to make an escape but he’s holding her with a bruising grip.

“Answer my damn question.” He isn’t even yelling, yet Veronica feels fear creeping up her spine in a cold chill, how can he be so calm? Veronica suddenly groans in pain when Joel slams her down onto the floor again, holding her head up by her hair. “Yes! I am…please, just let me go- I won’t tell anyone this happened. I swear!”

“God…,” She hears him sigh behind her, satisfied with her answer, “I promise to be gentle.” Upon hearing that, Veronica struggles up against him, rubbing her ass against his forming bulge but she’s only trying to back him off of her, but he puts his weight down onto her back, making her whine. “Why are you doing this- I thought y-you were nice.”

Joel laughs, mockingly so. “Oh baby, you don’t know a single thing about me.” Veronica looks up in horror at the back door, hoping to God that hopefully Ellie comes home, or maybe one of her brother come looking for her. But nothing happens, and even if she continues to struggle, she’s not gonna get anywhere.

He wasn’t even beginning to touch her inappropriately, and she already felt betrayed, pathetic, and weak. “Please- w-we can just pretend this never happened.” Joel’s growing restless, getting annoyed in the worse of ways. “There’s no point in fighting, this was bound to happen eventually.” The world was so cruel. Joel was much stronger than her, he was older and practically towered over her like everyone else. Veronica’s shaking, feeling horrified. She just wants to go home, and she hates that she’s crying, what would her family think of her? What would they think if she gave up? That she allowed herself to be condemned. She hates Joel. Wishes he could drop dead at this very moment.

Veronica flinches when she feels the cold air hit at the freckled skin of her now exposed torso. Closing her eyes tightly and letting the tears spill down her chubby freckled cheeks when she hears Joel threw her ruined sweater somewhere, cupping at her titties through her black lacy bra. “Joel, seriously! Stop!” She’s begging, it’s pathetic but she can care less about her ego now.

Joel ignores her, clipping her bra off and down her arms, watching as her pink nipples harden. He feels his cock stir in his jeans, the fabric feeling suffocating on his thighs. He quickly turns her around, her back slamming up against the wooden floor loudly, but she doesn’t look up at him, to busy crying pathetically.

Joel groans as he looks down at her, she’s breathing hard, bleeding just a little from her head, her cheeks are flushed and she’s balling her tiny manicured hands into angry fists. She’s looking more beautiful than he’s ever seen her.

He kisses her on her cheek, so gentle it makes her sick. His beard scratches at her soft skin as he kissed his way down towards her neck, down to her collarbones. He sucks bright red hickies everywhere, chewing at her skin with his sharp teeth, it makes her tighten her thighs to try and numb the pain.

Joel unexpectedly takes a rosy nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly and loudly as he does so, it makes Veronica whine helplessly at how good it feels. She hates herself more than ever. He harshly bites down on her nipple, sucking with more force that it makes her wet between her thick thighs.

“Mm…tell me you want my cock.” His voice is desperate, so needy and it makes Veronica feel tingly, a man like Joel is taking what he wants and yet he’s acting like a desperate pervy old man that’s in need of some sweet, tight pussy.

“Oh god…you’re fucking sick.” Veronica opens her eyes and glares up at the old man, and before Joel even knows it, she’s spitting up at his face, and it makes him flinch back as it hits him on his left eye unexpectedly. “Ah-.” Veronica moans in pain when Joel brings his hand down onto her cheek harshly, slapping her head to the side at the harsh impact.

“Say it, you fucking stupid whore!” He actually yells, Veronica wails loudly, tears streaming down her flushed face. “I-I want your cock so badly! Please!” Veronica groans in pleasure when they’re lips connect, teeth and tongue brush up against each other, she closes her eyes as she feels drool slipping down her chin, and when they separate, a string of it connects their mouths.

He yanks her sweatpants down her legs, groaning when he gets a good look at her panty clad pussy. He throws her sweatpants behind him, his large , rough hands take hold of her smooth thighs as he buries his face between them. Veronica takes hold of his messy hair, attempting to pull his face away from her intimate. But he doesn’t let up, taking a deep inhale of her pussy, smelling at her cum stained lacy thong.

God it was better than he had imagined. Her pussy was just perfect, “can’t wait to taste you.” Before she can bitch at him he quickly pulls her panties off and engulfs her clit into his mouth, sucking harshly and it makes her spasm harshly against him.

“Aah~!” Veronica throws her head back harshly and it hits at the floor loudly, but Joel doesn’t let up as he moves down at her, throwing her legs over his shoulders as he indulges. Licking down her fat pussy lips as he sucks and licks, Veronica squirms her legs as he licks down towards her ass. “No!” She screams, feeling heat at the pit of her stomach, “stop-.”

Joel’s fingers end up joining in, pushing in aggressively into her tight heat, pumping his digits in and out with the same harsh motion.

“F-Fuck.” She moans as she cums all over his tongue, chin, and fingers. Her thighs feeling rough from his beard, the skin a bright red. “Such a good girl.” He praises her as he pulls his fingers out. He’s suddenly undressing before her, stripping out of his flannel shirt and pushing his jeans down to his thighs, Veronica panics. “No! Please don’t!” She begs.

“Shut the fuck up.” He murmured as he pulls his boxers down next, exposing his long, thick cock. “No-Joel, that’s- that’s not gonna fit.” She cries, the tears never stopping.

But he ignores her pleas as he lines himself up with the tight opening of her pussy, slowly inserting himself into her heat. Veronica throws her head back in a pleasured moan, the tears falling down onto her brushed skin, his hand mark upon her cheek turning purple as she digs her nails into the palm of her hand harshly, she’s sure to draw blood.

Veronica’s a small girl, so when he pushes in all the way and bottoms down, she can see and feel a bulge in her stomach. “Please- don’t! I don’t think I can handle it~!” She moans out, her voice a high pitch and breathless.

He slaps at her thigh harshly, leaving behind an equally big hand print that will bruise later on.

He pulls out his cock halfway, only to slam it back in aggressively making Veronica sob as he continues to fuck her pussy hard and raw. His cock becomes coated in her white pussy juices, he’s so lost in his mind as he groans at the velvety feeling of her warm pussy walls enveloping him.

It’s been so long since he’s fucked someone, he now realizes how desperate he is, how he won’t last any longer. He takes one of her nipples into his mouth and sucks as he continues to plunge his cock in and out, Veronica’s long gone, her small hands are clutching onto his strong biceps and she just let’s him take what he wants.

He’s fucking into her faster, his big balls hit at her plump ass cheeks as he does. The sound of skin against skin becoming apparent, but Joel…neither Veronica care if the neighbors hear, or if Ellie or one of her brothers show up.

“Fuck you’re such a slut, but I gotta admit…I like you a lot.” He moans, looking down at her beautiful, bruised face.

“Fuck Joel, you need h-help.”

“I want you to be all mine. That’s why I’m not gonna pull out- you’ll have my babies, you can live with me and I’ll have you bred all the time. Fucking you whenever I can to keep you full of my cum.” He rambles on and on but Veronica shakes her head frantically at the idea of having to be stuck with Joel for the rest of her miserable life.

“N-No!” She screams, attempt to pull him away, but it’s useless.

He cums hard, and Veronica flinches when she feels his hot cum fill her womb. But even after he cums he doesn’t take his cock out, he stays seated inside of her, ensuring his cum doesn’t leak out.

Joel pulls his softened cock out, quick to stand up and pull his boxers and jeans up. He searched for Veronica’s clothes and shoves it towards her once he collects all the missing articles of clothing.

“Let’s not talk about this…to anyone.” Veronica voices out, her tone full of venom as she glared up at Joel. She stands up on her legs, feeling shaky as she does so.

“Right.” Joel nods his head as he watches her get changed back into her baggy clothes, getting one last glimpse of her curvy body before it’s concealed.

Joel changes back into his shirt, and luckily he does, because Ellie comes barging in through the front door, stopping abruptly as she catches them still lingering in the hallway.

“Veronica? What are you doing here?” Ellie questions, clearly confused as she looks between Joel and her. “And what happened to your face?”

Veronica let’s out a laugh, something unexpected that Joel and Ellie have never seen her do. And quite frankly, Veronica looks worse for wear. Her eyes are red from crying, her cheek are flushed red and still bruised, dried blood from the cut on her forehead and her hair a mess.

“Fuck you Joel.” She flicks him off as she walks towards the door, bumping her shoulder harshly against Ellie as she passes by her. The door slams harshly behind her retreating figure, the outside a pitch black now.

“What was that about?” Ellie questions, seemingly irritated, “nothing.” Joel simply replied, shrugging his shoulders as he turns away from the young girl.

“Nothing at all.”

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kiriona-apologist · 2 years

Note

Dialogue prompt #3: "How you doing, champ?" "Don't call me that."

so this got a little away from me because i wanted to mess around with kiriona and ianthe and john all cooped up together so uh yeah have this. some minor ntn spoilers ahead, the biggest being...ya know, kiriona lol

a mind for strategy

“Hey champ, how you doing?” Kiriona –Gideon a tiny voice corrects in the back of her mind, a voice that sounds suspiciously like–Kiriona glances up from the flimsy she’s been working over to see John standing draped across her doorway. He looks like shit, but he never not looks like shit. Kiriona’s grown used to it.

“Don’t call me that,” Kiriona says, already tired of his buddy-buddy attitude. There’s so much to do, who knew dying and coming back as the Emperor’s long-lost and definitely undesired daughter would lead to so much military paperwork? At least she’s gotten her wish to be part of the Cohort. Silence falls, tense and awkward and after a few seconds of staring at John, she adds, “What do you need?”

“Ah yes.” He straightens, tugging at his shirt and his movements are sloppy. It’s ten in the goddamn morning and he’s already drunkenly fumbling. It’s going to be a long day. “I was wondering if you and Ianthe would grace me with your presence for a family dinner.”

“You could have sent a message,” Ianthe drawls from where she’s draped over the only armchair in Kiriona’s room. She’s been there for the last hour, just close enough to reach a foot over and nudge Kiriona’s chair over and over, a needy creature requiring constant attendance. “It would have sufficed.”

“I can’t visit my favored Saint and blessed daughter?” His gaze fixes to Kiriona’s and something in her insides curdles. She looks away first, back down to the orders she’s jotting out on the flimsy. The desire to claw at her face is overwhelming.

“We’ll come to your fucking dinner,” she says, unsettled. John takes this answer and strolls out of the room, only stumbling into the wall a little bit. The silence in his absence is deafening and Kiriona twists in her chair to glare at Ianthe, who lounges and smirks as though she belongs in this room.

“Wonderfully executed, Gonad,” Ianthe says and she stretches languidly. The light glances off her tacky ass arm.

“Like you were doing any better,” Kiriona retorts, abandoning the flimsy and, by extension, her task by sliding the chair away from the desk. Her limbs are stiff as she shuffles to the armchair and plops down into the middle of the Ianthe pile that gathers there.

The Saint of Awe, predictably, is not awed in the slightest by this action and is instead very annoyed and shoves at Kiriona’s back and shoulders to try and dislodge her. Being a scrawny piece of shit–even with the growing muscles–Ianthe’s attempts are fruitless and Kiriona settles atop her comfortably.

“You oaf,” Ianthe groans underneath her. Despite her words, however, her none creepy hand fiddles with the edge of her crown. “You should take better care of this,” she says and a shudder runs through Kiriona when Ianthe’s hand brushes the back of her neck. She cannot tell if this is intentional or not but the effect is the same.

“I do,” she says defensively. Ianthe only laughs and, this time very intentionally, draws her hand down Kiriona’s back, feeling the muscle there, preserved in death and in post-death unlife.

“I say this every time,” Ianthe says, as she does every time, “but I’m beginning to understand why Harry was willing to cut you out of her skull.”

“I’m too devilishly handsome to live without?” Kiriona says, ever one to stay on script.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Ianthe replies easily. “And the universe would be much quieter without you in it.”

It’s the closest thing Ianthe ever gives to a compliment and it’s laced with so much backhandedness Kiriona needs a moment to recover. There’s a calm in the storm, then, as she relaxes further into the chair and a whoof of breath comes from somewhere deep in Ianthe’s chest. She’s so damn dramatic.

“Speak of her again and I’ll take your other arm.” She says it flippantly, as though it’s her arm to take as she pleases. Ianthe does not submit to this warning, only grins, terrible and weighted with meaning, and falls silent.

They lounge like this for many hours, mostly in silence, and Kiriona once suggests they submit themselves to the rote movements of training but Ianthe declines in favor of remaining reclined. It’s leg day, so Kiriona doesn’t mind skipping it.

She never gets around to finishing her orders, never gets around to her other tasks. Ianthe has that terrible effect on her.

Time drags the closer they get to dinner with the Emperor and Kiriona is reluctant to lift herself from the chair so Ianthe can smooth the wrinkles in her shirt. Draped across one shoulder is the shimmering Lyctoral cloak and Kiriona smooths her own shirt, neglecting the pristine white jacket over abandoning Ianthe to the room entirely. The Saint of Awe catches up a couple corridors down and she says nothing but the look she fixes Kiriona with is one that could be intimidating if it wasn’t Ianthe leveling it at her.

The Mithraeum 2 (tackily named by a drunk John on the second day of Kiriona’s rebirth) was not so nearly sprawling as its predecessor but the dining room was exquisite. The table was built for four, though it only ever held three at its best meals and the kitchens were expansive and staffed by two adepts who never could look Kiriona in the eye.

John was waiting for them when they entered, Ianthe at Kiriona’s elbow as though she belonged there. A full meal was sprawled across the wood (actual wood!) of the table, dishes of many colors, many sizes, and many smells. Kiriona took her seat at the Emperor’s right hand, Ianthe took the seat across from him. The seat to his left remained sullenly empty as it always did, though there was a place set for it, plates with silverware polished to an almost glowing sheen. The plate was exchanged thrice daily, and a bowl, saucer and cup added at breakfast. As far as Kiriona had known, there was no one aboard to take the seat, none that would eat with the Emperor, his daughter, and his Saint.

“You two are well, I hope,” John says when they’ve officially begun the meal. Kiriona mechanically brings a roasted vegetable to her mouth and, as everything does, it tastes of ash and dust. “Your campaigns are playing out well, Kiriona?”

“Of course,” Kiriona says. “I have a mind for strategy.” He hums at these words, and Kiriona is unsettled but she cannot quite place why. Something itches at the back of her mind but, as she always does, she suppresses it. Her next bite is ash.

“Of course,” John says. “That would be something you got from me.”

#ntn spoilers #kiriona gaia #john gaius #ianthe tridentarius #implied kirianthe #the locked tomb #fanfic #prompt #ask #showing my hand and my head canons here lol #anyway it took me a sec to get this out but i really liked writing this!!!

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featherchan · 1 year

Text

A small, select group of people, consisting of mostly Silver and Bronze Saints, were sent to investigate suspicious Specter activities surrounding a small village, as people have been disappearing, especially during nightfall, without a trace. Recently, acquiring their own Cloth, the sworn sisters Lionet Kanako and Wolf Noburu, who work very well together, were tasked with assisting and supporting Cerberus Saint.

Being a female Saint was difficult, as they often got verbal insults and were spoken foully by some of their brothers in Sanctuary. Many often lamented how women were best suited and fitted to be in the home and even in the bedroom, instead of on the battlefield. Yet, thankfully, Cerberus Saint wasn't like any of those ignoramuses. Instead, he was a respectful, kind leader who saw both the Lionet and Wolf as fellow Saints of Athena, warriors who were capable of standing and fighting on their own. And believed they were well deserving of their own cloth they had obtained.

And when the kind-hearted man was mortally wounded, it even shook the cold-hearted Lioness's heart. "Brother Cerberus!" Lionet spoke without a thought, as she reached to the man's side who only foolishly smiled at her. "Ha! It's kind of you to finally call me that…now." None of them expected the village to be plagued by several Specters at once. If they had only known, they would have instead sent Gold Saints to deal with them. One Saints down and a rookie Bronze Saint is left to face several Specters on her own. She knew she was way out of her league and that it would be suicide. Without hesitation, she threw a smoke bomb to blind her enemies as she grabbed the wounded Silver Saints and escaped.

After finding a secluded and safe spot, she laid her leader against the tree. And in the corner of her mind, she knew their enemies would be able to hunt and find them in a matter of minutes. Shaking her head. Turning her focus to check on Cerberus, the Lioness bit her lips. Even without using her Cosmo to check on his injuries, it was visibly clear that he was badly injured. "Lione-" And before he could speak another word. "Sir Cerberus…" Returning to formally speaking to him. "I will do my best to lure the Specters away from you. Wolf Noburu will find you in a day or two." "No…" His feeble voice caught her attention before he weakly grabbed her hand. "Listen to me, stubborn Lionet. Understand that your death will only and truly spell my defeat. So kindly listen to me for one last time…" He paused before continuing. "You and I know that I'm dying very soon.."

And Kanako didn't deny it, as she hung her head and bit her quivered lips to stop the tears from falling. "Do not let my death trample your spirit. It is my duty as a Silver Saint and a brother to protect all, even you, Lionet Kanako. The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him." He expressed a quote to her. "You are the new generation who will continue to grow and become a true Saint of Athena. I'm sure of it. I believe in each and every one of you…" "…Sir Cerberus…" The Lioness wishes she could take his place, as he was too good of a man – no, a person – to be taken away so soon. "P-Please tell the Master that I'm sorry that I have failed…" "Sir Cerberus, what do you mean?" The Lioness gently shook his body and froze, noticing the light and life in his eyes had disappeared. The woman who had always carried a stone-cold emotion began to weep for him. Gently, the raven brushed his eyelids closed with her fingertips to let him rest. And soon, her sadness began to dwell with frustration and anger, furious at herself for not being strong enough to aid him in his time of need. She became infuriated at the senseless war that then brought nothing but death and destruction, and good people like him were dying more every day.

Then, her shoulders slumped with defeat as she felt like fate was having a good time tearing her spirit down. When she hears heavy footsteps and sensed dark energy in the air approaching her, she knew death's door was upon her. "We found you. And it looks like your 'brother' is dead after a long, sad struggle. Tsk! Tsk! Tsk!" The Specter's tone changes from serious to humorous as they poke at her in a joking manner. Quick to glare back at her enemies with all the burning anger and hatred boiling inside of her. "Oh look! The little kitten looks so furious with us. I'm so scared…" They provoke her even more as they laugh at her threatening glares. "Let's kill her after we've had our fill…" "And hang them by their necks and show Athena how pathetic her Saints are…" And her fear was mounting, causing her to tremble with anxiety. Yet, she kept her composure and refused to let them continue to belittle the late Cerberus any longer. A passing thought crossed her mind when she thought of her sworn sister, who she might leave behind.

"If I'm going out, I better go out with a bang…"

Putting her hand in front of herself and clasping it, she mumbles, "That sounds like a worldly advice…" And pulling and exhausting all the Cosmo she could conjure, she focused it into one powerful attack. "LIONET BOMBER!" Altering her attack to a long-range one, she launched a powerful fireball at her enemies in hopes of inflicting them with a searing burst of heat. Quick to feel the impact and consequences of her actions, darkness began to blind her as her last thoughts lingered on her sworn sisters, Noburu, and Chidori.

[ starter for @arcgeminga ]

#[ ic | theLioness ]#[ verse | saint seiya ]#[ i hope this is okay 😅 ]#[ yeah i went a little overboard with Cerberus speech. 🤦🏻‍♀️ inspired from demon slayer 😅 ]#long post tw #death tw #violence tw #[ editor mode | beta ]

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everybody-loves-purdy · 1 year

Note

Hmm... re-reading SqH and I'm honestly not sure if calling Bramblestar abusive would be an accurate term to describe him, but I still really wish his defenders would just acknowledge how awful he was at all! That is what annoys me the most! Because either way, he was still terrible in the book, no doubt about it. His relationship with Squirrelflight aside, he still sided with the majority to drive out a pregnant queen even though Leafstar was fine with waiting, and initially denied the medicine cats from healing Sunrise!

But no. Everyone just focuses on Squirrelflight. And don't get me wrong, she wasn't exactly a saint in the book, either (hell, the reason for her sneaking out to meet with Leafstar in the first place had just as much to do with her wanting to prove Bramblestar wrong as it did wanting to help SkyClan), but come on!

And I actually personally thought it was fine for him to punish Squirrelflight since she was being reckless, but trying to control her deputy duties and then threatening to demote her seems like a bit much.

I personally do definitely stand by him being abusive in that book, but yeah we can definitely agree it is extremely frustrating for certain people to paint him like he’s a misunderstood saint in this book. Along with Tigerheartstar, his role in this book is one of an antagonistc. Whenever SqH is discussed, a significant portion of people tend to just ignore the entire sequence with Sunrise conveniently, or try to justify it by saying it was a hard choice but he was doing it to appease Tigerheartstar.

1. Tigerheartstar doesn’t need to know, this is ThunderClan business.

2. He literally uses physical force and intimidation to stop his medicine cat from healing Sunrise. The medicine cat is the closest link and representation of StarClan in the clan, it has been repeatedly established in the series that as a leader going against your medicine cat is a big no.

3. It kind of speaks volumes that he’s willing to literally let someone who he has never even met die on the chance that your political rival might find out you helped them.

4. The Sisters literally are the reason his daughter and her two children are still alive, and that’s how you repay them. Tigerheartstar imprisoned and threatened to kill his son a few moons ago based on false assumptions.

And with the punishment thing, it would be reasonable for him to give her some kind of warning or punishment, maybe he could not take her to the next gathering or something? But what he does far oversteps a professional level and attacks her on a personal level.

It really gets to me after all this with everything resulting in two people dying, including Squirrelflight’s sister and almost Squirrelflight herself, Bramblestar’s “apology” says “we should never let things get this bad again” and by doing that he shares the blame for how bad everything had gotten with Squirrel despite him being the driving force for why things got so bad. Squirrelflight repeatedly does try and make amends but he doesn’t budge. Hell it gets so bad that Sparkpelt doesn’t want Squirrelflight to face Bramblestar alone and goes with her for support. Sparkpelt knows what’s up. Anyway that’s just a small piece of why I definitely believe he’s abusive, but like I say even if you disagree we can definitely at least agree that Bramblestar is given far too much leniency in certain circles.

#anonymous #abuse tw

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vuulpecula · 1 year

Text

✖ @paramounticebound inquired: always managed to move in right next to the cemeteries and never far from hospitals.

✖ boygenius sentence starters | always accepting

“There ain’t much else ‘round here,” she remarked around a stick of peppermint. The remainder of someone else’s Christmas candy. A few months old and chalky, but still good. “You can’t really go for more than a mile without seeing a cemetery, unless you take the interstate.” A road she’d never driven on and only seen. All those lanes packed full of people rushing past the town or away from it. It seemed loud and dirty. As if the very air around it was so chocked full of exhaust one could suffocate with their windows down. Fox much preferred the back-roads. The abandoned highways full of cracks and neglect, where the earth was beginning to claim back what men had done to her. There was a slowness on those roads. One that made a fifteen-minute drive feel like hours. Along them there were lots of overgrown grave-sites full of people, whole families even, dotted even few miles. Forgotten. Their weathered headstones all covered in moss and mold, choked with vines, the solitary reminders that once they had lived. Once they had been someone. Now, they were only bones and dust.

“We ain’t got a hospital, though. Places like that don’t stay here long. Just the clinic, but if you need something big, sometimes they send you two towns over--nearest hospital is there.” Big facilities like that weren’t inclined to settle anywhere money was always tight and healthcare was something you paid for and seldom used. “Saint something-or-other. You’d probably like it, lots of crosses hanging in the hallways. As if the power of God will keep someone from dying after half their skull went missing.” There had been a boy a few years older than her who had died of that exact situation. His parents had prayed. Hell, the whole damn town had prayed, but he died anyway. God or Jesus or whatever angels might be out there hadn’t done a thing aside from keeping him alive long enough to pass through the threshold of Saint something-or-other. His parents came home with his body and a bill they were still trying to pay off. Morosely, Fox wondered if his parents wished he had just died in the road that night. It would have saved them a whole lot of trouble. Of course, if he had been wearing his seat-belt and hadn’t had a truck filled with shining, empty cans of PBR, it would have saved them even more. She couldn’t remember his name. It was Bobby or Billy or Buddy or some other variation, but she remembered the road. Old Oak Lane. His body was buried in a cemetery not far from it. The town had the tree cut down after the wreckage was removed and the blood was sprayed from the asphalt. The Old Oak. She guessed people couldn’t stand being reminded of it.

“You ever live in a town this small, Preacher?”

#paramounticebound #x | burning the letters ( ANSWERED. )#[ OF COURSE I HAD TO DO THE SOUTHERN GOTHIC AU ]#[ this might be my favorite thing that ive written all year omg ]#x | v. this place is like somebody’s memory of a town and the memory’s fading ( MODERN SEVEN. )#car accident tw #medical mention tw #drunk driving tw #death tw #graphic content tw #religion tw

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aleksanderscult · 6 months

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If there were anything you could change about Aleksander's and Alina's core personalities what would you choose?

Ooh interesting question...

Let's start with Aleksander. I don't think I would change anything about him, to be honest. Maybe I'd make him have less trauma because I really feel sorry for him. But that's impossible for a man that has lived for so long. When you're immortal you are bound to get traumatized by manyyy things. But no, I don't think I would change anything. I love him and accept him as he is. In fact, I admire many of his qualities (won't elaborate on them now because this requires a different ask or its own post).

Now about Alina. Boy. I would change many things. But the one thing I would absolutely change in her character is her avoidance of responsibility and selfishness. I would make her think less of Mal and more about her country and the Grisha. Literally the whole trilogy was "Mal", "Mal?", "Mal!", "Oh my Saints, Mal!", "Where is Mal??", "Don't hurt Mal!!". Like there's people that are dying here, Alina😭😭

So yeah I would make her more responsible and take the reins about this whole Grisha persecution. In a perfect world Alina would take a leading position and change things for the better for her people (while still having her powers). Try to make right from wrong. Help Nikolai restore the balance between the First and Second Army and aid him to the Fjerdan wars. Be a good diplomat in time to make Ravka have a decent (at least) relationship with Shu Han and other countries. With a powerful Grisha as Queen and a charismatic otkazat'sya as King, Ravka could change for the better. Even without her powers her influence would be great, I think. Alina could grow herself to become a good leader only if she stopped thinking about herself and getting overwhelmed with her feelings. Like in R&R when she thought "I wish I had cut that rope and let them all drown" or something. So yeah. Thinking more rationally, be a pragmatist and work for the greater good of her country. She saw the state of Ravka, the state of Dva Stolba (the place she was born) where people were living in exhausting and terrible conditions. She felt pity for them. Did she do something about it? Nope.

When the Darkling died she should have said "Yes, what he did was horrible. But why did he do those things? What pushed him over the edge? What made him be this way? What he was fighting so ardently for?" and then try to fix these things in her own way. She should learn from the Darkling (his mistakes, his words to her, his actions, his cause), instead of running away and leaving everyone behind.

Everybody always criticizes the villains and their deeds (characters and readers alike) but nobody ever asks why and what made them this way. And nobody ever tries to solve the problem they were fighting for.

No. We only care about their defeat.

(Oh and I would have her have more badass moments like when she used the Cut to destroy the dome in the dining hall of the Little Palace in S&S or when she used her powers to stand up to the Apparat and his men in R&R. We needed a more assertive Alina, let's be honest 😌).

#That trilogy was amazing #and it would be even more if M*l was less in it and Alina would stop thinking about him for the whole three books #just give me confident Alina. cruel Alina. the Alina that can make someone piss their pants with her words and power #the kind of Alina that claims her power and does something with it. Rebuild Ravka from its ashes. A Grisha remaking a kingdom #Wouldn't that be wonderful? After so many years of the Grisha being spit on. feared. despised? And the common people suffering as well...#as for our boy Aleks. He is perfect as he is ❤️#a petty determined intelligent cruel baby 🤗#anon asks #grishaverse #grishaverse trilogy #shadow and bone #the darkling #pro darkling #aleksander morozova #pro aleksander morozova #alina starkov

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themusedump · 2 years

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Rise of the Monarch lyric starters. From the 2022 Amalee album. Change pronouns as needed!

Rise Of The Monarch (Intro)

"A candle burning, it was burning too bright."

"The world was shaking like the flicker of a light."

"A dying flame no one remembers."

"They beat her down to only embers."

"But will she rise again?"

"Rise, I know we can."

From The Embers

"I'd been blinded by the light for so damn long."

"It took losing everything to see I'd been wrong all along."

"I knew I had change somehow but didn't know where to start."

"I'd rather rule the dark than serve in the light."

"Tell me how this is wrong when it feels so right."

"I lost the fight but won the war."

"In my heart a hole was torn forever."

"I thought that I'd lay down and die, but just then I began to fly from embers."

"When you light a candle, watch the flames get brighter but the shadows all around grow darker."

"I spent my whole life fighting all this darkness in my heart from overtaking."

Metamorphosis

"What you did to me is making all my dreams into nightmares."

"But maybe all this time my love made me blind."

"Was it nothing more than all a game to you?"

"Was I the moth and you the flame?"

"Oh you should be afraid."

"Cause now I've locked away the girl that you had known. The girl you betrayed."

"The pain made me strong - It's where I belong."

"And it makes me laugh everytime I look back."

"I believed I couldn't be anything more than that."

"Boy, it's such a shame it had to end this way."

"Gave my heart and gave my soul. I gave it all to you and more."

"But I'm no longer the moth no baby I'm the flame."

Monster U Made

"There's a madness I can't fight and it calls to me at night."

"You have nightmares, I have mine."

"I was a mistake so you cast me off aside. Like that's all I'd ever be."

"But I'm back to take everything that's rightly mine."

"And we all have you to thank."

"Know I'm the monster that you made."

"Why be good that doesn't sound as fun?"

"But lemme tell you there is something bout the dark that really makes me feel alive."

"You think you're special but you're not."

"You and your ego can go rot."

"I'm only the thing you've done right, and that's sayin' a lot."

"But don't let that get to your head."

"Babe, you're just as good as dead."

Villain Vibes

"Better back down, get on your knees."

"Stealing your heart, she'll make you plead."

"She'd rather be the hunter than the prey."

"Rather be a killer than a Saint."

"Either way, she's still gonna make you pray."

"Maybe long ago was heaven-made, but she slipped and fell along the way."

"Now she's got another role to play."

"But I kinda like living on the edge of this high."

" I like crazy."

"Don't show this to just anyone."

"But can't stop what you've begun."

"Smiled 'til the mischief felt boring."

"She ain't the hero, just the villain of somebody else's story."

"Acting tough, nah you not even in the same category."

"But ya fear the reaper like never before."

"Trust it's a thrill you'll never comprehend."

MWTWB

"You're always going to be the villain in someone else's story."

"That's their fault for pissing you off in the first place."

"Mirror mirror, on the wall. Who's the baddest bitch of all - it's me?"

"No need to think - no need to think."

"No need to think I know it's me."

"I never take shit from anybody."

"Don't know why you think it was wise to cross me."

If ya got a death wish, then I'm listening. I'll end the life that you're living. Just call me your genie. "

"Piss me off and I'm leaving bodies."

"Better get down on your knees and count your prayers."

"Cause nothing good comes after here."

"You're 'bout to meet your queen."

"Lemme tell ya that you're messing with the wrong bitch now."

"Can't let you forget it's me who wears the crown."

"If you dare stand in my way then, baby Imma cut you down."

"I'm calling out for blood, it echoes in the crowd."

"And if you're gonna beg, then do it now."

"Keep making me mad and it'll be off with your head."

"Keep playing your games and somebody'll wind up dead."

"Kinda sad that all good things come to end."

"So baby kneel, off with your head."

"I wanna hear you scream."

"You ain't even seen me go full crazy."

"You really love to go and run your mouth."

"I hope you go down half as proud."

"I wanna hear you plead."

"Did ya really think I would let ya walk free?"

"If you're gonna beg, then do it now or else I'm gonna stain my gown."

Drink Your Light

"If you're scared of my bark then you'll be scared of my bite."

"But maybe that's baby that's the thing that I like."

"I don't run in a pack, I like it solo."

"And if I want it I take it."

"And you don't have to like it, but it's still me who's in control."

"Cause baby, I bite back."

"Let me drink your light."

"It wasn't merely fate that got me this throne."

"I got a taste for power and bone."

"And if I crave it I chase it."

"And I don't gotta say it, but you don't want me provoked."

"I'm a sick maniac with fire for soul."

"I feel alive my other side is now in control."

Call Me King

"I wasted years, gave you my life. And I think that's the biggest crime."

"You said forever but my trust in you was severed."

"Nothing quite inspires like a broken heart."

"Glad ya really hit me hard."

"You said forever, yeah, my sanity was severed."

"And now I'm the new monarch."

"It's not quite how we rehearsed but I wanna hear it from you first."

"Call me king."

"I don't need anything from you now that I'm king."

"And I might, yeah, I might show a little mercy."

"Nah. Fuck it."

"We made a promise in the light."

"We swore to set the kingdom right."

"We could be heroes but ya blew that all to zero."

"And this whole thing ends tonight."

"I'll show you what happens when you mess with god."

"You messed with the wrong bitch but somehow you're still alive."

"The monster that you made had you diggin' your own grave."

"I drank your light, rose from embers, so you can call me king."

#lyrics meme #roleplay meme #sentence meme #inbox meme #Mobile post #Long post

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wilsons-journey · 1 year

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🎼 Valefor - Music Prompts🎼

Music Prompts Template --- (All Songs link to Youtube!)

... THEIR BACKSTORY? The old witch sleep and the good man grace - The amazing devil

... THEIR PERSONALITY? Jekyll and Hyde - Adam Jensen Villain - MISSIO

... THEIR ANGST? Hurt - Johnny Cash Mad World - Palaya Royala

... THEIR COMFORT? Here’s a Health to the Company - The Longest Johns

... THEIR LOVE LIFE? Sea meets earth - Fever Fever

... A FIGHT SCENE? Warrior - Disturbed

---

Some Lore / explanation below the cut:

Their Backstory: “I'm all yours, but you're all mine Let's dance together, you and I 'Cause I'm not trapped with you, you see You're the one who's trapped with me

'Cause I've been here so many times before Don't you think I look pretty Curled up on this bathroom floor? But where you see weakness I see wit Sometimes I fall to pieces Just to see what bits of me don't fit”

When you face death so many times, you start to embrace it - challange it. And sometimes even yearn for it.

Valefor has faced many close calls in his life. But still he seemed to stubborn just to die. But it shaped him and left it’s scars.

---

Their Personality “Am I a villain or a saint? Let me lead the way Resting bitch face on the move, fuck you have to say? I know I am tough as a stone I've lived a lot of life that not a lot will understand The type of life that gives you scars before you take command I know I am tough as a stone“ - MISSIO, Villain

Sometimes you have do to things, no one will understand and make you seem as someone evil. But what is evil and good in the eyes of others?

Valefor is a person of grey. He neither sees himself as good or evil. But he understands how people see his actions.

The whole “Jekyl and Hyde” just describes Valefors two very differend sides.The joyful Vagabund and the merciless Assassion.

---

Their Angst “And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad That dreams in which I'm dying, are the best I've ever had I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take When people run in circles it's a very very mad world, mad world“

Sometimes you just want to close your eyes and rest in peace. But it’s a mad world, we must keep going. Nothing will change if we give up. But sometimes,... sometimes the world just weights to heavy.

As I mentioned in a little Comic, Valefor works for someone who he can’t escape. He hates it, but he has no choice. The only escape is death. And so Valefor someday decided, if he just had enough of everything he will take Israfil with him - killing them both. But the moment Valefor met Kying and lost his heart to this old warrior,... this plan changed. Now he will get free alive.

Their comfort “Our ship lies at anchor, she's ready to dock I wish her safe landing, without any shock If ever I should meet you by land or by sea I will always remember your kindness to me“

We have to say many goodbye’s in our lives. But the memories and the kindness - that I will cherish forever and never forget.

Their love life “And I could feel the breaking of my cold stone heart was about to begin The moment that we, locked eyes Now everywhere you go my eyes follow close I'm just waitin' for the time to be right To tell you how I've loved you for a while“

Love is a dangerous game. It gives a lot,... makes you strong. But it can break you. It can break you a lot,...

Well,... he never thought he would feel love again. But he is quite afraid of that. Because if Kying ever would betray him, that for sure would break Valefor once and for all.

Fight Scene “Come on bring it, don't sing it, better believe it Broken down till your hope has died Beat down till victory's mine Stand up and show me some pride And now are you ready?”

Valefor never grew up in a traditional Fahrar. With some other Charr he was solely raised to fight and serve. Far far away from home.

So this song could be a view into his head or what he got taught. > You are a Warrior. You have to fight until you win. Losing is no option.

And thats was Valefor does - fight. In every aspect of his life. Be it against real people or just his own inner demons.

#random #meme #valefor #that was fun ;v;#I might do this for some of my other charrs too

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