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stayinlimbo · 2 days

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We Become We

pairing: husband!lee minho x reader genre/warnings: friends to lovers, marriage of convenience, fluff, poor attempts at me trying to be funny, mc's gender is not specified word count: 1.02k note: i am not dead yay. i tried my best since i haven't had time to write for almost a month so please take this as a peace offering ♡

Marriage. It’s an interesting concept, isn’t it?

You’ve always thought so, at least. Two people agreeing to sign a legal document and tethering their lives to each other for whatever reason, be it love, societal expectations, familial pressure, financial security, etc.

Yours happens to be a man named Lee Minho. The same man you’ve been friends with for as long as you can remember. The same man who asked you to marry him for a reason you didn’t get to learn until he was already down on one knee.

(“I’m sorry, you want me to WHAT?” “Marry me. Please, I need health insurance.”

“Okay, yes, sure, whatever; now please get off the floor. People are staring.”)

Lee Minho, who, after dragging you to the courthouse and legally becoming your husband, finally elaborated on how his job would pay him more and cover both of your health insurances if he was married. So really, in his words, he was “doing you a huge favor” by marrying you.

And, in all honesty, he really was. No, you didn’t have a ring to show off your new husband’s weird skill at finding loopholes in company policy, and you’re like thirty-five percent sure the two of you are committing some kind of marriage fraud, but does it really matter when you can finally start using the hot water in your dingy apartment without worrying if you’ll have enough money to fund your crippling caffeine addiction? The government will have to drag you kicking and screaming before you resort back to mankind’s cruelest form of torture: cold showers.

Not to mention that marriage didn’t even change your relationship with Minho. And why would it? You’re still you, and he’s still him. He gets on your nerves just the same, maybe even a little bit more after he decided to frame your marriage certificate in his living room and send a photo to all your mutual friends. You’ll never forgive Minho for laughing at your helplessly panicked state when the group chat wouldn’t stop exploding with messages and incessant calls.

You’re still his best friend that resides in his apartment four out of seven days of the week while he inhabits yours for the other three. Maybe that’s why, two weeks after your “wedding,” when it was time to renew your lease, Minho suggested with a simple shrug of his shoulders that you move in with him since “you’re here all the time anyway.”

You’ve really got to learn how to say no to him because now you wake up next to your best friend/roommate/husband in his one bedroom, one bathroom apartment at the crack of dawn with a light pressure on your chest and fur in your face when his cats decide you need to wake up right now to feed them.

Not to say you don’t like the new arrangement! No, that would be the furthest from the truth.

Sure, you didn’t appreciate your skin care routine being interrupted by the unexpectedly high-pitched scream Minho let out when he saw you in a face mask for the first time, and what kind of person still has their phone’s brightness turned up all the way before bed? But who else would willingly tolerate your deliriousness before your morning coffee or indulge in your pleas to cook your favorite food three days in a row?

Living with Minho has only made the purely platonic feelings you harbor for him grow stronger.

That’s what the fluttering in your chest means every time you see him, right? The reason for the smile that grows on your face when you hear the distinct jingling of keys at the front door?

Yeah, that must be why heat spread across your cheeks when he handed you his phone to text one of his friends back, because since when did the heart emoji make an appearance next to your pinned contact name?

You just care about each other, that’s all. It’s normal to want to make sure he arrived at work safely and ask how his day is going during your lunch breaks. It’s normal to start receiving back hugs before bed—a comforting weight as Minho’s chin rests on your shoulder while you apply the rest of the products to your face.

It’s natural to have doubts about the nature of your relationship during an evening walk, acutely aware of his fingers lightly brushing against yours as you silently study his features illuminated by the soft glow of the scattered streetlights. What if he meets someone else and falls in love with them and wants a divorce and– oh.

Has he always looked at you like that? With his gaze softening as it locks with yours? With the corners of lips lifting into the gentlest smile you’ve ever seen? With all the stars shining above you finding a second home in his eyes? A look so loving that it takes your breath away and you can’t tell if you’re about to laugh or cry in relief.

And when you return home to get ready for bed, the familiar feeling of hands wrapping around your waist and a careful pressure resting by the crook of your neck quells the remnants of your worries.

It’s you and Minho. Minho and you, just as it always has been. Just as it’s always meant to be.

The distance between your bodies on the bed becomes nonexistent when you curl yourself into his side, laying your head on his shoulder and intertwining your legs with his as he immediately, unhesitantly, adjusts his arm, his fingertips finding purchase on exposed skin and roaming across the span of your back. A kiss to the top of your head is the last thing you feel before the gentle lull of breathing and the rise and fall of his chest begin to soothe you to sleep.

…

Ah, marriage—what an interesting concept. Two people agreeing to sign a legal document and tethering their lives to each other for whatever reason, be it love, societal expectations, familial pressure, financial security, etc.

You love your husband, and you’re beginning to think he loves you too.

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

taglist: @linospuddin @linocz @spicyhyunn

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peachdues · 4 months

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COALESCENCE — RANDOM SNIPPETS

Levi x F!Reader • secret pregnancy AU

I feel bad I haven’t updated anything for Coalescence recently — so have some random snippets from Part I. I will return to Coalescence once Part III of my Demon Slayer fic, In the Netherwood, is complete.

CW: MDNI • mentions of injury • pregnancy • NSFW sneak peek at the end • Hange being Hange • Hange also finds out that Levi x Reader have been fucking and Reader is now pregnant • Levi eats pussy like a god

Death was far quieter than you’d imagined. It was dark, perhaps even peaceful. An endless oblivion amidst which you floated without form; weightless.

When you’d lost unconsciousness against the rubble that was once the Main Street of Trost, you’d accepted the very real — and likely — possibility that you would not wake up again.

In your youth, death had been nothing more than an abstract concept; something that happened only to the elderly or those who caught illnesses that could not be treated, or even to those who ventured beyond the Walls.

As a soldier within the Survey Corps, however, you’d learned that death was as certain as the sun even if you might not live long enough to see it rise.

And, having spent the last eight years of your life fighting on behalf of the Corps even as your comrades dropped like flies around you, you knew you’d long overstayed your welcome in this world overrun by titans.

So when everything had begun to fade to black as you laid broken on chunks of stone and brick, you thought death had finally come to collect on the debt you owed. You supposed you were grateful that your final moments were not spent struggling in the grip of a titan as it brought you to its open, salivating mouth.

Really, it wasn’t such a bad way to go, dying from injuries sustained in an explosion — even if the explosion had been caused by the stupidity of one of your own. You could make peace with it; you almost had.

Almost.

The one, nagging thought you’d had as the world around you melted into dark oblivion had been of him — of your dark-haired, brooding boyfriend, who was likely miles away from Trost and utterly unaware of the disaster that had befallen the district; that had befallen you.

Levi, you’d known, was going to be pissed when he found out you’d gotten yourself killed, after he’d told you, so many times, to avoid doing exactly that.

As much as you’d hoped he could find it within himself to forgive you, you knew he wouldn’t, and truthfully, you didn’t think you could forgive yourself. You knew how every face of your fallen comrades haunted the Captain’s waking hours — how their screams plagued his precious few hours of sleep.

And now, it seemed, you would only be adding yourself to the festering wound he carried on his heart; so no, you probably didn’t deserve his forgiveness anyways.

It would’ve been nice to see him, one last time — you would’ve taken one of his fierce verbal lashings, if it meant hearing his voice one last time.

There was nothing you could do, however but resign yourself to death’s beckoning embrace, to fade into the nether and dissolve among the stars —

A buzz broke the quiet black of your oblivion.

You frowned; the buzz seemed to grow louder with each dull thud of your heart. You wanted to bat it away, make the silence come back and sink into the calm stupor you’d been floating in once more.

But the buzz was incessant, growing louder until you realized it was not a buzz at all, but voices. Many voices, speaking over one another in hissed, urgent tones.

“Get me a sponge, I can’t see where all this blood is coming from —“

“— Did you see her bloodwork? She’s at least ten weeks along, she’ll need to be discharged immediately —“

“That’s assuming the fetus has even survived —“

“Shush, I think she’s coming to; someone get Squad Leader Hange —

The voices melted together above you, their grate making the ache in your head grow steadily more piecing with each passing breath.

With far more effort than you wanted to believe it would take, your eyes slowly opened, struggling to adjust against the harsh overhead light of the Trost infirmary.

That light, however, was quickly blocked out by a shadowy figure leaning over you, far too close to your face for you own comfort. Your eyelids fluttered as the figure above you sharpened into focus, revealing a pair of large brown eyes blinking owlishly down at you.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, soldier!” The unmistakable voice of your Squad Leader chirped. “Glad to have you with us!”

Your lips, dry and cracked parted to answer her, but you could do no more than respond with a strangled, pained groan.

The surface upon which you’d been lain — a cot, by the feel of it — dipped as Hange Zoe climbed atop it, legs carefully straddling your hips to keep their weight off you, as the Squad Leader leaned in close to your face.

“Squad Leader — you can’t —“ a nurse tried.

Her admonition fell on deaf ears. “You had me worried there, Y/N,” Hange’s began, fingers peeling back your eyelids to check the dilation of your pupils.

“You were in rough shape when Braus and another cadet pulled you free from that toppled building.”

You tried to ask how long you’d been out, but your mouth struggled to form around the shape of the words. Instead, all that came out was a garbled string of nonsense.

“You have a concussion, that’s for sure,” Hange said smoothly, fingers prodding at a tender spot against your temple.

“But that’s not the most important thing — Y/N, did you know you’re pregnant?”

That single word broke through the addled fog clogging your head.

“Preg—?” You managed, your tongue thick in your mouth.

Hange appeared to interpret the furrow of your eyebrows as a lack of comprehension rather than shock. “Yes, preg-nant. There is a small clump of cells growing inside you that will become a child —“

You grimaced. “N-no,” you tried. “I had — an implant —“

You heard the nurses desperately plea with your Squad Leader to get them down from where they’d perched upon your cot, but Hange paid them no mind.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, doll, but they aren’t always one hundred percent effective. It’s rare, but it happens.”

Under normal circumstances, you would have cursed your luck. Of course you’d end up being the exception.

“I can’t say I’m excited for you,” Hange continued, though it appeared they had been finally persuaded to remove themselves from your cot. The Squad Leader deftly stepped away from you, coming around the edge of your bed to take a clipboard from one of the nurses.

“You’re my best Scout; your pregnancy means I have to discharge you. No exceptions.”

You struggled to keep your eyes open, unconsciousness creeping in once more. “Is — am I still —?”

Hange looked up from your medical sheet, eyes softening. “Yes, Y/N, though you’re not entirely out of the clear, yet.”

You didn’t know whether to be relieved or not; part of you relaxed at the assurance, but until you could talk to Levi —

Levi.

Fuck, Levi.

You hadn’t known of your — condition — until mere seconds before, which meant Levi sure as hell had no clue that your birth control had failed, and you were now carrying irrefutable proof of the relationship the two of you had concealed for the last year.

Levi.

You needed to tell him, and fast; before it was too late to address the problem.

Levi.

There was nothing you could do at that moment as the world around you began to dim once more. Try as you might, your body was unable to fight off the sleep that crept in and began to tug you under, despite the urgency with which you thought of your need to get in contact with the Captain as soon as possible.

Levi. You needed to talk to Levi.

But the Trost infirmary slipped away, the voices of nurses and of Hange fading to the same buzz which had brought you back to consciousness the first time.

Before you slipped below the waves of sleep, you heard your Squad Leader’s lone gasp.

“Motherfucker-“

—-

(Levi’s POV)

Levi’s eccentric comrade emerged from the small examination room, a pensive look on their face.

Levi hadn’t given much thought as to what he would do if he ran into any of his colleagues among the upper ranks of the Scouts. His mind had been exclusively focused on her, and the news that had shaken him to his core.

He remained pressed against the corridor wall, for once uncertain whether he should make his presence known or stay still until Hange wandered away, leaving him to slip into the examination room unseen.

But the section leader had always had a peculiar sense as to when he was near, and so with a slight sense of foreboding, Levi watched as Hange’s head turned towards him, eyes as round and as bright as an owl’s.

“What a surprise it is to see you here, Levi.”

Levi kept his features neutral. “Is it?”

Hange’s expression was inscrutable. “What a day, huh?” They folded their arms across their chest and leaned against the doorway leading to her — to Y/N.

“A titan breach, gross incompetence by the Garrison causing even more casualties and destruction,” Hange counted off the day’s events on her fingers. “And to top it all off, the best scout on my squad not only got injured because of said incompetence, but she’s also pregnant.”

It took everything in him to keep his voice even and monotone. “Sounds like you’ve got quite the headache. The paperwork to discharge a scout is tedious at best.”

Levi brushed imaginary lint off the shoulder of his cape. “Better go get a move on.”

A strange smirk tugged at the corner of Hange’s mouth.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about who the prospective father is, have you?”

There was a beat. “No.”

Hange’s smirk turned into a grin. “Poor thing has a concussion — it’s small, don’t worry,” and Levi knew his face must have tightened. “But the funniest thing happened while the poor girl was coming in and out of consciousness.”

Levi’s fists clenched slightly at the feral glint in their eye.

“It was almost hard to hear what she was muttering, the poor dear,” Hange finally kicked off the door jam and moved to saunter past her raven-haired comrade.

“I didn’t realize you were on a first-name basis with my scout, Levi.”

Levi’s voice dropped to a near whisper as they brushed by him. “Hange.”

“It seems the pregnancy is still viable,” the section commander said quietly.

He couldn’t stifle the faint exhale of relief which left him at their reassurance. For as shocking as the news of her pregnancy was, Levindidnt want to think about the mental toll a miscarriage could have wrought upon you.

Or himself, for that matter.

“You can go in,” Hange’s voice interrupted is slight reprieve. “I’ll make sure no one comes this way for at least a few minutes. But you can’t stay long — Erwin wants to see us.”

—-

“Well, congratulations!” Hange boomed, clapping the Captain sharply on the shoulder. “Good on you for working to restore the human race!”

A muscle in Levi’s jaw ticked. “Hange—“

“I guess the moniker ‘humanity’s strongest’ doesn’t just apply to your combat skills —“

“Hange.”

“— I’m talking super swimmers —“

“Oi. Four-eyes.” Levi pulled on the eccentric squad leader’s ponytail to command their attention. “Enough.”

—-

(NSFW bonus)

“You’ve gotta speak up, sweetheart,” Levi mocked between teasing kitten licks against your outer folds. his breath was hot as he exhaled against your damp core. “I’m waiting.”

You felt frustrated tears gather in the corners of your eyes. With an impatient whine, you rolled your hips towards him desperately, eyes wide and pleading for him to do something to fill the empty ache you felt within.

“Not good enough,” Levi growled, tongue lazily circling your entrance, twitching away every time you jerked your hips towards his mouth.

“Levi, please, I—,” you choked off with a frustrated whine. “You’re not being nice — I’m pregnant —,”

The stoic Captain pulled his mouth away from you entirely, rocking back on his heels. From between your thighs, Levi studied you, a renewed heat flaring to life in his steely eyes.

“You are, aren’t you?” He conceded, his eyes locking in on your mouth as you sank your teeth into your bottom lip and mewled. “And all because of me.”

Levi’s eyes dropped back down to your core, slick and aching, ready to take him however he wanted.

“And what kind of father would I be if I made the mother of my child suffer unnecessarily?”

Any response or yearning plea you may have answered him with died in your throat as Levi surged forward, his tongue plunging deep within your entrance, his nose pressing right against that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs.

You just managed to slap your hand over your mouth to stifle the scream he pulled from you as the Captain began to fuck you with his tongue.

You considered yourself to be somewhat an expert on the eccentricities of Levi Ackerman. You knew he preferred two scoops of leaves for his morning cup of tea, but only one and a half in the evenings. You knew when he bathed he followed a precise routine, always washing himself twice before his hair, and that he always used two towels to dry off because he hated trailing water beyond the washroom.

You knew that he was dust and dirt’s greatest nemesis, and that even the slightest bit of clutter or disarray set his teeth on edge. You knew he loathed sharing any space with the cadets because no matter how many times he threatened them, they never seemed to remember to clean up after themselves properly.

You’d learned all of these quirks slowly, over years of proximity and tentative friendship with the brooding captain. You’d coveted each new discovery like some precious jewel, squirreling it away in a mental folder labeled “Levi,” that you periodically turned to whenever he was stressed or on his last nerve.

But there had been one attribute of his that you hadn’t learned about until after your relationship escalated — after he’d hauled you up onto his desk for the very first time and fucked you stupid.

And that insight was this: Levi, Captain of the Survey Corps’ Special Operations Squad and Commander Erwin’s right-hand soldier, ate pussy like a man possessed.

“You’re doing so good, doll,” he groaned between lewd smacks of his mouth against your syrupy folds, his lips and teeth alternating in their ministrations against your clit. “You’re so damn good, giving me a baby, making a father out of me.”

Hearing Levi not only acknowledge your pregnancy but speak as though he were excited the pair of you were venturing into parenthood together made the coil in your belly tighten.

Levi’s hands clamped down around your shins, guiding your legs until they bent at your knees before pushing them up and level with your hips. His fingers splayed around your calves, he used his grip to rock you back and forth against his face, allowing your juices to smear across his lips and jaw until his skin was shiny with your arousal.

He hummed in response to the staccato of “oh fuck, oh fuck — Levi —“ which fell from your lips until you could no longer remember how to form words.

His eyes remained open and fixed pointedly on your face, those gray irises tracking every twitch of your mouth and pinch of your brow. The louder your strangled whimpers became, the harder he moved you, until you were nearly sobbing for him to let you come apart on his tongue.

more levi content soon, babies!

#attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #levi ackerman #levi x reader #aot smut #aot fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #snk fanfiction #snk levi #captain levi #levi aot #levi attack on titan

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beom1e · 6 months

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jerk! not so bad

your hometown begins to bring back many pleasant memories, and being with yeonjun just feels right. and, as your friendships with the boys individually improves — and you find forgiveness for each of them within yourself — you become less bothered by beomgyu’s incessant teasing and taunting.

pairing choi beomgyu x fem! reader

genre humour, fluff, angst, guitarist! beomgyu

warning empty threats, cursing, jealousy

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much to your dismay, you had made quite the discovery shortly after waking up from the first night staying with your childhood friends.

for a moment, you’d felt like the main character in a cheesy romantic comedy. the birds were chirping, the sun was shining down onto your bed and you stretched out in that stereotypical movie way. but minutes into waking up — when you had slipped on your house slippers and opened up your bedroom door — the first sight of your day was beomgyu.

you’d groaned and rolled your eyes and huffed all the way down the stairs, stomping and making an entrance into the kitchen. and of course, beomgyu had made a comment about how he thought your pyjamas were ridiculous and childish.

‘why didn’t you tell me i was being stationed next to this jerk for the next month?’ you continued your tantrum.

‘you know, i really don’t care for that term,’ beomgyu rolled his eyes, stood beside you now. to the rest of the boys, you looked like two pathetic children just unable to get along. ‘what if i just non-stop called you a—?’

‘a what!?’ you snapped at him.

‘y/n, calm down,’ soobin rolled his eyes at the two of you. ‘it’s not like you’re sharing a room with him.’

that ideal hardly lasted the next ten minutes.

your hope to have a peaceful, morning bubble bath quickly dissipated as soon as you stepped into what you thought was your own bathroom. there was a second door in your room and you opened it up to see your promised bathroom, but there just happened to be somebody in it. and of course, that person just so happened to be beomgyu.

‘you have got to be kidding me,’ beomgyu turned his head back at the sound of your voice, rolling his eyes before turning back to face the mirror. ‘soobin is so dead.’

‘how do you think i feel?’ he spoke with toothpaste still in his mouth. ‘my room is a guest bedroom, that’s why there’s an adjoining bathroom. i mean, i’m a vital part of the band, and yet they shut me away in this corner with our guest.’

‘do you ever shut up?’ you smiled mockingly. ‘and at least spit before you continue being a complete ass.’

life following your discovery was one big competition between you and beomgyu, over who could bug the other more. his favourite trick was to spend an ungodly amount of time in the bathroom every morning, claiming he had to perfect his hair or he ‘missed a spot’ shaving. many times, you just shoved him out of the way and coped with having to share your space. he crossed the line, however, when he walked in on you showering. and not because it was an idiotic, rude, invasive thing to do, but because of the way he reacted.

‘my eyes!’ he’d helplessly called out, and forced his face into his hands before backing his way out of the room.

not that he had seen anything, because of the opaque shower curtain, but it still irked you. no apology whatsoever, and he was downright rude about your appearance. he couldn’t understand why you weren’t up for much back-and-forth taunting that day.

a week in, and things were only getting messier.

‘y/n!’ he screamed from within the bathroom. and so you entered, hiding the smile on your face. ‘do you seriously need every surface in this bathroom to be covered in your junk?’

‘hey, i saved some space for you,’ you shrugged, watching him from your position leaned against the doorframe. when his expression twisted with annoyance, you smirked and spun out of the room. ‘if you’re lost, just check under the sink!’

he wasn’t going to let that slide. you’d relocated all of his things into a small basket that sat under the sink, giving him no sink surface space and not even a single shelf inside of the shower. you were just making life difficult for him. in turn, he would do the same to you as payback.

after a very long day, you were just hoping for a peaceful night. you’d taken a trip to the arcade with taehyun and kai, losing game after game to taehyun and trying to hold kai back whenever he caught sight of a claw machine. to say you were tired would be an understatement.

you sighed with contentment, falling back into the comfort of the large bed. you’d been dying to read a particular book since the start of your final semester, but held off in favour of your degree. you flipped to the first page, an excited smile spreading across your face as you did so.

as if on cue, beomgyu began to play the electric guitar… connected to his largest, loudest speaker. to make things worse, he just so happened to be playing ‘lovesong’. approximately ten seconds later, you were pounding your fist against the wood of his door.

‘for your sake, beomgyu, i really hope you have health insurance!’ you yelled, but he didn’t answer. taking matters into your own hands, you pushed down on the handle and stepped into his room without permission.

it was very beomgyu. dark blue walls and grey bedsheets, minimalistic decor, his blinds permanently closed, a computer set-up across his desk and his many guitars hung up on the other side of the bathroom wall.

‘may i help you?’ the sound cut off in a horrible, scratchy tone as his hand pressed carelessly against the strings.

‘could you keep it down?’ you tried to be reasonable. ‘i’ve just sat down to read my book.’

‘i have to practice, otherwise i’ll forget how to play guitar and lose my place in the band,’ he sighed mockingly.

‘and that would be a bad thing because…?’ you retaliated.

he paused to look you up and down before smiling to himself. you crossed your arms over your chest out of insecurity and tried not to feel awkward.

‘cute pyjamas,’ he spoke, before repositioning his fingers into the position of e minor.

you narrowed your eyes with annoyance as he began to play once again, then you slammed his bedroom door close behind yourself with intention. the sounds emitted from your throat were close to growls the whole five steps it took you to get back to your own room. you closed your own door, headed over to your cd player and pressed play. with the speakers on maximum volume, you snuggled back into the space between your pillows and sighed contentedly.

of course, it wouldn’t be easy to read your book anymore, but the sacrifice was worth it for getting under beomgyu’s skin.

however, he had the upper hand. your measly cd player’s speakers were no match for his professional grade speakers. the volume went up, and so did your aggravation. you grabbed your pillow and placed it over your head, before pulling it down as hard as you could and screaming into the material.

bliss. the warm sun, a shopping bag on your arm, yeonjun at your side, a cool breeze, absolutely no sight of beomgyu.

‘i really need to get more picks,’ yeonjun claimed sheepishly, hands in his pockets as he slowly turned towards you. you smiled and shrugged, making a move to cross the street. ‘thank you, y/n, i’ll never forget this.’

‘forget what?’ you laughed. ‘me allowing you to go into the music store? i love it there!’

‘your selflessness,’ he explained. ‘i promised to take you out shopping to make up for beomgyu’s tendency to be an asshole, yet here i am begging you to stop by this place.’

‘yeonjun, please,’ you rolled your eyes, pushing open the door. ‘no need for your dramatics.’

immediately, your eyes landed on the new cashier. last time you’d been here — albeit two years ago — there was a sweet old man who had been a rockstar in his twenties. the whole place had changed, with a much more modern and less authentic look, and all of the employees were people your own age. you’d clocked the cashier because she was truly beautiful, and totally the kind of girl yeonjun would like.

‘the picks are over at the register,’ he started. ‘i’ll just be a minute. feel free to keep looking around, though.’

you kissed your teeth with annoyance and turned towards the wall of guitars. she seemed nice enough, with the way she smiled at every customer and wished everyone leaving a good day. in an attempt to distract yourself, you eyed each of the guitars on display and tried to imagine yourself playing them. your own guitar was back at your parents’ house, in a box labelled ‘extra stuff’. that’s all it really was now, a decoration and a constant reminder of what once was.

you sighed and took a step around the corner, almost crashing into somebody. beomgyu grabbed you by your shoulders to steady you before you were able to collide with him.

‘woah there,’ he laughed. ‘almost fell for me.’

‘shut up,’ you muttered, feeling defeated. ‘not in the mood.’

‘why’s that?’ he pressed, but caught sight of you looking back at yeonjun flirting with the cashier. ‘oh, i see.’

‘see what?’ you frowned. ‘i’m just tired.’

‘you’re in love with yeonjun,’ he stated. ‘but he isn’t interested.’

‘i’m not in love with yeonjun,’ you scoffed. ‘anymore.’

‘your expression says otherwise,’ he teased.

‘my expression?’ you raised a brow. ‘ugh, why am i even talking to you? i need to get out of here.’

you spun around and began walking towards the exit.

‘deny it all you want,’ beomgyu called out. ‘but it’s true.’

you stuck your middle finger up in the air behind you on the way out. yeonjun gave the cashier an apologetic smile before he grabbed his paper bag of picks and followed you. he shot a glare in the younger boy’s direction, receiving a confused and annoyed ‘what!?’ in return.

‘hey, sorry,’ yeonjun spoke as the door closed. ‘i didn’t know he was going to be in there.’

‘nothing happened, ‘jun,’ you sighed. ‘let’s go home.’

‘but we didn’t even get lunch yet,’ he took a step closer, wrapping an arm around you to pull you flush against his chest. ‘i thought you were just dying to eat the food we loved so much as kids.’

‘it’s alright,’ you huffed. yeonjun began to walk with his arm still around your shoulder, giving you that false sense of hope once again. ‘i can stomach your cooking one more time.’

‘i won!’ you jumped up from your spot on the couch, celebrating by bouncing and cheering. ‘and you all suck!’

‘i hate playing with y/n,’ soobin pouted.

‘oh, scooby,’ you fell into seat beside him and placed your hand atop his head before ruffling his hair. ‘maybe when you grow up you’ll be just as good as i am.’

‘i’m older than you,’ he narrowed his eyes.

‘okay, food time!’ yeonjun got up from the couch and disappeared from the lounge area.

‘i’ve missed you,’ you smiled, turning your head to face soobin. ‘and kai and taehyun, wherever they are.’

‘taehyun’s probably in the studio and kai… probably upstairs watching tv,’ he laughed shortly. ‘we’ve missed you too, y/n. i felt really bad about the fact that we’d kept all this from you, but it was too much to explain through a text or a call.’

‘i know, i get it, soob,’ you shrugged, folding your arms across your chest. ‘but i’m happy for you all. i mean, look at the size of the tv we just played mario kart on.’

‘what’s going on in here?’ yeonjun walked back in with two bags full of takeout. the way you were looking at soobin with that smile on your face and the closeness of your faces made his heart feel a little… sad.

you were always close with soobin. never as close as you were with yeonjun, but close enough. you spent a lot of time one-on-one and back when you used to visit them regularly, it was soobin who you were coming to hang out with. yeonjun had always suspected that something was going on between the two of you, because of how comfortable you were around him. he would always be the one carrying you on his back when your legs got tired, or the one to trade food whenever you weren’t feeling your order anymore, or the one you sat beside during movie night. he hated to feel jealous of soobin, but he couldn’t exactly help it.

it was only soobin, despite your closeness with the others. with kai, you’d always held hands walking around and he was always your partner when it came to team games. taehyun was the one you always went to for a heart-to-heart, and your favourite person to go to the studio with. but to yeonjun, it was just innocent friendship. maybe it was the fact that soobin was the leader of the band, or that he was taller and gentler than he would ever be.

‘just catching up on two years of y/n drought,’ soobin exclaimed, pulling you into his side.

yeonjun pursed his lips in response and nodded to himself, placing the two bags down onto the table. you excitedly moved forward on the couch, out from under soobin’s arm. and then the door opened, and in stepped beomgyu who had just gotten home from spending the whole day out with his own friends. you grabbed a slice of the pizza and rolled your eyes before falling back into the couch.

‘movie night?’ he held up his own two bags, filled with tempting snacks.

‘it’s up to y/n,’ soobin spoke. ‘she was already spending the day alone with us.’

‘come on, it’ll be fun,’ beomgyu was looking at you now, a smile on his lips. ‘we haven’t done anything as the six of us.’

‘sure,’ you shrugged.

‘really?’ yeonjun almost gasped. ‘you’re agreeing to spending hours in a room with beomgyu?’

‘hey, can you not?’ beomgyu groaned. ‘it’s not like i’m the antichrist.’

minutes later, you sat yourself in between taehyun and kai with the popcorn bowl in your lap. an array of movies were selected by each of you individually, some of them only lasting a few minutes before everyone voted against watching the rest. you felt good to be in a room with your favourite people once again, comfortable and just enjoying yourselves. you’d laugh wholeheartedly at kai’s stupid jokes and taehyun’s brutal critiques of the movies, and just feel at peace.

as time went on, positions changed. yeonjun sat on the floor between your legs and asked you to play with his hair, and then he took up the couch when he fell asleep. you laid across the floor with your elbows propped up on a pillow beside soobin until he claimed he was going to bed. eventually, everybody had left except for yourself and beomgyu. he sighed audibly and dropped a pillow at your side, then mirroring your exact position and turning to look at you.

‘thank you, beomgyu,’ you smiled. ‘i enjoyed tonight.’

‘why? because i was here?’ he teased.

‘no, idiot,’ you rolled your eyes and looked back at the tv. ‘i’ve missed my friends so much. the friends i made at school just… weren’t the same. they don’t know me like the guys do.’

‘yeah…’ beomgyu trailed off. ‘must be nice.’

‘what’s up with you?’ you snapped your head back around to look at him upon hearing his depressing tone.

‘they talk about you a lot,’ he tilted his head to the side to rest his head on one hand instead. ‘how you were just the greatest thing on earth, and how much they missed you. it didn’t matter how good i was at playing guitar, i knew i would never be able to take your place. and… i don’t really have any childhood friends of my own anymore.’

‘what about the friends you saw today?’ you pressed, enjoying this other side of beomgyu — the side where he wasn’t a complete jackass who just had to get a word in.

‘college,’ he explained shortly. ‘i graduated last year.’

‘i wasn’t expecting that,’ you thought out loud.

‘why not?’ he raised his eyebrows.

‘i don’t know…’ you laughed shortly before quickly covering your mouth. ‘but i’m not trying to call you stupid.’

‘really feels that way, y/n,’ you liked hearing your name in his softer tone. ‘it all feels pointless now that i’m here anyway.’

‘well, that gives me hope,’ you panicked.

‘i’m sure you’ll excel at whatever you do, y/n,’ he smiled. ‘yeonjun’s told me a countless amount of times just how beautiful your voice is, and how huge your brain is.’

‘he’s my best friend,’ you rolled your eyes. ‘he has to say that kind of stuff.’

‘sounded pretty convincing to me,’ he shrugged. ‘and i’m pretty sure your little crush isn’t as one-sided as you think.’

‘i don’t have a crush on yeonjun,’ you huffed.

‘dinner dates?’ he teased. ‘like fancy dinner dates. he takes you out shopping, on his card. you sat and played with his hair for an hour and then he fell asleep curled up beside you.’

‘beomgyu, please,’ you groaned. ‘we’ve always been like this.’

‘and you’ve never thought to ask him out?’ he looked serious about this, and he was convincing you that yeonjun really did have feelings for you.

‘i’m going to bed,’ you pushed yourself up and stretched out. ‘and no more talk about this… ever.’

‘yes, sarge,’ he joked. ‘goodnight, y/n.’

‘goodnight, beomgyu,’ you smiled.

light flooded into the dark room as you pushed the door open, but disappeared in an instant as the door closed. beomgyu sighed, clutched the cushion in his arms and pressed his face into it. the silence consumed him and sent his mind running, and for once, he wasn’t thinking about you.

‘good morning!’ you called as you came speeding down the stairs and into the open-plan kitchen. ‘what’s for breakfast?’

beomgyu stared blankly at you as you stood on the opposite side of the counter to him. he was mid-pour making his usual cereal and apple juice, when your excitement came to him like a shock to his system. taehyun came to your side and placed a stack of pancakes in front of you, making you grin and give him a grateful hug.

‘how do i look?’ yeonjun entered the kitchen, fully dressed and looking slightly crazed as if he hadn’t slept at all.

‘perfect, ‘jjuni,’ beomgyu teased. ‘i’d date you.’

‘great,’ he breathed out. ‘i’ve gotta go, i’ll see you all later.’

‘weird,’ kai observed, his comment coming from across the room. ‘what d’you think that was about?’

‘yeah, strange,’ you shrugged, and loosened your hold on taehyun.

but nothing was going to get in your way today.

you took your time eating your breakfast before heading upstairs to wash your face and start your skincare routine. beomgyu pounded on the locked door as you stood posing in the mirror and feeling good about yourself, too immersed to even notice until he came in through your door. you rolled your eyes and went back into your room, to then try on an array of outfits until you were satisfied. it felt like music was playing behind you as you went about your day, like the intro of a feel-good romantic comedy. the smile on your face was wide as you skipped through the hallway, past a confused beomgyu and down the stairs until you found yourself in the living room.

‘hey, taehyun,’ you sat down beside him. ‘do you wanna go out for ice cream?’

‘i do!’ kai raised his hand in the air. ‘i’ll go.’

‘okay, we’ll all go,’ you grinned.

to go out for ice cream with your childhood friends in the middle of summer was both refreshing and painfully nostalgic. it reminded you of a simpler time, when the five of you were just a bunch of high school kids who played instruments for fun and had unreachable dreams. well, said unreachable dreams had only became unreachable for you. the boys were now happily living the life they had always dreamed of, and while you were happy to have sent yourself off to college, it was hard to watch from the outside.

‘do you still play?’ taehyun spoke, before placing a spoonful of soft serve into his mouth.

‘i haven’t in a long time,’ you stared down at your tub of ice cream. ‘i fell out of love with guitar after i left, because playing alone didn’t compare to playing with all of you.’

‘you could still play with us,’ kai suggested. ‘i’m sure beomgyu has a spare guitar for you.’

‘you think beomgyu will give up a guitar for me?’ you almost snorted. ‘he hates me.’

‘he doesn’t hate you,’ taehyun stated blankly. ‘if you just give him a chance, you’ll see that he’s actually not so bad.’

‘okay, last time i checked, we came here to spend the day together,’ you rolled your eyes. ‘i’m not here to discuss beomgyu and his guitars.’

‘you were the one to first mention your silly little feud,’ kai defended, making you glare at him.

‘moving on,’ you sighed. ‘i saw this new store that has these super cute keychains and charms.’

‘yeah, i think i know it,’ taehyun smiled. ‘it’ll be nice for you to have something from home for when you go back.’

‘i thought so too,’ you smiled, although a little more sadly than taehyun had. the thought of leaving them behind once again just didn’t feel right. ‘let’s get going.’

the three of you walked aimlessly under the heat. taehyun and kai had no idea where this place was and you certainly couldn’t remember, yet you refused to pull out google maps. but after twenty minutes of walking and talking, you rounded a corner and there stood the building in all its glory.

‘i told you, fate will lead the way,’ you grinned.

inside, the three of you separated to different corners with different interests. you spent a long time browsing statement earrings before a fox pin across the room caught your eye. you made a beeline for it and picked it up, admiring the dainty item with only one person in mind.

‘just this please,’ you placed the pin down in front of the cashier with a polite smile. ‘do you have a loyalty card?’

‘yes, we do,’ the cashier smiled as they wrapped your pin up in dark brown tissue paper. ‘would you like one today?’

‘uhm,’ you thought for a second about how often you’d realistically come back. ‘maybe next time, if that’s okay.’

‘no problem,’ they placed the pin into a tiny bag for you and took your cash before wishing you a good day.

you walked up to kai and put your head on his shoulder, causing him to jump and almost bump into a display. you burst out laughing at his reaction but apologised quickly.

‘are you both ready to go?’ taehyun interrupted.

‘yeah,’ you smiled.

as you turned towards the exit, the bell above the door rang and yeonjun stepped inside, with the girl from the music store holding onto his arm. your expression dropped as you watched them pass you without even noticing your presence. taehyun acted quickly when he linked his arm with yours and forced you towards the door.

‘let’s get some actual lunch,’ he suggested, kai nodding from the side. ‘we’ll go to your favourite place.’

‘sure,’ you shrugged.

you tried not to get down and ruin the mood as you walked towards the cafe. after all, the relationship between you and yeonjun was purely platonic. he never tried to close the gap and pursue you, and it wasn’t like you’d ever expressed your feelings for him to anyone either. of course, everyone else knew about your feelings for him, but he didn’t. and you wanted it to stay that way, so that he could pursue the girl from the music store guilt-free.

‘grab a table, i’ll order,’ taehyun parted from you and kai, leaving you to follow kai to a booth beside a window.

you’d eaten at the restaurant a countless amount of times, so taehyun had yours and everyone else’s order memorised. even when you would ask for a menu and spend a good ten minutes checking it out, your order always came out the same. it had been the sole hangout place for your group as kids, and the staff knew you all by name. you’d missed the opportunity to visit earlier when yeonjun had first exposed the liking he had taken to the girl in the music store.

‘hey, kai,’ beomgyu spoke, sliding into the empty seat beside you. ‘y/n.’

‘beomgyu,’ you challenged, with your arms folded and head tilted with annoyance. ‘what are you doing here?’

‘plotting a crime,’ he deadpanned. ‘obviously grabbing lunch, y/n. i see your degree didn’t do much for your common sense.’

‘and i see clown school hasn’t updated their humour class in centuries,’ you rolled your eyes. ‘leave, please.’

it was quite shocking to see the comparison between beomgyu right now and beomgyu the previous day. what happened to the sweeter, more serious version that you’d met the night before? how did he somehow bounce back to the world-class asshole he typically was in a matter of hours?

‘i was here first,’ he leaned back and turned his head towards his own group of friends. ‘besides, this is my spot.’

‘like hell it is,’ you laughed shortly. ‘i’ve been coming here with yeonjun since we were kids.’

‘this is my hometown too, y/n,’ beomgyu tilted his head to the side with a smirk. ‘i used to come here with my brother all the time when we were kids.’

‘fine,’ you grabbed your bag and slammed it onto the table. ‘can you at least scoot over so i can leave?’

he did as instructed, and you slid out of the booth without another word. kai and taehyun shot beomgyu a glare, about to call you back to the table when the door opened and they saw yeonjun approaching you.

‘y/n, hey,’ yeonjun reached out for you with concern but you backed away, huffing in anger.

‘not right now, ‘jun,’ you lowered your eyes, catching sight of the fox pin sitting against the left of his chest. ‘where did you get that pin?’

‘the girl from the music store,’ he broke out into a smile. ‘she saw it and said it reminded her of me, so she got it for me and— where are you going?’

the door slammed behind you as you rushed outside, holding in a deep breath that was certain to release as a sob. the four boys watched you walk in the direction of the house from behind the windows, confusion in the air. you picked up the pace until you were certain you were out of their sight. with your back against the exterior wall of a building, tucked between an alleyway, you let the first tear fall.

the pin felt heavy in your hands. you played with it between your fingers and traced your thumb over the silver outline.

leaning towards your bedside table, you pulled open the first drawer and threw it in without a second thought. your knees pulled up towards your chest almost automatically as you cried and rested your head against your wrapped arms. the sobs reached beomgyu’s ears, who stood only inches away from your bedroom door. he sighed and knocked softly, but heard no response on your end.

he pushed down on the handle and opened the door, making you snap your head up. you groaned and wiped at your tears.

‘what do you want?’ you snapped.

‘are you okay?’ he frowned.

‘peachy,’ you scoffed. ‘get out.’

‘y/n—’ he sighed.

‘please,’ your voice cracked.

beomgyu pursed his lips and swallowed thickly. but he did as you requested and pulled the door closed behind himself. it softly clicked closed as he spun around to face soobin.

‘what are you doing?’ soobin asked angrily. ‘she needs someone right now!’

‘why me?’ beomgyu narrowed his eyes.

‘you were the one that upset her,’ soobin stated.

‘no,’ beomgyu shook his head. ‘it’s more complicated than that.’

‘whatever,’ soobin pushed past the younger boy. ‘i’m going in.’

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scientia-rex · 8 months

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Read some more of Toxic Parents tonight and wow!!!! the amount of anger I have!!! and the incredible unwillingness I have to actually remember my childhood and feel associated feelings!!!!! Like, there are events I keep telling over like talismans, because these are the events that prove I'm not crazy. These are things that happened that should never have happened. The time Dad kicked the door in is the biggest one. The time I spent twelve straight hours cowering in the far back of our station wagon with my fingers jammed in my ears so I wouldn't hear my father screaming at my mother and my mother sobbing as we drove to a different state. The time I told my mother I had gotten accepted to graduate school and her first words were, "How are you going to pay for it?" instead of "Congratulations" or "I'm proud of you."

But these aren't all of it. They're so far from all of it. One memory I have is not of the presence of abuse, but the sudden, bewildering absence of it: my sister drove me to the nearest town with a mall, an hour and a half away. We were stopping to pick up snacks for the drive back, I think at a Safeway. I picked up a box of Golden Grahams cereal and nervously asked my sister if I could have it. She said, "Of course you can, you know what you want." In the limbus of a childhood spent being told I was picking the wrong soda for myself when I gave my order at fast food restaurants, suddenly being told I could have what I wanted T-boned me emotionally. It was like running into a wall I hadn't known was there. What? I can just want things? I can just get things and have them because I want them? I don't have to justify it, or lie, or hide what I want? No one is going to tell me I'm stupid for wanting something or that I'll regret it?

Just an incessant drip-drip-drip of emotional abuse, sometimes punctuated by a flash flood. "If I leave your mother, how do you think you're going to eat? You're going to end up on the street."

And now, reading the section on how children end up feeling about the passive parents who enable abuse, I just think, oh, there's me! There's me. I hated her and pitied her and loved her and wanted more for her. I didn't have the adult emotional capacity to understand how much of her life she was complicit in, but damningly, I did vaguely, tangentially understand that she was constantly making excuses for Dad--coming to my bedroom to sit on my bed and tell me, while crying, that he was sorry, while he never apologized. Making it my job to comfort her. I said to her once that I remember, "If he was really sorry, he'd stop doing this," and she just looked at me with something that looked like sorrow but I could tell was rage--she was angry at me for not forgiving him and letting us snap right back into the "good" phase between angry outbursts, where we could, for however long it lasted, pretend to be a normal family.

And how she always resented me. She resented that I was separate from her, she resented that I could do and see and understand things she couldn't, she was angry when I went into Psychology, even angrier when I went into medicine. She's been throttling down her anger at Dad for as long as I've been alive, pretending to be malleable, having vague health complaints and maladies mixed in among the real ones, forever retiring to her bed with a washcloth over her eyes instead of interacting with me.

And now that I'm an adult, and not just an adult but a middle-aged doctor, why don't I call? Why do I insist on bringing up the past? Why do I expect Dad to apologize? I'm hurting his feelings, after all.

The past. Sure. When I graduated from medical school, he named the worst doctor we ever met and said, "He went to medical school, too. Don't get a big head."

And when we were talking, once, not long ago, maybe two years or so, about how he used to stand there and yell at us--I can't remember any of the words anymore, just the way he looked, the tone of his voice, the experience like being buffeted by a strong wind--he said, "At least your sister fought back. You just stood there and took it."

I can't imagine a clearer illustration that he doesn't actually regret his behavior. He doesn't regret his actions. He still feels justified. We were disappointments, we were failures, we weren't him, we weren't what he wanted for us, and more than that, we were convenient targets for his rage. You can do almost anything to your children and get away with it. And he didn't hit us, so it was okay, and the fact that we were hurt by the actions he took with the intent to hurt us means that we were weak. And it's okay to hurt the weak.

Christ! This is the man who, in a fit of sullen self-pity, when I gave him a mug that said "World's #1 Dad" for Father's Day when I was probably eight or nine, talked about how we both know that's not true. As if a child is your therapist. As if it were my responsibility to reassure him.

My mother has read Toxic Parents. My mother has read Why Does He Do That? She has a bachelor's and most of a master's in psychology. She has an IQ of 150. She is a bad mother. It feels like the worst judgment you can make, a bad mother. It feels worse than calling someone a bad father. Because we expect less from fathers. But a bad mother is unnatural.

But lots and lots and lots of mothers are bad at being mothers. And I love mine and I hate her, and I'm angry and I'll always be angry, and I'll die angry, and I have to try to carve what happiness I can from a world I entered into under false pretenses. I was always told I was wanted. I knew I wasn't. I may have been intentional, but I wasn't wanted.

My mother's mother just died last week. I didn't know her. She chose not to know us. I hadn't seen her since I was twenty-two and graduated from college. My mother is struggling with her relationship with her mother. She often tells me her mother was a narcissist. I want to ask her what she thinks she is. She's not a narcissist, but she's an enabler, she's a doormat, she's a classic case of codependency, and I don't think she sees it that way. I always got the sense she was just waiting for us to grow up and go away so she and Dad could go back to being happily miserable alone together.

I asked her, this last year, if she'd read Why Does He Do That? and she said she had, and she asked me carefully why I was thinking about it, waiting for me to confess to her that my husband of ten years was abusive. She's been gunning for this relationship since the beginning--I'd been with him for maybe a year when she mailed me a copy of He's Just Not That Into You (or maybe it was the sequel, It's Called a Breakup Because it's Broken) along with an article on how to date as a single older woman. I was 23. She was flabbergasted when I said I thought Dad was abusive. Denied it immediately. I listed examples and she didn't even say words, just made simultaneously pained and exasperated noises.

She wants me to be single and a career failure and pathetic so she can feel good about herself in comparison. Dad thinks he wants me to be like him, but if I actually behaved like he does, I think he finally would belt me.

I had to hide everything good in me from them so they wouldn't deliberately ruin it. I couldn't tell them about my writing. The first time I finished writing a novel I told Mom and she didn't even acknowledge it, just told me to do the dishes. I was sixteen. I can't tell them what I love about my husband because it would be like speaking to them in a foreign language. They think it's a performance, like their performance, and they're always waiting for me to slip up and reveal the misery they're sure is lurking just underneath.

I've done well. They don't own me. I wish I had real parents, but I'm going to try not to shop for oranges at the hardware store anymore.

#the attending dr. kristophine

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reds-skull · 3 days

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BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

OOO I'm very excited to share this chapter! We're getting close to the finish line!

Its name is "The Song of Us"

Page 54 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 15:

The Blind man asks his companion, before dawn break, What do you believe, is a beast’s fate, Once death seizes its life, in his inevitable grasp? The beast, his heart knowing of the fallen knight’s pleas, Of men they lost, who were left to be but a worm’s dark feast, Answers, death reaches for monsters all the same as men, For the unjust, for the cruel, For the kind, for the forgiving, All bones become one, until they become none, As death is the only being, to see all as one and the same.

This city is quiet, in the way a drowning is. Something wicked is happening under the surface, hidden from plain sight. If only its victim had air to scream.

The Hunter has intel beyond the SAS’s scope, beyond Laswell’s. Informants, comms. A man pronounced to all as dead. How is it possible, they were written off as a non-threat before?

Soap grits his teeth, tapping the lit end of his cigarette on a wall. Simon started moving a few minutes ago, the poison once again retreating. By the haunted look in his brown eyes, John could tell they both know he’s running out of time.

Price has been arguing with Laswell while helping Simon. Something about the fact the Hunter seemingly didn’t exist a year prior, on paper. Appeared out of nowhere one day with an army behind them, ready to burrow into intelligence networks in a way even Makarov couldn’t.

Makarov’s name came up a lot in that conversation. Enough that Soap had to take a smoke.

Anger thrums through his veins. Begging for blood. The same incessant screaming that drove him to choke the life out of Makarov, the same fire that kept him going through this personal slice of hell.

Maybe he’s an idiot, for wanting to kill the Hunter, for believing it will change anything.

The cigarette’s flame licks his fingers.

Soap crushes it against the wall. He turns around, watching Simon and the Captain. Far enough to not hear them, but they seem to need a bit of privacy anyway. Soap can’t say he’s ever seen Price that emotional, in their short meetings.

He asks himself where Gaz is when the Lieutenant approaches him.

“Price is bloody livid, isn’t he?” Gaz huffs.

Soap hums. His eyes move from the Captain to Simon, his mask still on the ground besides him.

Kyle follows his stare, “did you know Ghost’s identity, when I found you two?”

“No”, the white skull almost glows in the moonlight, “I only found out when… the communicator tried to use it against him.”

He can feel Gaz scan his features, “and you still decided to work with him.”

Soap doesn’t answer. Simon and Price are hugging now, the movement uncoordinated to Ghost. He doesn’t know how he can tell.

He turns to face Gaz, “I swore we will finish this together. I don’t go back on my word.”

“We both know this goes beyond that, Soap.” Gaz gives him a half smile, “the way you look at him… Haven’t seen you like that with anyone else.”

Soap frowns, scoffing, “don’t know what yer-”

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” Gaz asks, almost gently.

…Feelings?

…..Could he?

“I…”

“Don’t lie to yourself.” Gaz murmurs, “in all the years I’ve known you, you didn’t act like this. Going against everyone you know, jumping in front of him when Price starts threatening him, letting him rest his bloody head on your legs- c’mon Soap, you’re fucking smitten with the man-”

“Kyle.” Soap stops him, head hanging down to hide the embarrassment painting his cheeks red. He scrubs a weary hand over his features, looking up at his friend between his fingers.

Gaz’s eyes soften. Soap sighs, “I- this is not the time for that kind of shite. We need to fuckin’ dust the Hunter, and then-”

And then what?

Soap lowers his hand, stare unconsciously drifting towards Simon. Since when have his eyes started doing that?

It hasn’t been more than a month since he arrived to this godforsaken city. How is it that John can’t imagine being alone again?

Or… how can’t he imagine an ‘after’ without Simon?

“I won’t lie to you.” Kyle starts, his tone gentler, “I still don’t fully trust Ghost. Even if he is… Simon Riley.” the Lieutenant places a hand on his shoulder, “but I can tell what you truly want, even if you think it’s not feasible.”

“That’s because it isn’t-”

“Bullshit.” Gaz turns John around to face him, “look, we are not good men. We’ve been operating outside the law for… for as long as I can remember. What we do, the way we dirty our hands...”

Kyle lets out a shaky exhale, squeezing his shoulder, “what I’m saying is, we can make people disappear. And if you… if you want that, I can help. I’m sure Price will too-”

“Yer out of yer mind-”

“Are you going to go back to Scotland, mate?” Gaz’s voice sharpens on desperation, “are you gonna go back to feeling like you have nothing to live for? Can you really leave this life, leave Ghost, behind?” He almost whispers the end, “be honest.”

How could he go back? No apartment, endless job search, a buzz under his skin that cannot be scrubbed off, disappointment to his family, emptiness, emptiness, emptiness-

“What else can Ah do?!” Soap tenses under Gaz’s hand.

That hand keeps him steady all the same, “whatever you want, John.” Kyle smiles sadly, “me and Price don’t have that freedom, but you two? You don’t have stuffy generals breathing down your neck.”

“I don’t-” Soap cuts himself off, thoughts whirling faster in his mind. He gets reminded of what his therapist used to say about him, back when he was just discharged.

“You fixate on danger, John. To the point of obsession. You don’t know when to let go, if you believe you can make things right.”

“Even if the cost is more than you should be willing to pay.”

“Just… think about it. Besides…” Gaz looks away, expression darkening, “I have a feeling the 141 might need people like you in the future.”

Soap brows furrow, “dishonorably discharged adrenaline addicts?”

Kyle chuckles, “no”, his hands tighten on Soap’s shirt, “people we can trust. People who are willing to do what’s right, even if they know they shouldn’t. Even if they don’t act the way the higher ups would want them.”

His brown eyes turn to look at John, determination he first saw on bootcamp only growing stronger, “people like you.”

Soap goes through another cigarette with Gaz by the time Price and Simon return to them. Both of their eyes shine with tears.

“Laswell did some digging.” Price grunts, “wasn’t easy, finding intel on the Hunter. They know their way around our networks, clearly.” his stare flickers towards Simon, “this operation-”

“Mass murder” Soap corrects. Calling this an operation would spit on the dozens of innocent people left to rot here.

“Mass murder”, the Captain continues, “is very unusual for the Hunter’s soldiers. Almost… flashy.”

“The communicator admitted it was an attempt to frame me.” Simon rolls up the mask in his hands, slipping it on, “they needed to show the British Army I’m too dangerous to keep.”

“And they knew the SAS would send the 141 because of the informant.” Gaz huffs.

Price nods, “which they did succeed in, but it also exposed them to us.”

“The SAS wouldn’t have investigated it further if ye actually killed Ghost the first time around.” Soap grumbles, wincing a moment later when he remembered who he’s talking to.

The Captain takes it surprisingly seriously. “Correct. This is not the first time they hide behind a smaller, supposedly unconnected criminal.” he hangs his arms on his tacvest, commending voice booming in the empty streets, “the Hunter is now top priority for the 141, our orders are to eliminate them, along with any high ranking officers remaining within their army. This mission is classified to all but us and Laswell - anyone else will be treated as a potential collaborator of the Hunter.”

“What about Soap and Ghost, Captain?” Gaz asks.

Price sighs, “Ghost has escaped after releasing the civilian he captured as leverage. And John MacTavish?” a sly smile pushes his mustache up, ”he has never set foot in this city.”

Kate Laswell isn’t someone Soap knew well, back in his service. Has heard her name being dropped in a couple of debriefs, a few calls here and there regarding missions.

He becomes increasingly grateful she’s on their side, as she brings up more and more intel on the Hunter. Their main source of information is the informant Ghost killed - the man recognized several undercover soldiers moving supplies in and out of the city in the past few weeks. He knew something big was going to happen, but the SAS waved it off as a local gang.

On the day of his death, he managed to send in one last report. The informant knew his time was limited, that his cover was blown, so the message was painfully short.

‘Skull in warehouse, Konservy, game over’

It was not clear if who he referred to when he transmitted the name “Skull”, and at the time the comms officer asked the informant to repeat, thinking it was a mistyped “Ghost”. With what they know now, it’s highly likely he was actually talking about the Hunter, and their red skull insignia. Konservy is a name of a warehouse, two clicks out of the city, as Laswell quickly found out.

‘Game over’ is the agreed upon sign for caught spies.

Price and Gaz have brought out their maps, attempting to lock down the warehouse’s location. Soap and Ghost were gently shooed away after it became obvious they don’t have any more useful intel to provide.

“How’s your neck?” Ghost asks him, the two of them leaning against a crumbling wall.

Soap opens his mouth to answer, when gloved fingers brush over the bruised skin on his throat. “I uh…” he swallows, the hand following the movement, “I feel fine.”

Ghost hums, caressing the wound for a moment longer before pulling away. Soap wants to chase the touch.

He really is in over his head, isn’t he?

“Simon.” Soap looks up at the bright skull mask, “have you thought about… what are ye gonna do after?”

“...no.”

“...Would ye go back? To what you did before?”

Simon stares at him deeply, eyes closing, “I don’t think I can.” he looks back at Soap, “you? What did you do before?”

Soap chuckles bitterly, “ah, I was spendin’ my newly civvi life indulging in only the greatest of pleasures. Like sittin’ in an office for nine hours a day, or knittin’ a scarf on my therapist’s orders.”

Simon’s shoulders shake with a badly hidden laugh, “I’d like to see you knit.”

Soap grins, “oh I was a natural. It definitely didn’t have several holes by the time I was done.”

“How did you get here, then?” Simon asks, mirth still creasing his eyes.

His smile drops, words dying on his tongue, “I uh…” that weeks-old shame starts creeping back in, “was about to be evicted. Got fired, bastards never liked me anyway. I jus’ took all of my money and… ran as far as I could.”

Simon hums, shoulder leaning in to nudge his. Soap thinks the conversation is over after a few moments of silence, the both of them mauling over the words, when Simon surprises him.

“Think I’d like that… running away.” he murmurs.

“Aye? Where would ye go?”

“Don’t know. Don’t think it matters.” Simon leans in closer, their foreheads almost touching, “as long as the company is good.”

Soap feels a shiver go down his spine, eyes wide as he tries to find the joke that must be in Simon’s.

But he looks so painfully sincere, even when he finally leans away, “too bad there’s none ‘ere. Might ask Laswell if she got any tips on finding partners in crime.”

Soap lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “think they make dating apps for fuckers like ye?”

“Doubt I’ll find anyone as mental as you on Tinder, Johnny.” Simon deadpans.

“That’s because yer looking in the wrong place - Christian Mingle is where the real crazy bastards are.”

Simon can’t hold in his laugh this time, and for the first time Soap hears the way he snorts a little when his giggles become uncontrollable. It’s a horribly endearing sound, one that he wants to hear for every day for the rest of his life.

It makes his heart hurt, heavy, sinking in his chest like a death sentence.

Gaz was right.

He’s in love with Simon Riley.

Gaz went back to get the vehicle he and Price infiled with. It had a laptop, a few maps, and the most wonderful MREs Soap ever had. He never thought he’d miss that shite, but after running on a handful of oranges and a possibly moldy sandwich, they tasted like heaven on earth.

As he and Ghost had their meal (Simon’s eyes sparkled in a way that told Soap he was clearly as delighted with the food as he was), the 141 finalized their plan with Laswell. Soap could see them arguing about something, but he was far too preoccupied with eating to care at the moment.

Ghost, however, did care, “need anything, Price?”

The Captain snaps his head up, taking off his hat and scratching at his hair, “we have an angle to breach, but…”

Gaz joins in, “We don’t have intel on how many guards are posted, their location… mission will be doomed from the start if we just go in guns blazing.”

“Why not do some recon, then?” Soap wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “we’re all trained for that.”

“Too risky, the warehouse is exposed, and the Hunter won’t leave any obvious gaps in security if they’re worth their salt.” Price grunts.

Ghost gets up, walking over to the maps spread on the truck’s hood, “then we break in.”

Soap smirks at the assurance in his voice, “and that’s why I love the Ghost.”

He instantly catches the knowing expression on Gaz’s face, as well as Simon stiffening beside him. Soap curses himself mentally, feeling his face heat up in shame. He prays for any god that might listen, that Ghost didn’t take it as seriously as the truth is.

Thankfully, Price saves him from blurting out some more recently-discovered-emotions, “no other way but through, eh Simon? What do you have in mind?”

Ghost scans the maps of the warehouse Laswell has sent over, “The Hunter doesn’t know we’re working together, if they’re expecting an attack they would only expect two people - me and Johnny.” his eyes flicker to Soap’s for a brief moment, “if we split up, the 141 could take them by surprise.”

“You said they’re after you and John, Simon. If they catch you, we might not be able to help.” Price says grimly.

Ghost sighs, looking away frustrated. His head turns to face Soap, eyes calculating, “...what if they don’t know it’s us?”

“What?” Price asks.

Ghost continues, eyes still staring deeply into his, “Johnny can easily disguise himself, he’s done so before. All he needs is to cover up his face and hair.”

The Captain nods to Ghost, “and what about you, son? Everyone knows your mask.”

“But no one knows his face.” Soap answers, understanding washing over him, “but Simon-”

“I can’t be Ghost if we want to finish this.” Simon brushes fingers over the bone-white teeth of the skull mask, hand tightening into a fist.

Gaz nods slowly, “and we can’t be the 141.” he sends a meaningful look to the Captain, “this operation has to be kept secret. If the SAS learns we collaborated with the Ghost…”

“Then we won’t be.” Price walks to the back of the truck, pulling out 3 black balaclavas and throwing them to Soap and Gaz.

Price begins explaining their plan, “Laswell has gathered up a few blueprints of the Konservy warehouse. There are several key points that appear to be far too open for us to breach, all except one - the offloading garage. We’ll split into two teams, me and Gaz will take the offices and CCTV rooms, clearing the way for Soap and Ghost to infiltrate the main machinery room.”

“Our plan depends on each team watching the other’s six, we’ll have to keep comms up.” Gaz adds.

“Once the first team takes over the CCTV room, we will be able to locate the Hunter. The faster we do this, the less likely reinforcements will arrive.” Price hands Soap and Ghost a radio.

“Do we know where they keep their vehicles?” Soap asks while fitting the comms over his clothes.

“Yeah, should be around where we first enter. Why?” Gaz raises a brow towards him.

A wicked smile spreads on Soap’s lips, “might be able to set up a little surprise for any newcomers.”

Ghost chuckles darkly, “always ready to craft a trap, aren’t you, Johnny?”

“Never failed me before, Simon.”

“You can take a look at our supplies, take whatever you need.” Price looks over each of them, “any questions?”

Soap flexes his hands, adrenaline thrumming a familiar song through his veins, anger painting his vision red, “what are we waiting for?”

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simadelics · 10 months

Photo

London, 1894

Kenneth

My lovely wife could have lit and thrown a stick of dynamite at the podium and caused less destruction than she did with only her voice. As far as I could piece together between incessant apologies, Constance Clancy told her about Gresbrooke’s role in my campaign, not thinking anything of it, and Emmeline regarded it to be such a horrible betrayal that she took out the carriage and stormed in during Gresbrooke’s speech to loudly — so, so loudly — disavow him and his “corruption and rot.” Gresbrooke has only said one thing to me on the matter since: “Leash that woman, or I will.” It is my unenviable position to be the man in charge of the leashing.

Truthfully, I am terribly cross with her at this moment, but I must repress it for the time being. It is a result of my own weakness — Dr. Lyon confirmed precisely what I suspected, which is that Emmeline is not in full possession of herself and cannot control her actions nor be held as responsible for them. As long as she is in this state, she is not Emmeline, Dr. Lyon says, but some wounded animal with all of her fears and pains and rages but none of the self-awareness and love that makes her my Emmeline. While I may be feeling humiliated and, frankly, emasculated by her, I must remind myself that — once she is out of this dreadful state — she will feel all that I am feeling double-fold.

I tried to have a talk with her in our chambers, and she screamed at me like a wild animal. Dr. Lyon tells me I should not feel like any less of a man or husband for it, but I am not equipped to “heal” her as I would like to. I was a touch too disoriented to recognize where he was attempting to direct the conversation, so when he told me what course of action he would recommend as a doctor, I was shocked, befuddled, and dismayed all at once. I told him I was most ardently against the notion of sending my well-bred, highly intelligent wife to a sanitarium like some sort of madwoman. He asked me if I was willing to risk her life over my own ego, but I told him it was not a matter of ego at all — polite society never forgives nor forgets, surely, but it can, to a degree, sympathize with the husband of a lunatic. We have not forgotten our Brontës so soon. Dr. Lyon knows me well, however: he said that that was not the sort of ego he meant to suggest, but the one that declared that I would not be any husband at all to her if I could not resolve her nervous condition through my own care. It is true: the idea of any other man being able to do for her what I cannot is almost too awful to bear, but Dr. Lyon reminded me of our boys, and dear little Isabelle — my responsibility is to them first and foremost…a sentiment Emmeline would share if she was in any state of mind to.

He promised that there are ones made for women like her, and we decided on one some distance away due to its quality. My wife will receive only the best possible care our great nation has to provide.

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#cavendish legacy #cavendish legacy 1890 #ts4 historical #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #c: emmeline cavendish #c: kenneth cavendish #c: richard gresbrooke #c: ernest lyon

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casuallivi · 1 year

Text

Meditation

Elain Week March 2023. Day 7. Free Day. @elainweekofficial

A sweet kiss to my our brilliant friend @nikethestatue who gives us the best nicknames. Here I am, stealing your lore again 🎵 forgive me, love you 😊😚❤️

The house felt oddly silent when there wasn’t a single loud-foul-mouth family member in it, the stillness balancing itself in the possibility of being disturbed at any minute, once one of them passed through the threshold. Her bet was on Cass, who had dinner with them nearly every night.

Elain’s love for her family cannot be measure in any metric system known for man or fae, but she won’t deny the peace and quiet is a soothing balm to her tired mind. The sounds never leave her. The creaking of worms digging the earth, the gentle unfurling of rose petals, beating wings cutting the air, water springing from between tiny rock, a cry of freedom, the quick legs of a panther chasing it’s prey, galloping horses marching into the battlefield, piercing screams of faceless men bathed in blood, waves breaking against the hull of a ship, the incessant cry of helpless females stolen from bed. Honeyed promises that demand compromise, complacency, obedience.

“Give in to me.”

Dread bristled the hairs her arm, lungs compressed, expelling everything there is inside, refusing to let her fill them back. She's trapped. No. She's drowning. Horror claws its way into her heart as water pools beneath her, soaking her gown, rising above her empty chest, threating to swallow her whole. A thousand ghost hands tug at her, dragging her down. Drowning her again.

“Breath.” The strong command doesn’t come from her daydreams, the male lying beside her wrapping her cold hand in his warm one, his patchwork of bumpy scars falling in line with the sunk gashes in her palm, fingers lacing with hers. “Breath.”

She’s desperate now, has lost any semblance of control, gasping for the air that won’t come.

“Water. Water is –”

“Not real.” The slice of her words is so sharp one might think he used Truth-Teller, leaving no place for second-guessing. The midnight voice, honed to conduct legions to glory, being spent in the mundane act of calming her down. A blasphemy of some sort, she’s sure.

Elain is lightheaded, body itching, changing, glowing. She had to lose her eyes in order to see the worlds with clarity, ancient power soaking her bones, the Seer woving itself within the fabrics of her soul, singing praises to the being that can finally contain her without shattering into million pieces. “Free,” it chants delirious, “I am free.” Elain isn’t. Elain is shackled. She’s back there, back at that nauseating day. Drowning. Dying. Dead.

Gentleness gives place to a bone-shattering grip that demands her attention. Air rushing back to her lungs in the shape of a painful whimper, desperate wheezes rattling her core. Tears stream past her dark lashes. “You are not there.” Stable words, confidant words, the constant swipe of a thumb moving back and forth over her clammy skin. “You are safe. You are with me. I got you.”

I got you.

Breath.

In and out.

He got her.

Breath. In and out. Just breath.

Elain tames the white glow escaping the translucent skin of her eyelids, the tremor in her hands, pushing the lump that clogs her throat all the way down.

A voice in the back of her mind calls her useless for failing the simple task he presented to her, tells her she should be ashamed to waste precious time so kindly offered to her. Elain holds him tighter. The voice can go to hell.

“Good.” Her cheeks heat at the praise she doesn’t deserve. “Very good.”

“I was terrible.” She contradicts. “You can tell me the truth. I won’t break if you yell at me.” Despite her words, Elain is in the verge of crying, overwhelmed with emotion. Stupid tears. She wished someone would shut her lacrimal canal forever.

“I don’t yell.” True. Azriel was probably born with the ability to make himself heard without uttering a single word, the strong essence of a leader brewing in his soul. “You think I could yell at you?” is a teasing question, an attempt to lighten the mood, but she can sense the faint hints of apprehension as he waits for her answer.

Elain knows he cares for her opinion, he has told her so. Sometimes she wonders if it's simply the family ties that bound them together, or if he has an inkling to the feeling blooming out of control from the depths of her heart, wonders if him, by some miracle, has been cultivating similar boldness in himself.

“Nah, you'd be too scared of me never letting you taste my cooking again.”

Her surroundings are perfectly clear once more. No throne room, no boiling cauldron, no evil gazes, just the townhouse living room. Couch, armchairs and center table have been pushed out of the way, creating a hollow space in the middle of the room, wood burning quietly on the hearth, Azriel and Elain laid side by side on top of the fuzzy cream rug, the only point of contact consisting in the now tightly woven hands resting between their bodies. Her other hand rests above her stomach, feeling the undulations caused by every breath, Elain trying to keep herself anchored to the present and not a slave to her cumbersome visions.

After long days of strenuous research, walking through multiple shops in search of way to grant her peace of mind, Elain came across a certain shadowsinger who stole her materials in the blink of an eye. The stack of book that had seemed like a mountain in her arms now looking like a tiny pile in his.

“Dream walking no more, how to control your sleeping body. The cognitive ability to transcend space and time...” He enunciated the tittles without looking at the books, being his usual meddlesome self. Of course he had seen it, nothing escaped the spymaster. "What are you doing?"

"Tests."

“Anything I can help you with?”

Yes.

“No need.”

“Are you sure? I am very good at keeping unwanted dreams at bay.”

“You don’t count.”

“Why not?”

“Because you accomplish that by not sleeping.”

The corner of his lip turned upwards. “Touché.”

Elain was nervous. Scared she’d take a wrong step in her journey to control her visions, and ending up losing them all together. She didn’t want to get rid of her seer abilities because of how useful they had been so far, but she wanted to tame them. She needed to. Time flow different in her head, visions stretching for days without end, seasons passing in front of eyes, vigilant months of agony that turned into years, Elain blinking back to reality to learn mere seconds had gone by, her glazed eyes the only indication that her mind had been far away.

When she voiced her concerns to Azriel, he said she needed to find an anchor to the present, introduced her to meditation as a way to stabilize her mind here and now. He told her, she should not feel pressure to unravel every vision as they came to her, comparing her hazed slumber to his unending reports. “Every information can be important for a specific cause, yes. But that doesn’t mean I have to read them all the same time. You control you vision Elain, not the contrary, remember that. Learn to choose what you see. When you see it.”

“What can I use as an anchor?”

“Anything you want.”

“Hold me.” Elain doesn’t know who is more surprised by the request, she or Azriel. She clears her throat. “Will you hold me if it gets too much? Will you bring me back?”

There's not an ounce of hesitation in his answers. “Always.”

His determination reminds her of a turbulent escape from behind enemy lines, the fear of eminent death, her resolve to at least help him to get out. Ready to let go of his neck if it meant he could fly out of there without the extra weight. Azriel had to live, no matter the cost. She needed him to.

Their sessions began with a quota of formality that never lasted till the end. Azriel was a firm teacher, yes, but he was also gentle and patient, smiling at her attempts to slack off, amused with a few small complaints. He even joked and laughed at her expenses. Physical Touch proved to be an anchor that worked nine times out of ten. Except that this anchor didn’t please her very much.

Their goal was to have him touch her as little as possible, because that would mean she was gaining control over the powers. Elain trained alone every chance she got, trying bother him the minimal possible, but it was hard to progress without someone to bring her back. Elain was growing frustrated from the constant failing.

“I don’t know if this is the right choice.” she confessed apprehensively.

Azriel’s hand laxed in hers

“Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No! No, I fine with you, believe me. I trust you with my eyes closed,” she wiggled her brows, “quite literally. I just… I don’t want to keep depending on other. I want to be stronger.” Elain didn’t mind Azriel touching her, but Azriel wasn’t by her side all day long, no one was. All it took for Touching to be an unreliable crutch was she being alone. “I want to be strong like my sisters.”

“You are.” His proud tone didn’t escape her. “Let’s try something else. When the next wave comes, don’t wait for my touch,” he instructed. Elain relaxed her limbs, breathing deeply, his woody scent tickling her nose, calming her anxiety. “Think about the place you are, describe it in your mind. Furniture, shapes, color, smells, if there are people describe them too. Recall their clothes, conversation, mannerism. All that is information to keep you anchored, accurate as touching, without having you at the mercy of others. Sounds better?”

She nodded eagerly.

“Give it a try.”

“Yes, master.

Their carefully constructed bubble of concentration is popped in the blast of a canon. Wide-eyes mirror each other as their heads snap to the side. Shock, surprise, confusion. Different emotions cloud the air.

“What?”

"What?"

Elain keen ears capture the smirk in his tone, making her painfully conscient of the word she used, a word Nuala and Cerridwen say so much she picked up by habit, a word she only used as a joke when her friends were around.

“Say that again.”

His amusement fades as quick as it came. There’s a change in the air, subtle, or maybe she’s the one who is still learning how to identify it. Is this what they call a scent-change? Night-chilled mist mingles with something thicker, spicier, darker. There’s a dryness to her mouth there was not there before, the picked-up pace of a heart beat sounding almost indecent in strong gallops at her ear. Is it hers or his? Gods, she hopes is not hers.

Elain disentangle herself from him, sitting straight as an arrow, tense, smoothing her hair in a nervous habit. Azriel props himself on his elbow, watching her.

“The girls–” she stammers, not able to look at him. “The girls call you – I hear all the time, so – you know – you trained them, and now you train me –”

“You think this is training?” All color drains from Azriel’s face. His anxiety confusing her.

“Yes...?” Now he’s laughing at her, his leathery wing hitting her back, bumping her forward as he spams on the rug. “I don’t understand, you offered to train me,”

“I offered to help you. We spend time together anyway, improving some skills while at it doesn’t hurt.”

“I thought these were training sessions,” Elain mumbled, feeling self-conscious. “You helped me stretch and everything.”

“You said you neck was stiff from pruning the buds.” He quipped, attentive hands finding her shoulders, gently settling her back down, “you can’t be my apprentice, flower.”

Flower.

The endearment skittered across her skin like one of his curious shadows. It wasn’t the first time he used it, but Elain thanked the mother for being on the floor, because her knees were set on giving up every time he did.

“There are lines to be kept in a mentorship. Lines I do not wish to trace with you.” For a moment there it feels like he’s on top of her. “If I made you feel like a trainee up to this point, let’s get that cleared out of the way, shall we? I can be your master any time, but you are not my trainee. Bear that in mind.”

Elain clutches the rug, eyes rooming over his wings, looming wings that expanded under her attention, spreading proudly to their full extent. They take over the room, drooping things she can’t see or care about, shadowing everything beneath him including her. His hands are on either side of her head now, not a fleek of green in his darken gaze, zeroing on her.

Burning cedar invades her lungs, or maybe she’s the one burning up, imaging what it would feel like if he closed the distance and kissed her. Her face flushes. With a shaky breath, Elain gathers her flitting courage and ask,

“If I’m not a trainee, what am I?”

His wings snap back shut, Azriel settling on the floor, a tamed beast retracting into its cave. His answer is short, simple, declaring the five letters word capable of compassing all the feelings he couldn't find words to describe.

“Elain.”

It probably was.

Because she had a six letters word worthy of the same feature.

“Are you ready?”

“I am.”

“Good. Close your eyes.”

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klausysworld · 1 year

Note

hey rue! Can you make an angsty imagine where the reader and klaus are a couple and they both fell madly in love with each other at first and they were both really happy but that is until klaus shows his extremely possesive and jealous side and the reader finds it cute at first but with time it really starts to vex her but klaus makes sure that she doesn't leave him and she dreads having to go to events or dances because klaus ruins it with a jealousy tantrum and the reader slowly falls out of love with him due to his incessant jealousy and reoccurring arguments but she is in a desparete situation and sees no way out of it? Thank you

* trigger warning-this does include physical and mental abuse, it took a darker turn than initially anticipated!! Only read if comfortable*

You need me!

Being with Klaus has always been…difficult. It’s always been a rollercoaster of emotions but before the good still seemed to overpower the bad.

To begin with his jealousy was almost sweet. It showed how much he loved me and wanted me to be his.

Plus he always apologised after, always gentle and kind when he would sway me to the music and whisper such beautiful words to me.

“Forgive me my love, I never meant to make you upset, I just want everyone to know you are mine and I am yours. I just love you so” he would convince and how could I doubt him? He was perfect.

And then he slowly became less perfect.

Almost terrifying.

He began to get mad at me when someone else found me attractive.

“You were leading them on! You think you can walk about like a slut and not have eyes on you!? Do you want to see me angry love? Do you!?”

He began to get even angrier when i got upset or frightened

“You think this is scary love? Can you imagine what would have happened if you went off with him? What he would have done to you!? You are helpless! You need me!”

It was only on the rare occasion that I would burst into tears that he would soften a little. Holding me close and petting my head

“Oh love, it’s okay, I forgive you. I know you wouldn’t do something bad on purpose, it’s okay”

Even Elijah would look at me and the accusations began

“You are sleeping with my brother, admit it!”

“I would never do that! Never!”

“You lie, and you lie! I will not be taken for a fool!”

I barely got to speak to Rebekah either

“You spend too much time with my sister, whatever do you two do?” He would ask but his tone was not gentle. It was threatening and dark.

And so for the sake of Rebekah not being in a coffin i stayed away.

He had isolated me entirely so that i had nobody.

And the times we did socialise it ended in a screaming match if i so much as looked at another being.

I began to fear he would hurt me.

He got so close to hitting me.

His hand would raise, eyes back and gold as he stormed towards me.

But when i cowered and screamed for him to stop, he would often realise his threatening stance and back down. But on the odd occasion that he was so furious he wouldn’t realise and the rare moment of abuse would occur.

But it was like a black out in his mind, he never remembered them.

He would notice a mark on me and immediately interrogate me. That softness back as he took my hand and looked at my upper arm covered in a the dark bruises in the shape of a hand

“My love…what happened?”

Or when one side of my face was bright read and in pain

“Did you fall sweetheart? Let me heal you”

It got to the point where i almost wanted him to get angry and hurt me so that he would heal me, pamper me, treat me like he loved me.

I found that if i just staying in bed with him al day then he was lovely. He was just so sweet, he held me so gently, kissed me so softly.

There was no possibility of leaving him, not unless I died and he would never allow that.

So i needed to fine ways to feel safer…better. I needed to try and fall back on love with him so that I didn’t notice it anymore. I just needed to go back to the start.

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tiny-maus-boots · 1 year

Text

Garters and Gunslingers - Down South

A/N: before anyone says anything...i am fully aware of the other 238402835923 open projects i should be working on. but this wouldn’t leave me alone. and yes. yes it will very likely sit with one chapter for many moons. but for now it’s a start.

Beca

Making it across the border into Mexico hadn’t been as hard as they had feared. It had been slow going for sure, with Aubrey injured as badly as she was and the Army after their asses they had been forced to take as many switchback trails as they could with frequent enough stops to let their friend rest. None of them had minded really, except Aubrey. She had wanted to keep pushing forward even when they could tell she was sick with pain and fever.

After her confrontation with her family the blonde had been even more quiet than usual. Choosing to focus all of her energy into not slowing them down. Beca understood that, she had never asked what happened in the house that day but she was sure more than the law and the Army were after them. Even now, many months later in relative safety, Aubrey’s smiles were still few and far between and glances over her shoulder far too frequent.

She had thrown herself into the work of building their homestead with as much fervor as she had getting them all down to Mexico. And they had all followed her lead, even Beca, who would have been much happier taking a nap under her favorite napping tree than she was baling hay into the newly built stalls.

“I don’t see why we have to do this now. Ain’t even got cattle yet.”

Beca grumbled and forked over another pile into the stall Chloe and Stacie were building the walls for.

"Where would we put ‘em if we had ‘em now?” Beca offered up a stink face at Stacie for her inopportune use of good sense. Stacie winked at her and gave a teasing smile as she hefted another plank for Chloe to nail into place. “C’mon Bec, it’s just a lil honest work.”

"You make it sound as if I don’t like honest work. I love honest work, I just wish it wasn't actually hard work!"

A lump of hay buffeted the back of her head, bits of straw rained over her shoulders and she turned an outraged face to Aubrey. Aubrey who had her back turned and was diligently, if slowly, piling hay from the bales for Beca to spread around. Aubrey who didn't even seem to be aware that she had done anything at all. Beca grunted and turned back to her work begrudgingly.

"Why can't work be something I do laying down with my eyes closed?"

There was a beat of silence before Chloe giggled. "Pretty sure Stacie can teach you all about hard work laying down."

“That’s not what I meant!” Heat crept up her face at the thought and Beca gave Chloe a mild glare in her embarrassment.

Another, heavier mass of hay smacked against the back of her head. She spun on her heel and fixed an angry stare at Aubrey. The blonde raised a shoulder in a shrug as if to say sorry and went back to precisely piling her hay. Beca wasn’t entirely sure it was an accident this second time but she gave Aubrey the benefit of the doubt being that she didn’t seem to be doing it on purpose. The shorter woman gave the blonde another long squint eyed look before she turned back around. Hay, heavier than before, rained down over her head and she whipped around intent on catching Aubrey in the act.

“Did you jus... PAH!!!”

Aubrey didn’t even pretend this time, she just chucked a forkful of loose hay right in Beca’s face. Even still Beca could almost forgive her if it weren’t for the entire too innocent to be real smile on the other woman’s face.

“Oops. Sorry. Didn’t see ya there, Tiny.”

There was absolute silence, not even flies dared break the tableau with the incessant buzz of their wings. The corners of Aubrey’s mouth quivered as she fought the laugh threatening to come out. It was all Beca could take and she flung her pitchfork to the side with a scream of pure rage before launching herself at the now nearly doubled over with laughter blonde.

Their bodies collided and they tumbled back into the big loose pile of hay, both laughing and struggling to get the better of the other. It was the first time in nearly a year that Aubrey had laughed openly, let alone this playful wrestling match. Beca growled fiercely and snapped her teeth just a hair’s breadth from Aubrey’s nose once she had her good and pinned.

“Think that’s funny, huh? I’ll show you, Posen. Stacie already done told me all your tickle spots. You’re in trouble now, girl.”

Aubrey’s eyes widened in worried surprise until Stacie’s low chuckle sounded from just over Beca’s shoulder. Warm breath tickled her own ear when the taller brunette leaned over them.

“Well… Not all her tickle spots. You need Chloe’s permission to hear the rest of ‘em.”

For a moment Beca’s brain only heard the rushing of what she was sure was the Rio Grande in her ears before Chloe’s teasing voice broke through.

“Not my permission she needs, ain’t my tickle spots.”

It was right about then that Beca realized she was straddling Aubrey’s waist in the middle of a very confusing and flustering discussion. Calm green eyes blinked up at her, full of trust and affection. The truth was Beca had already grown accustomed to the feelings swirling in her chest for the woman beneath her. Falling in love with Aubrey and Stacie hadn’t happened overnight or even since they fled the States.

She had known from the moment they had all vowed to stick together, come what may. Where one goes, so go them all. Her loyalty for them was just as rock solid as her loyalty to Chloe. That had never been a fact that confused her. What confused her now was the reflection of something more in Aubrey’s eyes. Something that flickered in the jade depths, drawing her nearer and deeper as if bespelled.

A spell that was broken at the deep echoing peal of the pueblo church bell. San Nicolas wasn’t very far from them, close enough to hear the ringing of the bell for Sunday mass. The problem was, it wasn’t a Sunday. A ringing bell only meant trouble when it rang midday like this. They all scrambled out of the barn, eyes searching the horizon in the direction of the town. A smudge too far for her to recognize seemed to drift closer until she realized it was a rider coming full bore toward their property.

“You got your eye on ‘em, Aubs?”

Aubrey nodded at Beca’s question and disappeared back into the barn to take up residence in the loft with her rifle. Just in case. Her soft voice carried down from just above their heads.

“It’s Guillome Beachamp, listin’ a little bit in his saddle. Looks hurt.”

Chloe ran to the house for her bag without another word. Stacie and Beca glanced at each other with twin weary sighs. Trouble. It had come to them again. It was hard to tell if it was old troubles come to find them or new ones but she was sure they’d be neck deep in bullshit by the time the sun went down.

“About them tickle spots…”

Stacie grinned widely and winked at her. “Sorry Bec, you’re gonna hafta to ask the missus about that yourself.”

Beca grunted. Well. At least she had something to look forward to. If they managed to survive whatever was headed their way.

#wild west #garters and gunslingers #pitch perfect au #aubrey posen #beca mitchell #chloe beale #stacie conrad

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heircurse · 2 months

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| | | Q. FIVE SONGS THAT REMIND YOU OF YOUR MUSE.

₀₀₁ ... royal beggars — architects.

royal beggars , royal beggars ... do you wanna live forever? ( live forever ) alone , alone , alone. 'cause we're broken ; all hope is dead but we're coping. somebody save our souls. like a bird in a cage , trying to fly away. is this the price that we have to pay? overflowing with rage , yet we still obey.

₀₀₂ ... runs in the family — amanda palmer.

all day i've been wondering what is inside of me , who can i blame for it? i say it runs in the family. i still have my health , at least that's what they tell me. if wellness is this , what in the hell's name is sickness? but business is business and business runs in the family. we tend to bruise easily , mad in the blood ... i'm telling you this 'cause i want you to know me , know me and my family , we're wonderful folks. but don't get too close 'cause you might knock me up.

₀₀₃ ... mama's gun — glass animals.

did you say something , what'd you say? was that your voice , or was that me? little voices buzzing poison , backward noise drown everything. doctor swango says i'm psycho ; says they all from neverland. they'll never ever let me be. was that your voice or was that me? ... dirty dustin said he saw him playing ball with dizzy jim ; dizzy jim had never spoken , whispered back " you murdered him. " my heart strings broke and it was me. i pull , they stretch infinitely. in the summer silence , i was getting violent. in the summer silence , i was doing nothing.

₀₀₄ ... russian roulette — 10 years.

it's russian roulette with no luck ; you could kiss it goodbye. there's no such thing as sympathy when the disease is entering ... the taste is so divine , a chemical come alive. welcome to your vice. good luck with life. 'cause you can't kill me that easily. it's so nice to meet you ; it's so nice to know you. now that your guards down , let me show you.

₀₀₅ ... it's yours — loathe.

claim what's yours , follow his footsteps. loathe as one carved into their foreheads. worship this primal sin ; exhausted , i'm craving more. incessant , it's pulled me in. screaming , " it's yours , it's yours. " do you remember me? will you ever see? what you'll do to them , what you've done to me? i am unstoppable. i am untouchable ... i am the chosen , this is your way. you are misguided ; rue your last day.

| | | Q. FIVE QUOTES THAT REMIND YOU OF YOUR MUSE.

₀₀₁ … i am afraid that if i open myself i will not stop pouring. ( why do i fear becoming a river. what mountain gave me such shame. ) — jamie oliveira.

₀₀₂ ... who's the real you? the person who did something awful , or the one who's horrified by the awful thing you did? is one part of you allowed to forgive the other? — rebecca stead.

₀₀₃ ... i'm not a violent dog. i don't know why i bite. — isle of dogs.

₀₀₄ ... your father exerted his violence on others. your mother was sympathetic to the suffering of others. one day you directed the violence you had inherited toward yourself. you dished it out like your father and you took it like your mother. — édouard levé.

₀₀₅ ... last night , you held your father’s body and said to him all those things you never wanted to say to anyone — apologies , mostly. then animal sounds , claws and teeth where your heart once glinted. there is no ravenous spirit like that of the grief stricken , no vicious hollow like the insides of a boy searching for his father. — w. todd kaneko.

#𝒊. [ 𝓗. 𝙾𝚂𝙱𝙾𝚁𝙽 ] . . . . ᴬᴮᴼᵁᵀ ˒ ◟ study.#𝒊. [ 𝓗. 𝙾𝚂𝙱𝙾𝚁𝙽 ] . . . . ᴬᴮᴼᵁᵀ ˒ ◟ dash games.

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kimageddon · 1 year

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A Prince of Dathomir - Chapter 112

Maul x Nightsister OC (Zaiya Valessa) - Slight Canon Divergence

Word count: Approx 3000 Contains/Warnings: Violence, injuries, abusive behaviour, threats, mentions of death. Chapter Summary: Zaiya, Feral and Maul race to save Savage from Ventress and the Jedi. Notes: (at the end!)

Witches - Part 2

Savage touched down in the hangar of the dreadnought, dragging the limp form of the Toydarian King with him. If not for the Jedi… Urgh! The Toydarian was supposed to come back alive! They’d interfered and now he would have to face Dooku with his mistake. This was meant to be his fledgeling mission to prove he could be a true Sith apprentice!

Savage could do nothing but lay the body at Dooku’s feet and wait for punishment.

“You ignorant beast!” Dooku boomed, “I told you, I wanted him alive!” The lightning came a moment later and Savage tried not to scream in pain. He was not successful.

It let up after about a minute and he managed to pant out an apology, asking for forgiveness. It was entirely the wrong thing to say and Dooku sneered at him before sending another blast right through him. Savage could barely move, he thought he was about to pass out, when the door opened before him and a familiar slender figure stood there.

“Ventress…” Dooku whispered in disbelief. Savage could barely hear what they were saying, and it took too much effort to be able to pull himself to his feet. “Savage… you can make amends for your mistake-- by destroying this Witch!” But Ventress was already laughing at the old man. Savage felt confused, and his hand reached for his saber, his master had given him an order!

“I don’t think that will be happening, will it, Savage?” he moved to take a step back but she raised a hand and he felt a tap on his forehead. There was a sound in his head and it felt like a fog was lifting. “Remember where your true loyalties lie…” her voice swam in his brain and he remembered the mission to deceive Dooku! Yes, that was what he was doing here! Though everything seemed foggy, he had to remember, this was his mate… right?

That strange voice in the back of his mind was louder now, and he felt parts of himself fighting internally. He could not hesitate though, he knew what he had to do now.

“With you, Mistress,” he answered and ignited his lightsaber. He would finally strike against the man that had tormented him for the past few months.

The battle was fierce and intense, he struck at the urgent demands from Ventress, the incessant nagging in his head, the wrongness he felt. What was happening? Savage attacked again and again, but he was met with powerful bolts of electric pain that stopped him in his tracks.

“Kill him!” Ventress screamed as she defended with her twin lightsabers. “Kill him you fool!”

Couldn’t she see he was trying!? Everytime he stood, Dooku would blast him with lightning and Savage was back on the floor.

“I… can’t!” he growled through gritted teeth, “he’s too powerful!”

“Your weakness will not be my downfall!” she screeched and Dooku seemed smug.

“A failed apprentice makes for a foolish master!” he gloated.

Savage saw it then, and the voice in the back of his mind called out.

They didn’t care about him. They wanted him for nothing as a tool! Both of them! Why should he protect them at all?! She was willing to see him dead so long as she got what she wanted.

He managed to stand and for a moment there was calm-- before rage exploded out of him. Power swept his body and he roared like the beast they claimed him to be, sending both of them flying back from the shockwave in the Force. He would show them. He would kill them both!

He charged, throwing both of them around the room, feeling a satisfying thrill as he inflicted more pain upon the two traitors! His success did not last however and in a moment between defending themselves, Ventress struck back and Dooku once again shot Savage down with blue lightning. He was flung back, and when he looked up, Dooku had gone and Ventress was leaping down an emergency escape hatch in the floor. Savage was too slow to make it however, and the door shut on him before he could follow.

He raised his double bladed lightsaber to strike down and cut his way through but-- the main door opened once more. Savage heard voices and recognised the sensation in the Force. The Jedi had followed him somehow!

The rage built again. Were it not for them, he would not even be in this predicament! It was their fault! They had taken his success from him! With another furious roar he sent them back, he would destroy everything in his path!

He sent the Jedi back against the far wall, agony and fury surging through him, he just wanted to destroy everything! The two were on their feet, and he attacked with all the ferocity of a raging rancor, dodging the blue blades left and right, countering and parrying in a frenzy. He pushed them back through the halls of the Dreadnought, knowing that if he could not find Ventress or Dooku again, then he would have to escape, even in his rage he knew he could not take them all.

He narrowly avoided a strike from the bearded one, but the younger one slashed at his face, and caught two of his horns. His horns! The Jedi had cut them off!

Savage screamed in fury as the hangar doors opened to find absolute chaos … and green fire.

----

Zaiya had managed to land her ship, The Nameless, easily enough. Sixy had hooked into the system to trigger the ship to self-destruct. The Separatist droids were nothing to the three Zabraks and they had cut them down easily. Still, it had taken too much time, and Zaiya could no longer sense Ventress on the ship.

One of the comms for the droids echoed a deep voice Zaiya had only heard in holo recordings; Dooku. He was calling for the execution of Savage and her hearts leapt. At her back Maul and Feral were finishing off a small group of droids and Zaiya ran forward-- just as the doors opened.

Anakin and Kenobi had their backs to her, but she looked right past them to see a bloody and exhausted Savage… and his horns! She let out a growl as she slashed with her mila hanska blade and Kenobi only just managed to block it.

“Siren?!” he gasped.

“I knew it!” Anakin cried as he defended from Savage’s strike.

“Savage!” Zaiya cried, trying to get around the Jedi. She shoved the two back and bolted over to the huge Zabrak. “Savage… Come on, we have to go. Tell me you remember me!” He raised his lightsaber but stopped, his eyes went wide as he stared down at her in shock.

“You…?”

The moment didn’t last and they were again having to fight off the Jedi, but this time back to back.

“I knew you were behind this!” Anakin growled.

“Ah Skywalker, as stubborn as ever,” she snarled. “If you don’t mind, I think I shall be taking our brother and leaving--”

“Brother?!” Anakin scoffed.

“Our?” Kenobi asked at the same time.

“Savage…” Zaiya held back Kenobi’s blade and nodded behind him as she reached back and gripped Savage's forearm. She looked at Anakin with a firm and serious gaze. “I will do anything for my family.”

Simultaneously, Anakin’s expression softened, Kenobi looked away and Savage looked down at her. She saw the recognition in his eyes.

“No…” Kenobi gasped. He was looking past the battle now… and at the two other Zabraks that were finishing off the last of the B2 Battledroids. Maul turned toward them, and his face became murderous.

[Self-Destruct Initiated. Abandon Ship.] An automated voice spoke and in the moment of total confusion, Zaiya grabbed Savage tighter and yanked him with her as she kicked Kenobi away.

“No time!” she yelled and dragged Savage with her. “Into the ship!”

Sixy barreled through and charged back onto the ramp. Zaiya pushed Savage ahead of her and Feral helped his injured brother inside.

Maul however moved to charge Kenobi, but Zaiya’s hand landed square in the middle of his chest.

“You will not deny me my revenge!” he roared, the two Jedi having weapons raised to fight.

[Self-Destruct in Two Minutes.]

“Never, sire, but there’s no time!” she urged, and she watched fury contort his handsome face.

“I will kill him,” he growled.

“And I will help you, but we cannot do that if we’re both dead!” He looked at her sharply and nodded, the two turning away. The Nameless was already hovering and they had to leap to get up there, the ramp closing as soon as the two were inside.

Zaiya hurried to the cockpit to get as much distance between them and the dreadnought as she could. She did it. She had them. Savage was safe.

Now she just had to get him to remember them.

----

Obi-Wan ran back to his own ship with Anakin in tow. The Siren’s ship had already made the jump to hyperspace by the time the two Jedi had escaped the Dreadnought.

“At least the Separatist ship was destroyed…” Anakin murmured. Obi-Wan said nothing, letting Anakin pilot, his mind churning. There was no way it could be true, no way that he could have seen what he saw.

How could he be alive?! And the Siren was with both him and the monster Savage… it was worse than he thought.

The image of the last time he had seen the red and black warrior. Standing over his Master, dying at his feet. Darth Maul had killed Qui-Gon Jinn and somehow… somehow he was still alive?! Obi-Wan had cut him in half!

Jedi were not supposed to feel anger and hate… but by the Force if there was anyone he despised more he could not name them. Darth Maul had killed his Master, the man that had taken him as a Padawan when no other Master would dare.

Darth Maul had taken the man closest to a father that Obi-Wan had ever had in his life. It was Qui-Gon that Anakin needed as his master, not him.

“What I don’t get is why they blew up the ship. Wasn’t that big guy serving Dooku? He even had a lightsaber…!” Anakin sighed, then looked at Obi-Wan in alarm. “Are you alright?” Obi-Wan quickly used the Force to mask his emotions and tried to calm himself down. He couldn’t dwell on his emotions.

“Did you see those other warriors?”

“More of those Dathomirian Zabraks, seems the Siren is collecting them,” Anakin snorted.

“I don’t know about that… the red one… we’ve seen him before.” Obi-Wan looked gravely at Anakin whose eyes widened.

“You can’t be serious?! He’s dead! You killed him!”

“I did,” the Master responded, looking out the viewport just in time to see the dreadnought explode in a fireball in the distance. He hit the hyperdrive and made the jump. “I am certain it was him, he recognised me, I could see it in his face.” That ugly twisted rage-filled face. Obi-Wan felt disgust crawl up his back.

“So the Siren is a Sith?” Anakin asked, “I thought there were only meant to be two, if she was one, then that was at least three in that hangar… as well as Dooku… if they were working for him, why did the droids turn on them? Why did they blow up the ship?”

“Those are all very good questions, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replied, “but for now we need to report this to the Council. Soon, we will find out what they are up to.” He had to focus on the task at hand. He would not let his emotions force a reaction.

Even if he did want to tear that Sith to pieces.

----

Maul let out a scream of anger, his hands balled into fists, the Dark Side writhing in him. He looked like he was ready to take his lightsaber to them all.

“He was right there!” he roared. Zaiya watched him as calmly as she could manage, but if she were honest, her own emotions were wreaking havoc on her insides. She was just as angry, but also worried.

“I know,” she said, “but there was no time, fighting a Jedi on a Separatist ship, even if it’s not destroyed…” She shook her head, at least the ship was destroyed but…it was likely that Sidious would learn of Maul’s survival. What that meant for them, she didn’t know. It did make things difficult, however; they could not return to Dathomir and the Republic would come for them… likely so would the Separatists if their actions became known.

Maul just gave a growl and his hands twitched. He let out a deep sigh and watched as she crossed the room, heading to the small medical bay in order to check on Savage.

In the room, Feral sat by the cot, wrapping bandages around one of his brother’s forearms and Savage himself seemed barely conscious, his eyes unfocused.

“How has he been?” she asked.

“I applied bacta, but he has… burns, like--”

“Lightning,” Maul finished in a hoarse whisper, now right behind Zaiya. “It was my former Master’s favourite method of discipline, it seems his current apprentice has learned the same technique…” there was a look that crossed Maul’s face, the pale blue light from the wall unit reflecting on his face. For just a second he looked so vulnerable. Zaiya felt sadness and anger burn in her chest, she hated that she had waited so long.

She turned back and stepped over to the big Zabrak, he could barely fit in the cot, his head shifting from side to side.

“Savage,” she whispered, “can you hear me?” His fluttering eyes suddenly flew open and before she could stop him, his huge hand was around her throat. Feral and Maul jumped, ready to attack as she held up her hands at the same time.

“Where am I?!” he cried, but then his eyes seemed to focus and he released his grip.

“It’s alright,” she soothed, to the others. “Savage, do you remember me?”

“I… I know you…” he said, but it sounded strained.

“Feral,” she called, suppressing a cough. She was sure she was going to be bruised again. Feral stepped over and Savage’s eyes snapped toward the movement. His eyes widened again.

“Brother,” Feral said gently, “you're safe now.” Savage slowly sat up, then he spotted Maul.

“Brother…” he whispered. It seemed that of all people, he recognised Maul with the most surety. Feral made a face and she instinctively laid a hand on his shoulder.

“The spell has suppressed much of his memory,” she explained, and hoped he would not take it personally. She looked at Savage and gingerly reached out. “I need you to relax for me,” she said. He just watched her with those big golden eyes as she carefully laid her hands on either side of his head. He tensed but it seemed the residual memories of her told him she was safe.

A green glow emanated from her fingers and she got to work unravelling parts of the spell. They looked like threads to her, and she had to carefully untie the thread holding his memories. The rest of the spell that had made him so large and imposing however, was not something she had the power to undo.

Savage groaned, and she felt his large hands lay over hers, fingers digging in while she worked. She grit her teeth as his nails bit through her gloves. He was in pain, memories were not an easy thing to recover…

Her hands began to shake slightly with the strain, the green smoke flowing from the contact points of her fingers. A moment later, he relaxed and it was done. She withdrew her hands, stinging and aching from the pressure of his grip, but it needed to happen.

“Savage…?’ Feral asked quietly. Savage looked up and his face changed into one of utter relief.

“Feral!” he rasped. Zaiya stepped back as Savage wrapped Feral in a tight hug.

It was a moment of light in what was otherwise four very dark lives. The family was finally together again.

“Where are we?” Savage asked as he pulled back.

“My ship,” Zaiya explained, “when we were small, Maul and I swore to travel, and bring you with us.” She gestured to the group. “That time has finally come.”

“We aren’t returning to Dathomir?” he asked and Feral’s head lowered.

“No,” Zaiya said, “I…”

“She defied Talzin when she heard you were in danger,” Maul supplied, arms folded across his chest. “It was she that told the Jedi where you were.”

“She betrayed me?!” Savage growled.

“She was always going to, Ventress and Talzin do not care for anyone other than their own power and their goals. They would sacrifice any of us to get what they want,” Zaiya sneered.

“Will the others be alright?” Feral asked quietly. A silence fell over the room.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. There was a likelihood that the Nightbrothers may be punished… or even Zaiya’s mother. But if Talzin could not use it as leverage anymore, would it be worth her trouble? Zaiya couldn't be sure, but even before she had made the choice she knew she would be burdened by it.

“As much as retrieving Savage was important…” Maul began and Zaiya had a significant sense of dread crawling up her back like a blackbane spider. “I still have unanswered questions, Lieutenant. You pushed the conversation away before, but now I want answers. Tell me about the collar.”

Zaiya’s head lowered. She had begun to hope she would not have to tell him after dodging the question last time. There was no escaping it now.

She would have to face the truth.

She would have to tell him about Zygerria.

Notes: If you notice me posting late -- no you didn't!

I mean… Hello there. >> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Savage is back! Lets hope his memory is intact and he's alright. :/ Poor guy. They've all kinda been through the wringer, huh? But! Now they are altogether again! Except Feral's boyfriend of course… Are they gonna meet again? Next chapter… Zaiya finally has to come clean. Will Maul accept it? Or will he turn her away for her weakness?

As always I love love love feedback! Any comments or thoughts you have, send em my way! I love to read them! I hope you're all having a wonderful day!

----

The List of Tags: (If your name is crossed out then check your settings! Tumblr is not letting me tag you!) @two-black-leviathans @fallenrepublick @eyecandyeoz @ashotofspotchka @littlepossss @octupus-on-the-moon @justalittletomato @mach-opress @mustluvecho @nahoney22 @leotatombs @eloquentmoon @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @maulslittlemeowmeow @misogirl828 @alwayssnivellus @stardustbee @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @bacarasbabe @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @rain-on-kamino @roguethe0tter @lifeless-being @herbalina-of-yesteryear

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#a prince of dathomir #darth maul x oc #maul x oc #darth maul #maul fic #nightsister oc #savage opress #feral opress #zaiya valessa #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #asajj ventress #count dooku #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction

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euphoricrhythms · 1 year

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affection showed wrong

half finished poems of admiration, left forgotten on my bedside table, collecting dust

i lie on my bed, emotionless, exhausted, alone

we learn how to love from our mothers,

thats what i heard when i was a small child

but my mother's love terrified me, frightening

she loved through roughly held hands, pain

and she loved through incessant screaming

her voice bounced off the walls of my rapidly beating heart and i anxiously awaited the pain that usually followed

she loved through silent contemplation and broken rulers which once struck my skin,

and then she loved through 'do you wanna go outside?', my mother was a dedicated lover

she held my face in her hands and told me i would never be enough, unless i listened to her,

mother, i want to talk to you, i want to love you

not from afar, but in your arms, on your lap

we had our tender nights, where she would hold my hands in hers and tell me she loved me, i don't remember her face in my mind

and still, after all that we've done to each other

we've done wretched things, said unforgivable words, yet when the night gets too heavy on my shoulders somedays, i call for my mother

i call her in my mind and i ask for forgiveness and i ask her to love me again, to love me in her own way once more

- anushka

#Spotify

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noirstarre · 4 months

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“The Scream” circa 2024 or 2023

Ballpoint pen and highlighter

haha I don’t remember when I drew it but it was funny when I drew it an exported it I was like Oh this looks like the classic painting the scream except in a shitty sketch with anime influence and highlighter color

Please forgive the cringe haha I find that you have to let it out little by little like air squeaking out of a balloon in an annoying and comedic way

I just imagine like an annoying incessant air leak of a balloon in an inappropriate time and place causing everyone to stare in disbelief and annoyance but like in a funny anime way and the character literally references the painting

I dunno it’s sounds funny in my head but so hard to explain in words and it kinda loses it humor but if it played out in real time it’d be a killer joke haha

#artists on tumblr #character design #digital art #digital illustration #doodle #visdev #animation #concept art #drawing #sketch

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bugsyfics · 2 years

Text

ravenous — s. michaelis

-> OCT. 16 : BREEDING KINK

SUMMARY: how intense can one man’s desire become? that’s if he’s a demon of course

WARNINGS: 18+, breeding kink, creampie, heat and mating elements, implied pregnancy

WC: 519

kinktober masterlist 2021!!

Sebastian looked rather pleasant unlike a ravenous demon. So naturally, the consuming nature of his heat was undetectable—even by you. Urge to breed was strong, and he’d have the strength to suppress it if it weren’t for that night in bed, and his close proximity to your flowering cunt as you began your first day of ovulation. Naive enough, you were unsure why you ended up underneath him. Lovemaking with Sebastian was always affectionate; he spent hours giving you undivided attention. Though this behavior… he couldn’t explain, he hadn’t enough time. Yet your suspicion grew as the night progressed and more clothes made home on the bedroom floor.

His eyes swirled fuschia and his jaw nearly sagged as he drank in your body, now bare. The severity in his glowing eyes and low growls caused your stomach to knot. You loved his touch, and the way he fucked you nice and slow, deep inside your fluttering walls. But this was unfamiliar, you trembled as he hovered over you, arms resting near either side of your head, caging you in.

“I must warn you,” Sebastian said, licking across his top lip. “I’m not feeling like my usual self, darling.”

Perhaps this was normal, after all he had tamed himself well enough to keep the beast at bay. From revealing his true form like any demon would have by that point.

You knew what he was. You knew how dangerous he could be with his biting teeth and razor sharp claws, and you should have been terrified. In fact, you should’ve been running out the door and screaming bloody murder when he approached you with faint concern about whether you’d enjoy this. Instead, you lay on your back, arms wrapped around Sebastian’s neck tightly as he leered down at you. His length twitched in his hand when he stroked from base to tip, ready to bury himself in that awaiting pussy.

“Your innocence… It's so tempting.” Sebastian sighed before slotting the head of his cock through your folds, catching dewy arousal that pooled there.

“It-It’s too much.” Your cheeks heated at the sensation of him pushing into you. He was huge. Not that you hadn’t noticed before, but the burning stretch of his tip reached places that felt nearly impossible to find. And you mewled at that. You barely had enough time to process it all.

“I’m afraid I do not have the restraint to be gentle,” he exhaled, appetence thick in his throat. Desires he’d long forgotten re-entered his mind more intensely, and itched to be satiated. Searching fingers trailed over your stomach and eventually rested at your thighs, imagining these areas much plumper, much fuller when you fell pregnant. His digits clenched over your thighs and dug into the flesh until he couldn’t hesitate anymore, and he thrusted to the hilt. “Forgive me.”

As Sebastian rutted his swollen cockhead to meet your cervix, his demon form emerged right before your eyes. Sharp teeth grazed over the smooth skin of your breasts, and a pointed tongue flickered over puffy nipples. You even surprised yourself, gushing around him at that.

His seed leaked out of your cunt after he came, and incessant thoughts played over: breed her. You watched as his cock grew again and you tensed underneath him. He nearly chuckled at your apprehension. After all, everything would take much getting used to… That of course was no exaggeration.

My, my, Sebastian thought, motherhood will look delightful on you, my love.

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sbi-au-ideas · 2 years

Text

“Technoblade” they called him. “The Blood God” they chanted. “Immortal” they gossiped.

“Young” says Wilbur.

Wilbur heard of Techno when he was 14. The rumors circulating him were spoken with awe, and held an air of breathlessness and disbelief.

Wil begged his mother to bring him to a tournament, and on his 16th birthday she said yes.

When signing up, the guards constantly eyed up Wilbur. They made comments on his height, buttered his mother up with compliments. His mother had brushed them off with a smile.

The tournament of The Blood God was amazing. His face was covered by a mask painted red. The eyes were big, gaping black holes, that appeared to leak out black goo. Wilbur thought it was cool at first.

Then the guards approached him and his mother. She let out a gurgling, tortured shriek, and Wilbur turned around to see a sword through her heart. They hadn’t even given him the chance to offer up his own life in return. They didn’t hesitate.

He’ll never forgive them for that.

He had been dragged away to the underground levels kicking and screaming. It was horrifying. Rows upon rows of kids in cages.

They put him in a cage next to the blood god.

At first, Wilbur was terrified. He saw how the man had taken down dozens of people at a time; an unstoppable force, a one man army.

Then, from above the incessant chatter and crying of everyone around them, Wilbur heard him.

“…. Hullo.”

It was jarring, how young the voice sounded. How that one word sounded like dead hope. Like when someone continues a tradition, despite how they’ve lost the love and cause that started it in the first place.

Wilbur stops shaking. The Blood Gods mask shifts slightly, looking at him more head on.

“… hi.” The end lilted slightly, a question on the back of his tongue. This entire scenario feels so unsure.

“…” The Blood God continues staring at him. The mask is really fucking creepy.

Wilbur hesitates. “Can you take off your mask?”

To his surprise- he is not chopped down right where he sits (the blood god is in a cage just as much as he is), and the Blood God slowly reaches for the blood stained, demon-looking mask.

He’s young, Wil notices. His hair is a muddled brown, sat on his head in a greasy mess. His brown eyes look haunted, and it takes Wilbur a minute to realize that he had been staring at Wil in silent disbelief- he’s nothing like the predator the media makes him out to be.

But like- he’s young. Like, Wilbur’s age young. The Blood God has been whispered about for years. It shouldn’t be possible.

The Blood God shifts uncomfortably, and Wil blinks back to reality.

“How old are you?” He asks, a joking hint of incredulity in his voice.

The haunted eyes in front of him blink. “…they,” he begins, hesitating. “They say that today I am 16.”

Wilbur gapes. What the fuck.

He jumps up from his corner, pressing into the bars closest to the Blood God. “That’s- that’s my age! I’m turning 16 today too!”

The Blood God looks a bit surprised, but doesn’t seem to understand the significance of two people being born on the same day of the same year, and meeting anywhere outside of a school. And even that would be a rare occurrence.

“I don’t-…” the Blood God stutters, “I don’t know what’s so big about that.”

Wilbur grins, big and mischievous, “it means we could be twins! Brothers! Family, y’know?”

Family. Wilbur suddenly remembers his mother. She’s- she’s dead. For real dead. He will never see her again, never talk to her again, never hug her-

“You think we could be family?” Wilbur jumps back to reality, banishing the thoughts of his mom to the deepest depths of his heart.

“Yeah! And, even if we’re not- I say we are! Who’s gonna tell us no?” The Blood God glances out of his cage at the guards subtly. Wilbur looks too, dramatically looking them up and down, before deciding aloud, “Eh, what they don’t know can’t hurt them.”

The Blood God huffs out a quiet laugh, a glint of something new in his eyes. Wilbur grins.

The Blood God looks at Wilbur. He only hesitates briefly, before announcing, “Call me Technoblade. I just- I don’t like being called the Blood God. You probably haven’t heard what they call me down here- I mean- you look new.”

“Oh! Well then you can call me Wilbur.” He purses his lips in thought. “Or, how about if I can call you Techno, you can call me Wil.”

Techno nods.

“Okay, that works.”

Wilbur looks out at the cages and guards. It’s all very… sad. He looks back at Techno, and the happy glint in his eye makes Wilbur’s heart swell. “So,” he begins, “what were you saying about me being new?”

“They always stick new people next to me. Scares them, makes it easier for the guards to threaten them. No one wants to be in a cage next to me.”

“Well they’re fucking idiots,” Wil states matter-of-factly, ignoring the anger that burns in his chest. “And we’re going to burn this place to the ground.”

Techno looks at him. Wil can’t make out the strange emotion dwelling in his eyes. “You- you want to escape?”

Wil reaches a hand through the bars, and Techno reaches back. Their hands are the same size, he notices. Holding hands, Wilbur makes eye contact with him and promises, “Techno, we are going to escape this shit hole together.”

Techno squeezes his hand with a faraway look. “… together, huh?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” Wil whispers back, “Together,”

#sleepy boys inc #sleepy bois inc #sbi fic idea #Wilbur soot centric #technoblade #twins duo #fantasy au #illegal fighting ring au

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