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lqveharrington · 6 days

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If Only | L.M.

summary: You and Lucifer were bond through the soulmate system, but how could you be soulmates when he had Lilith?

pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x fallen seraphim!reader

includes: kinda soulmate au? fluff, angst, mentions of death, lucifer feeling like a bad parent (that’s pretty much it, let me know if i missed any!)

a/n: i wrote this at night the other day. toward the very end i was very proud of what i wrote 😭🙏 time for my requests i’ve gotten !!!

Ever since Lilith left Lucifer seven years ago, he never expected to meet another who made his heart soar. He fell into a deep state of depression and only started to get out more when Charlie invited him to stay at the hotel after the latest extermination. He got his own royal suite and joined in on Charlie’s lessons, but it still wasn’t enough to keep up with his daughter’s upbeat attitude every day.

It wasn’t enough to help pull him out of his depression until you came along to the hotel.

The moment you stepped into the hotel and greeted Charlie with the same enthusiasm made him smile. It was just another plus that you were a fallen angel, more so a fallen seraphim. And he swore that when you first met his gaze for that split second your eyes glowed pink as he felt his eyes do the same. He thought that would never happen again, but here he stood with an adoring face while you spoke to his daughter like you’ve known her since she was a child.

Soon enough, you and Lucifer were introduced to one another properly, the pink glow in both your eyes returning.

“It’s nice to meet the head man himself.” You grin as he kisses the back of your hand. “And such a gentleman as well.”

“What can I say? I’m quite the ladies' man.” He winked as he saw you burn bright.

As months passed since your first official interaction, you and Lucifer grew closer, bonding on your similar and different experiences. Whether you bonded over one of Charlie’s redemption activities or relaxed in his suite, you both found contentment in each other, letting each other enjoy the company.

“You know, I’m not going to relax when you keep tugging my book away.” You grab his wrist as he reaches for the book for the nth time in thirty minutes. “I’m going to leave your room.”

“Please don’t.” He tugged you closer to his side, head resting on your shoulder. “I don’t want to move from this spot again.”

You tilt your head toward him, eyes glowing a faint pink. “Then let me read.” You let a small smile slip through when he grumbled an incoherent sentence.

Lucifer’s eyes softened when you returned to read your book, watching your eyes scan the words in front of you. His mind and heart racing a million miles per hour whenever you were around. He couldn’t decide what was right. Was his heart telling him to move on? Or was it just aching to be affectionate with another?

The signs were pointing in different ways, but surely the answer was right in front of him. He just had to understand what it was before the magic between you two would fully disappear.

“Staring is highly distracting, Luce.” Your eyes flit up to meet him again. “I can’t focus.”

“You must really like me then.” He gave you a cocky grin

You roll your eyes, shutting the book. “You’ve ruined the book for me. I’m never going to finish that book now.”

“That book wasn’t good anyways.” He brought the comforter up and over the both of you. He locked his arms around your waist, pulling your back to his front. You felt yourself loosen up by his touch, letting out a small breath of exhaustion. “I’m spent after all the bonding activities today, beautiful. I think we can skip our kitchen run tonight and just go to bed.”

“Were you really waiting for me to finish reading so we could sleep?” You murmur as you feel him nod. You let out a small laugh, “Wow, I would have never stooped so low.”

Lucifer shushed you, “I’m sleeping, good night.”

A soft smile takes over your burning face, turning in his arms to face him. “Good night, Luce.”

He didn’t say anything else but quietly played with your hair, listening to your steady breathing as sleep consumed you. Lucifer always made sure you fell asleep first, wanting you to get a good night's sleep before he did. Yet, he didn’t exactly know when you both went from friends to whatever this was, but he wasn’t complaining if he got to see you sleep in his arms every once in a while.

And it wasn’t like Lucifer was the only one to notice your unusual relationship with one another. You noticed it as well. From the soft touches to the sleepovers at his suite, you knew it was more than just a simple friendship. But what could you do when he still wore his wedding ring?

“What’s happening?” You lay your legs across Lucifer’s lap, taking a glance at the news channel cast upon his suite’s television.

Lucifer rubbed your calf, golden ring a cold contrast to his warm fingers. “They’re interviewing Charlie for her hotel. They know how the extermination happened this year, so I’m hoping the questions are more targeted toward how her hotel will work than how it was fighting angels.”

You frown at the feel of his ring, even more so when he mentions the death of angels. “What happened the last time they interviewed her?”

He scoffed, “They were so rude to her. I mean, I understand we’re in Hell, but she’s their fucking princess. They only brought down her ideas, not asking enough about how she intends to accomplish redemption. I wish I could have done something back then, you know? Show them why I’m the King of Hell.”

You reach across to link a hand with his, giving him a small smile when he meets your glowing pink eyes that match his pair. “Luce, you’re a wonderful parent. I know you want to protect your daughter, but it’s in the past. She knows you love her and look at you two now! You’re supporting her dreams and whatever lies in store for them.”

“Thank you…” He felt the golden ring become heavy on his finger, an uncomfortable weight that was never there appearing. “You’re not half bad of a parent yourself.”

“What?” You let out a confused laugh, thumbing his hand. “I’m not anyone’s parent.”

“Yeah, but—“ He gestured toward the television where they switched the camera toward Charlie before switching to a quick commercial break. “—You've been more of a mother to Charlie than her biological mother in one year. The second you stepped into this hotel, she lit up around you.” His downturned smile grew bigger when you tilted your head. “Charlie may be a very trusting person, but she knows when someone is going to support her with anything she accomplishes. You were one of those people.”

You feel yourself warm at the small confrontation, “I’m sure she thinks of me as any other resident at the hotel, Luce. Don’t boost my ego, you have enough for the both of us.”

“Hey now.” He squeezed your leg. “I’m being nice, and you’re just hurling insults at my face.”

“Me? Never.”

He continued to rub a small pattern, thoughts running back and forth before turning back to you. “I’m serious though. She really loves you… Almost as much as I do.”

Your eyes widened, meeting his eyes that were now glowing a much brighter pink than usual. “You… I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I admire you a lot, beautiful.” He confessed, confidence boosting his voice. “Ever since I laid my eyes on you, and not just because of your looks. You handled Charlie better than I did in the last seven years, and I couldn’t ask for a better person to let her be herself when I’m not around.”

Your eyes glowed brighter at his words, squeezing his hand. “Lucifer, I admire you as much as you love Charlie, but it’s a matter of soulmates versus those of the past.” You gesture toward his ring, pursing your lips at the sight. “Are you sure you’re truly ready to move on? From the entire time I’ve known you, you’ve never taken that ring off.”

“I’m sure.” He let his hand holding yours drift up to cradle your cheek, snapping his finger to get rid of the ring and away in his back drawer. “She’s left me for almost a whole decade, I think I have the permission to move on.”

You melt into his hand, pressing a soft kiss to his palm. “If it’s what you really want, Luce.”

“It is.” He left a small kiss at your temple. “Because I know you’ll still be with me when all of Hell falls apart and all my magic is gone.”

“You’re so cheesy.” You lean back on the couch, letting your head rest on his shoulder. “Will you officially be mine, Lucifer Morningstar?”

“Always, beautiful.” He kept your hands linked as he pressed a promise kiss to your ring finger. “Always.”

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queers-gambit · 1 year

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Not So Heavenly Surprise

prompt: you share exciting news with your husband but don't receive the reaction you thought you'd get. and then, the Outbreak.

pairing: Joel Miller x female!wife!reader only height mentioned: you're shorter than Joel

fandom masterlist: HBO's The Last of Us

word count: 7.2k+

warnings: angst, angst, angst, slutty angst club, cursing, character death, major major major spoilers, death of a child, descriptive language - we talk about death and dead bodies!!! canon-level violence! NOT edited!!! (will get around to it) this work is super NOT FOR MINORS ❗️season one, episode one spoilers

September 02nd, 2002 one year before Outbreak Day

"You're going to have to tell him," you sighed to your reflection, trying to amp up the bravery. "He's gonna notice, you don't want him questioning anything, now do you? No, nope, no way, you don't. Okay, so, that's it - you're gonna tell him when he gets home. No big deal."

There was a knock at the door, Sarah calling, "Are you okay in there?"

"Girl!" You laughed, reaching for the knob and opening it to see her. "Ever heard of this thing called 'privacy'?"

"Not in this house," She smirked. "Can I get in? Wash my face?"

"Oh, yeah, totally," you moved out of her way, continuing with your nightly routine.

"So, who were you talking to?"

"Myself," you mused. "It helps me work out big decisions."

"Oh, so, you're finally gonna tell Dad you're pregnant?"

"What!?" You yelped, dropping the jar of night cream and groaning when it dolloped out from the fall - landing on your foot. "What the hell, Sarah?"

"What? You're surprised I figured it out?" She teased. "I found the pregnancy test."

"What? You were digging in the trash?"

"Well, if you must know, I dropped the toothpaste in there and found it when I was fishing it out..."

"Sarah," you sighed.

"You know he's going to be really happy, right?" She smiled at you, massaging her cheeks to curate foam from her face wash.

"Maybe," you sighed, stooping to clean your mess. "But I've been trying to figure out what to say."

"What's to say? Just tell him," she giggled. "C'mon, you guys have been married 8 years now! Isn't this, like, what was supposed to happen?"

"Well, yeah, but - "

"But nothing," Sarah laughed. "You're getting all nervous for nothing. It's just Dad, he loves you. He's going to be happy, I promise."

You sighed, nodding slowly, "All right, well, I'll try to tell him tonight."

"There is no try, only do."

"You did not just quote Star Wars to me!"

"Well, is Yoda wrong?"

You whined a little, "No..."

"So, get it done," she smiled. "This is really exciting."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she smiled, "I've always wanted to be a big sister."

"You'd kick ass as one," you agreed.

"Think how upset and flustered Dad will be when I teach Baby to curse!"

"Sarah, you teach the kid any curse words and I'll wash your own mouth with soap," you teasingly warned with a pointed finger. "I'm a little nervous, I think," you admitted.

"Why? Daddy loves you, he'll be really happy," Sarah defended. "Maybe a little shocked, but he'll be over the moon with joy."

"You think?"

"I know," she nodded. "Tell him tonight!"

"Tell who, what?" Tommy asked, appearing in the doorway to make you both shriek.

"What happened!?" You heard Joel, but then, everything was drowned out as you and Sarah started yelling at Tommy for scaring the shit outta you both. Joel appeared in time to see his little brother throw his hands up in defense, laughing at the two of you.

"Not cool, man!" You barked, shaking your head. "Didn't hear y'all come in, the hell's wrong wit'chu?"

"Y'all didn't lock the front door, again," Tommy smirked. "I came up real quick and quiet."

"Jackass," you muttered, wiping your hands on a towel before exiting the room. "Hi, baby," you muttered to Joel, pausing to rock onto your toes and plant a kiss to your husband's lips.

"Hi, honey," he mused, arm anchoring your waist. "What's with the screamin'?"

"Your brother's an ass," you pouted, giving your best exaggerated bottom lip.

"You had it comin', darlin'," Tommy teased. "Told you to lock up, huh?"

"Why're you even here? Why are you always! Here!?" You whined lightly. "Go home!"

"I'm staying the night," he mocked gently.

"You better not clean my fridge out," you warned him with slitted eyes. "I just went to the shop."

"You get them cookies you like?" Tommy perked a brother, watching your eyes widen a small fraction. "YOU DID!" Tommy laughed, turning, and bolting down the stairs - making you yelp and start yelling after him, following closely.

Joel and Sarah could be heard laughing from upstairs.

It was close to midnight by the time you and Joel finally settled for bed. Sarah's homework was done, whole family fed, Tommy was nursing a bonked head with a small ice pack, and you and Joel were turning your bed down.

"Hey, uh," you cleared your throat as you both got in the sheets, "so, I was wonderin' somethin'."

"What's that, sugar?"

"What do you think of when you consider the future?"

Joel paused, then shrugged, "We go to Nashville with Sarah this summer."

"No, baby, I mean the future - like, years from now."

Joel chuckled, "Uh, I don't know, baby, I just think of you and Sarah and Tommy... There's not many others left 'round."

"That's all?"

"I don't know, I think sometimes when Sarah goes off to college, that girl's goin' on a scholarship, you know? So, you and I could maybe take some time for a vacation. Finally take you on that honeymoon I promised."

You hummed, settling against his chest, "Where we goin'?"

"You know I'd take you wherever you wanted," he sighed, "but maybe we could afford... I don't know, trip to... Vegas?"

"So we can renew our vows with Elvis?"

"Why not?" He chuckled, squeezing your hip. "Might be fun, right?"

"You just wanna see the strippers."

"Can you blame me?"

You laughed and smacked his chest, "Easy, mister, you're on thin ice."

Joel laughed lightly, "You know I'm teasin', darlin'. C'mon, anywhere we could, where would you go?"

"Oh, the Maldives, without a doubt.," You smirked. "But how about we keep it simple? Go to, say, Paris?"

Joel snickered, "That's simple?"

"City of Love for our honeymoon? Baby, I'd say that's more cliché than anything. Besides, don't you wanna kiss me at the top of the Eiffel Tower?"

"'Course, sugar, but the food there?"

"Oh, like you've ever been!" You laughed, looking up at him. "Don't talk shit when you don't know."

"Hmm," he considered, "solid advice, sweetheart."

He reached out to caress the side of your cheek, making you sigh, "One thing's missin' though..."

"What's that?" Joel smirked.

"We'd have to find a babysitter."

"Sarah will be older than - "

"No, no, baby, not talkin' 'bout Sarah."

"Who, then?" He chuckled. "Tommy? Though he likes proving us wrong, he can take care of himself."

"No, I'm talking about a babysitter for us."

"Lost me again, sweetheart."

You stared at him for a moment, then admitted, "I'm pregnant. So, we'd need to find a sitter 'cause we'd have a little one by then." However, Joel just stared down at you, brows slowly furrowing as he processed your words. "Joel?" You wondered when he didn't answer, but instead, looked off past you. "Honey, you still with me?"

"I heard you," he grit, making you instantly sit up and off of him.

"Joel?"

He sighed deeply, "Why'd you have to do that?"

"I'm sorry?"

Joel sat up and swung his legs from bed, making you feel instantly smaller than you actually were. "Why'd you have to go and do that? Huh? Get pregnant?"

"Joel - "

"No, what the hell's this!?" He demanded, looking far too upset than you ever considered. "You're pregnant? You're really pregnant?"

"Yes - "

"God fuckin' damn it!" Joel swatted at a lamp, knocking it over, and waking the entire house - not that either Tommy or Sarah were asleep yet. "You can't seriously be pregnant!" Joel barked at you, and if he could, you knew he'd be gnashing his teeth.

"Why is this such a shock?" You asked. "This is what happens when you're married - "

"You were supposed to be on birth control!"

"It's only so much effective when you're cumming in me like some sex doll!" You snapped back, aware of your loudness.

"Don't turn this on me!"

"I'm not! Fuck's sake, I'm happy about this!" You stood from the bed, too. "I'm happy we're havin' a baby! Why're you reacting this way?"

"We can't afford a baby right now!" Joel looked enraged now. "We don't got the space - fuckin' Tommy crashes the couch! Where we puttin' a whole baby, huh? Where we puttin' a kid? How're we gonna afford more groceries? More schoolin'? You didn't think this through, now, did you!?"

"Fuck's sake, Joel, do I need to give you a sex-ed course? Explain how you're just as much in this as I am? I didn't do this to myself, we both took risks - but I didn't think this was gonna be an issue! I thought you'd want this!"

"When have I ever said I wanted another kid? Huh? Don't put words in my mouth, woman! I got Sarah, ain't no kid better than that! Why would I even want to bother? Knowing our situation!? You think you're ready to be a mom? All you do is work, and it makes you a pretty shaky stepmother! Neither of us are in a place to just stop and take care of a kid, we're in too deep with our current bills!"

You felt too stunned to speak, every defense you had lowering in pure sadness as tears collected in your eyes. "You serious, right now?"

"Completely," he sighed, hands to his hips.

"So, you... You don't want this baby?"

Joel's jaw flexed. "Not right now, no."

"Okay," you sighed.

"I can't take care of another kid," he shook his head. "Look, why can't Sarah be enough? You've known her her whole life."

"Why is it so wrong to wonder what it's like to be pregnant? To have my own child? Since you have Sarah."

"We have Sarah," he snapped.

"No... We don't, since I'm only a shaky stepmother."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"No? How'd you mean it?" You wondered sarcastically. "Maybe that I won't be a good mother? That you don't want a kid with me, is it? Whatever, Joel, look, there's no compromise here. You don't want this baby, but I do... So, this it is."

"What is? To what?"

"Us," you sighed, gesturing between you. "If you really don't want this baby, then I don't see how we can still participate in a marriage."

"The fuck - "

"I won't stay where I'm not wanted."

"I want you, just not the baby!"

"So, understand this. Because I'm growing that baby currently, you simply don't want me. So, it's all right, now. I'll get my shit and get out, figure out what to do movin' forward, and I'll have the divorce papers sent - "

"Like hell, you are!" Joel raged.

"How're we gonna fix this then!?"

"Fuckin' Christ, woman, you really know how to piss me off! This ain't my issue - this is your problem. But we ain't gettin' a divorce, so, you better figure it out."

You scoffed, "Who the hell even are you?"

"Come again?"

You gestured at him, "This is not who I married."

"Neither are you. When we got married, you said Sarah was more than enough - "

"You know what? Feelin's change!"

Joel scoffed, "Yeah, fuckin' tell me 'bout it."

"Wow," you sighed, turning for the closet, muttering, "wow, wow, wow, wow, WOW!"

"Fuck!" Joel snapped. "C'mon, doll, don't do this."

He watched you pack a suitcase frantically, the fight continuing to wage farther into the night. Back and forth, you two went round after round after round, trying to make the other understand and see reason. To Joel, it was a matter of financials and space. To you? It was everything else.

By 3 am, you had finally packed your necessary belongings into two bags - a suitcase and purse - before you were charging down the stairs with Joel still hollering after you. Tommy was in the living room, pacing, and Sarah was laid on the couch, eyes red and swollen as she clutched a pillow to her chest. You came to a halt when you saw them both, Joel still sneering but silencing himself when he saw what you stared at.

Just like that, he understood his brother and daughter had heard every word he shouted at you, and never had he felt such shame. You swallowed harshly, nodding at Tommy before looking to Sarah. With a wobbling smile, you managed to garble, "I'm sorry."

"Mama, wait!" Sarah gasped, shooting off the couch as you fled for the front door; Tommy catching her around her waist. "No! No! Daddy, go get her! Don't go! Mama! Please! What's happening? Why won't you go after her!?"

But to Tommy's shock and horror, Joel silently descended the stairs to push the front door closed and locked it - bolting them inside and his wife outside. "Joel," Tommy shook his head, confusing marring his features. "The hell happened?"

But Joel only sighed, turned, and headed up the stairs again. Not a moment later, his bedroom door closed - making Tommy release Sarah. She rushed to the door but stopped, only staring out, and Tommy understood she could no longer see your car.

"Hey, Sarah?" Tommy called softly. "You can stay home from school tomorrow. All right?"

She only nodded silently, taking a seat at the front door and just watching. He frowned, wanting to shoo her off to bed, but understood that her child-like mind could only understand so much. She wanted to wait for you to come home, she wanted to see you coming... However, the following morning, Joel found his daughter slumped against the front door and his brother on the stairs from watching her.

His heart had plummeted to his feet when he saw them, more so when he understood you weren't home. The house already felt colder.

September 26th, 2003 Outbreak Day

Your daughter was barely a few months old by the time "it" happened. After leaving Joel, you went home to your parents and they were gracious enough to welcome you and the babe growing in your womb.

They made up your childhood bedroom into a nursery and let you transform their home office into a spare bedroom as your little brother was living in the guest room and older sister in the basement. It was an incredibly tiny room, but it worked for now; and your little girl was a ray of sunshine that you barely noticed how miserable you truly felt.

You hadn't seen Joel since the birth... And before that? Not since your fight. He really didn't want shit to do with your daughter, and while you always told him when your appointments were, he never showed. When you went into labor, your father was the one who called him because you only sobbed through the pain that you wanted your husband. So, Joel showed that day, but didn't go into the delivery room. He just waited outside it, listening, feeling his heart shatter again and again as you begged someone to find your husband, but no matter how your mother and father begged him to go in, he wouldn't. He couldn't.

It was only after the baby was born did he venture in.

You looked beat to hell and the sheets seemed bloodier than usual, but he didn't want to linger. He only nodded at you, hands in his pockets, "Good job... She's real beautiful."

You blinked, glancing over to where a nurse was swaddling the just-cleaned baby. "Thank you," you whispered. Then, he turned to leave, "W-Wait!" You begged, making him pause. "Don't you... I-I don't know, want to help name her?"

Joel sighed, glancing at you over his shoulder, "No, 's all right. Whatever you want, she's your daughter."

Your heart broke all over again, watching him leave. So much so, when the nurse brought your daughter over for you to hold, you broke down in horrendous sobs that the nurse actually shied away. You couldn't breathe from the pain, and it actually set off a few alarms on your hospital monitors.

Your mother watched in despair as a team of professionals had to sedate you in order to calm you down enough; holding her grandbaby and rocking her arms. She waited for days, hoping you'd ask to hold your daughter, but never did. Only when the lactation expert came in to help you nurse your daughter did you actually "willingly" hold her.

It just broke your heart to even look at her because she looked so much like Joel that it should've been illegal. Eventually, you came around and felt as if you couldn't set the baby down, but for the first few days were exhaustingly tough. Your parents were a huge help, but that didn't make it easier on you to try and process life without Joel. You loved your husband, wanted him back, but after his behavior, you couldn't fathom being within 6 feet of him again.

However, life had much different plans.

You didn't feed your baby formula, opting for breast feeding. Ironically, during your pregnancy, you had developed an intolerance to gluten and never wanted flour-products even after giving brith to your daughter. However, your father loved your mother's cookies...

It was nearly 2 am when it happened.

Your father had been the first "Infected" of the family, and only your mother was in their room with him. You heard the thumping and screams, peering out of your room only to see blood pooling from under your parent's closed bedroom door. "Get back," you hissed at your little brother, darting down the hall to your daughter's nursery.

"DADDY! NO!" You heard your brother scream a minute later, panic enveloping you as your daughter started to cry.

"No, no, no, it's okay, hey, hey, it's okay, sweetheart," you whispered, trying to shush her. There wasn't time to spare, and just as you secured your daughter to your chest with tight arms and made it from her room, your father came barreling out of your little brother's room - scaring the shit outta you. "D-Daddy?"

He snarled, neck snapping when he looked at you - but that wasn't your father. No, this creature was something else and while it was in your father's body, it wasn't your Daddy, and you weren't safe here.

"Down here! NOW!" Katie, your older sister called, making you shoot off down the stairs in a blind panic. Your father came crashing down behind you, knocking into your legs as you reached the bottom - forcing you to turn over and land on your back to protect your kid.

"OH MY GOD!" You screamed when your father bolted upright.

"STAY DOWN!"

Your sister swung her softball bat, knocking your father's head back with a sickly snap. He went down, and for a moment, it was all quiet. "What the fuck?" You panted, baby still crying.

"I don't know," Katie panted, reaching for your arms and helping you up. "I-I didn't - I didn't think," she stuttered, looking at your father, who's head was split open and spewing blood. "I-I killed him."

"Between us?" You nodded, "Think he was already dead."

"Where's Mommy? And Billy!?"

"Upstairs..."

"You don't think...?"

"Should we check?"

"What if they're alive and we just left them?" She worried, blinking back tears. "I-I don't know what to do."

"I think we need to get the fuck outta here," you admitted, looking around you two. "We aren't safe here, Katie, we should move."

Just then, there was a thud from upstairs. Your sister uttered your name in fear, and you had to steel yourself. "What do we do?" She whispered.

"Kitchen, there's only one door and the basement," you nodded, the two of you turning and hustling into the room. You looked around and found a long cerated knife, standing at the ready with one arm around your baby.

"What's gonna come for us?"

"Whatever the hell happened to Daddy," you gulped. "I still think we should run for it."

"But Mama - "

"She's probably dead!" You snapped. "But we aren't. We don't have to die if we play smart. I say, we get what we need and get the fuck out of here."

However, before she could answer, there was a snarling from outside the door. Your baby still cried, and soon, the door was bursting open with your mother's Infected body being hurled through the door. Your sister begged your name in a yell and you repeated at her that it's not really your mother - keeping the kitchen island between you three - and that she needed to swing the bat.

However, your little brother came barreling inside right after and knocked into you. It was a struggle as you had to let go of your baby to keep the 10-year-old demon off your body; hip teeth gnashing as pale tendrils came curling out of his mouth.

"NO!"

You couldn't look back at your sister, struggling to keep the suspiciously-strong boy at bay. You used your feet to kick him off you, snatch up the knife, and as he came back - snarling and screaming - you only stabbed the knife up into the underside of his jaw. Yanking free, blood and more came gushing out, and your brother when down.

When you turned, your sister was panting and leaning against a counter. Mother laid dead at her feet. "You good?" You asked.

"Yeah... You?"

"Yeah," you sniffled, moving to collect your baby from the bloody linoleum floor. "Can we get the fuck outta here now?"

"There's no more threat."

"Seriously?" You snapped. "Honey, if it happened here, it's happenin' elsewhere and we need to fucking move before we get left behind. Understand me?"

But then... There was a sickening sound from the only other door in the kitchen... The one leading to the basement...

"Katie?" You called your sister's name, "it's time to run."

"GO!" She screamed when a new body, that of your next door neighbor, came bursting through the door. You both ran, your daughter tight to your chest, and just made it outside your family home when a truck was screeching to a halt.

Joel leapt from the passenger seat, hollering your name in panic, and making you shoot off like a Roman Candle towards him. He caught you easily, holding you and your infant close to his chest as Katie came sprinting from behind you - taking cover behind Joel.

"What - "

"JOEL!" Katie screamed, pointing towards the body rushing from your home.

"Tommy!"

There came a gunshot, making you flinch into his chest as he turned you from the sight. "Get in the truck," Tommy called, Sarah opening the door from the inside to invite Katie in.

"We gotta go, darlin', it's time to go, let's go," Joel muttered to you.

"What the fuck is happenin'?"

"We don't know, but it's bad," he nodded, looking around frantically. "We need off the streets, baby, please, get in the truck."

But you paused, asking him, "You came back for me?"

"For the both of you," he sighed, caressing the top of your daughter's head - who still wailed in fear. "Please, baby, it's time to go - get in the truck." When you did, he rambled, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, all right, Tommy! Let's go!"

When everyone was in and doors shut, a new game began: Get the Hell Outta Dodge.

During the ride, Tommy and Joel filled you and Katie in with what they knew from the broadcasters that were once on the airwaves. Sarah held onto you tightly, infant child still wriggling in your lap and arms. You were trying to flee the suburbs, making for the highway, but it seemed, everyone else who hadn't been killed off had the same idea and created intense traffic.

"We're okay," you whispered to Sarah on repeat, almost in a chant. Katie frowned and slowly reached over Sarah's lap, taking hold of your daughter. You slowly let go only to latch full onto Sarah and try to comfort her with slow rocking and cooed words of encouragement. Joel knew that in your time apart, you and Sarah saw each other often - nearly on a daily basis - and could understand that you were her mother, through-and-through.

You both needed the comfort right now.

Someone to lean on.

Someone to be scared with you instead of saying "buck up."

"Take the field, Tommy!" Katie barked from the back, holding your screaming baby to her shoulder and trying to offer her warmth and comfort. However, it was impossible with the tangible panic and loud blaring of horns and cursing voices. "We can cut across and pick the road up on the west side."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. West, West, all right. All right, hang on," he turned the wheel, everyone bracing for the sharp movement before the bumping of the terrain became wildly uneven.

Around them, other cars followed suit, and the field was soon flooded with civilian cars trying to flee. "The fuck could be happening?" Katie asked you, gulping, "You're the doctor!"

"I-I don't fucking know, Katie, please," you whispered back, gulping in nerves as Tommy drove you all over the grass.

However, when they came over the hill to catch sight of their destination, there was a flooding of lights and choppers in the air. Tommy cursed, "Shit! Fuckin' Army!"

"Isn't that good?" Sarah asked from your embrace.

"It's good for them, but that's the highway we're tryna get to," Tommy explained, coming to a halt as cars flooded past them.

"All right, keep movin'. Head north," Joel advised quietly, his mind trying to settle.

"Could be a lotta people," Tommy argued lightly.

"Well, we can't go south, we can't go east, we can't go west," Joel pointed out. "Hell else we supposed to go?"

"Tommy, fuckin' drive!" You grit, Katie joining you in on the last word.

"Tommy, c'mon!" Joel followed right after. The tires squealed as Tommy pressed on the gas while turning his wheel, making the truck turn and speed off for a distant suburban town; lights in the distance guiding you. "Yeah," Joel muttered. "Yeah, I know that place. This can work."

"Yeah, all right, fine, cool, but then what?" Katie asked. "Where are we supposed to go then?"

"I don't know. Mexico. Just far, far as we can," Joel answered uneasily. "How much gas?"

"Three-quarter tank," Tommy answered.

"Go through town," Joel advised. "Golf course by the river, straight across, we pick up the highway on the other side of the blockade, then we're out."

"I'm gonna throw up," Katie whispered, head tilted back with her eyes closed.

"If you're feelin' sick, hand me my baby," you snapped, looking at her with fear.

"No, girl, it's anxiety," she snapped back. "I'm not sick."

"How can you be sure?" Sarah wondered.

"Cause it would've hit us the same as it did our family..."

"Who'd it hit?" Tommy wondered, looking back.

"We're all that's left," you sighed, saving your sister from answering. "Daddy turned first, then Mama... Billy after... We got out."

"They bite 'chall?" Tommy asked, glancing back.

"No," you answered, looking at Katie. "You bit?"

"Nope, I beat 'em to the punch," she sighed. "Ah, fuck, my stomach."

"Throw up in my truck, darlin'," Tommy muttered, sucking his teeth.

"Throw up on my baby, Kate, and I'll beat 'cho ass," you snipped, perking a warning brow at her.

"Girl," she sighed, glancing at Sarah - who had sat off you in contemplation. "Sarah?" She whispered in wondered.

"Maybe it's everywhere," she voiced, glancing at the two of you sat on either side of her. "Maybe there's nowhere to go..."

"Well, hey, we'll just have to find somewhere safe," you nodded back at her, but furrowed your brow. "Anyone hear that?"

"Oh, shit - "

"What the fuck!?" Tommy called over Katie, glancing up towards the roof as there came a deafening sound of a plane flying far too low to the ground.

"Cover her ears!" You begged Katie, reaching for Sarah to press your hands over her ears. Your sister held your daughter's ears closed - her still screaming bloody murder - as the plane flew over the truck.

"Fuckin' hell!" She looked back, noting the sky. Sarah whipped around, too, only to spy two more planes in the sky - all flying low and at odd angles.

However, ahead of them, cop cars were speeding around the streets and cutting off any route. "Son of a bitch," Tommy cursed. "Gotta go around. Grab somethin'!"

You held onto the designated 'oh shit!' bar over your head as Sarah leaned over to hold Katie and your baby. Tommy took a sharp right into an alley, between buildings. When you all rightened, it was only to see the people on the street running around, screaming, cars zooming past them all. Tommy took a left, then another right, and joined the bustle of the street.

"All right, keep goin', keep goin'," Joel pointed ahead, but tommy blew past a stop sign. "Shit - TOMMY!"

Another car came to a screeching halt, barely missing T-boning the Tommy's truck. They moved on, only to discover people mauling each other in the street - blocking most of their path. "Oh, my God," Sarah whispered, reaching for you as your arm came around her shoulders again as Tommy came to a stall.

"Tommy, you can't stop here," Joel reminded.

"I can't drive through 'em all!"

"Are you serious?" Joel barked. "Just keep goin'!"

However, ahead came the smashing of glass and a stampede of people - all running wildly and making you assume they were Infected, too. "Ohhhhhhh, shit," Katie whimpered.

"Go, go, go, go, back, back, back, back, back, back," Joel encouraged his brother, who hastily switched gears.

"I'm trying!"

However, when you and Sarah looked back to watch the crowd and stay out of Tommy's range of sight, you saw a distant threat and tuned everything else out. "Joel!" You begged, reaching for his arm as the sight of an airborne plane turning in the sky to head back your way was far too pressing right now.

"Dad!" Sarah echoed.

"Holy shit," Katie sobbed, cradling your baby tightly and without you even noticing, put her seatbelt on.

"Move. MOVE!" Joel told Tommy.

The plane took a nosedive into the ground, exploding, and send a flurry of parts around the surrounding area. One of those areas happened to the building you were driving past, and one of the steel parts ricocheted off it and into the truck.

Everything went black.

"Baby? Baby, can you hear me? Hey, hey, hey, darlin', c'mon, open them pretty eyes for me, c'mon, baby, please."

"Fuck," you wheezed, eyes slowly opening.

"Hey, hey, hey, there you are, hey," Joel whispered, Tommy, Katie, and Sarah already out of the truck. "There you go, c'mon, you all right? You hurt?"

"No," you blinked a few times, wiggling your toes and fingers. "Fuck's sake, what happened?"

"Car accident," he nodded, "c'mon, sugar, gotta get up for me," he looked around. "We ain't safe here, c'mon, baby, that's it."

You nodded and let him pull you from the wreckage, grunting when shattered glass pressed into your skin to create long drips of blood that resembled a child's melted-crayon canvas from elementary art class. When out, Sarah kept weight off her ankle and wobbled in her stance, making you frowned, "All right?"

"Ankle," Sarah sniffled.

"We gotta get off the streets!" Tommy called from the other side of the car.

"KATIE!?"

"I got her!" She called back, and then, you could distinguish her shrill crying. You sighed with relief before Tommy was profanely screaming and Joel turned you and Sarah from the car just as an out-of-control police car came smashing into the truck.

"I got her," you told Joel, taking hold of Sarah in full as he nodded in thanks before turning for the wreckage they couldn't get around.

"Tommy!? Tommy!? Katie!? TOMMY!"

The brothers found a glimpse of each other through the flames, Tommy telling his brother, "Head to the river! We'll find a way! Get them outta here, Joel! Go!"

"Take care of my daughter," he nodded back.

"C'mon," Tommy told Katie, and the two were taking off with Tommy's gun slung over his shoulder.

Joel turned back for you and Sarah, gulping nervously at you, "Darlin', listen, I'm so sorry - "

"Joel, now's not the time," you panted. "We gotta go. Okay? We're good right now, but we gotta stay good. Let's get the fuck outta here, please. We can talk later!"

He nodded back, looking at Sarah, who refused, "We can't leave them! K-Katie has D - "

"They'll be fine," Joel insisted. "Tommy's with 'em, they'll look after each other. Can you run?"

"No," she shook her head, making Joel sigh.

"Can you?"

"I'm good," you nodded, worryingly looking at Sarah. "I can carry her - "

"'S all right, darlin'," he muttered, sweeping Sarah into his arms and making her arms latch around his neck. "You keep your eyes on me," he told his daughter. She nodded. "Okay?"

"Okay," Sarah breathed.

"Okay," Joel nodded. "And you don't look anywhere else." Sarah buried her head in her father's neck, his eyes meeting yours. "And you..." He panted, swallowing nervously. "You stay with me, you stay right with me, all right?"

"All right."

"All right," he agreed, hurrying off down the alley. You were true to your word, keeping up with him easily, but both slowing when the end of the alley only lead to a group of Infected motherfuckers feasting on the flesh of other humans.

You panicked for a moment, looking around you, and nearly missing the sound of the a distant explosion - sounding more like a crack from this distance. However, it was enough of a sound to draw the attention of at least one Infected Fucker - who looked up to stare at you, Joel, and Sarah.

Joel lead you to a building behind you - but the Fucker followed. "Joel, go, go, go," you hissed, easily taking the lead to use your body to burst through doors. Joel followed, understanding that because he was carrying Sarah, you had assumed the role of "guide" and wanted to clear his path - but it also cleared a path to be followed.

It made horrendous sounds as it chased you three, literally hauling it's body around as if it had no real control over it. The feeling inside your chest was chaotic, the tension tangible through the air as you lead Joel through the closed-diner.

The creature still followed.

Finally outside, you didn't have to restrict yourself but couldn't find it in you to leave Joel and Sarah behind. If this was the end, it was only right you fell as a family - and while deeply stupid of you, it was oddly poetic. However, as you heard the beast in pursuit just nipping at your heels, so sounded a reverberating gunshot.

It made you pause, looking back to see a headshot had taken the Infected Fucker out, and yet, no obvious sign of the shooter. Joel comforted Sarah, looking down at you - making you nod, telling him you were okay - before looking around again.

Then, a flashlight blinded you as a Humvee's lights flashed on, a voice demanding, "Don't move!"

"Joel..." You whispered, holding onto his elbow as he readjusted so he was slightly in front of you.

"My daughter's hurt!" Joel called to the military man. "Her ankle!"

"Stop right there!" He barked again.

"Okay," Joel muttered, nerves being shared as you had a bad feeling about this. "Easy now. We're not sick!"

But the solider, instead, radioed in, "I got three civilians by the river, one of 'em injured... Ankle..."

"What about Uncle Tommy and Aunt Katie?" Sarah asked her father.

"We're gonna get you somewhere safe first, with your Mama. Yeah? Then we'll come back for 'em, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm sorry, repeat?" The solider asked into his comms system - earning your attention again. Joel tried to step forward, but the flashlight was right back up into your face, the man snapping, "Hey! No one told you to move!"

"Joel," you worried. "They have shoot-to-kill orders."

"What?" He whispered.

"In the event of extreme violence, similar to this, they have orders to shoot-to-kill," you told him shakily, watching the man. "I know you wanna trust 'em, but they're not our friend right now. Get ready to run..."

"Darlin' - "

"Joel," you hushed, squeezing his elbow.

The solider answered his commanding officer with three, spaced out, "Yes, sir's," before he was slowly picking up his firearm and the light was again in their eyes.

Joel realized how right his estranged wife was in that moment. "We're not sick," he tried to remind. But the man approached, making Sarah's breathing pick up as she held on tighter to Joel's neck - blindly reaching out for you. "Sir," Joel begged, "we are not sick!"

But just like you had said, the orders were shoot-to-kill, and the rapid gunfire sounded in the knight - only barely masked by Sarah's high-pitched scream. You felt a searing burn in your thigh, all three of you toppling over down the short hill you were heading towards; all three rolling away from one another.

When you came to a halt, you seethed in pain, holding your thigh, but hearing a much worse sound. Sarah hyperventilating. You looked up as the solider leered over Joel, army-crawling towards her just as a gunshot sounded. However, when you weren't struck, you kept going, and reached your stepdaughter.

"Baby?" You whispered.

"Mama," she begged. "Mama, Mama," she repeated, barely able to swallow her saliva - much less her fear. "Hurts," she grunted, soon losing the ability to form words.

Tommy had seen the scene and rushed forward to shoot the solider, leaving Katie at his side with your infant daughter still in arm. "I got'cha, hey, hey, hey, I"m here," you whispered, literally whipping your shirt off to press into her stomach. "JOEL!" You cried, looking over your shoulder to spy him on the ground.

He quickly scrambled to Sarah's other side, taking in the situation, and looking at you with absolute devastation. You cried as you held pressure, but you knew, from the entry wounds, Sarah didn't stand a chance. Her aorta artery had been hit and shredded by a bullet, only giving her moments left in this life.

Watching Joel was possibly harder than watching him walk away from you in the birthing room. He was desperate, trying to save his daughter but only being able to hold her as she grunted and sobbed in pain; bleeding out in her father's arms. Joel begged you to help but you couldn't, unable to form words, so, he turned to his brother and screamed at him - and your sister - to help him.

But in that moment he had looked away, Sarah's life had left them. "Joel," you whimpered, making him look down and realize what happened. He sobbed, drawing her in tightly; rocking helplessly on the ground as he couldn't fathom what had just happened.

However, amongst his mourning, there came a sound you never wanted to hear again. Whipping around, you caught sight of your sister starting to twitch and leapt to your feet; limping in hurried motions to snatch your screaming baby from her tightening grip.

"Katie," you begged in a sob, backing up towards Tommy, "oh, God, no... No, please."

But the bite on her forearm had turned a sickly black-and-blue, alerting she had been bit at some point and never voiced it. Before your very eyes, she turned from your dear, sweet older sister into a blood-thirsty monster. Yellowed and dead eyes, snarling and uncontrollable twitching, limbs that turned up in odd angles as the infection took over completely.

When done, you sister gave a shriek before you pleaded, "Tommy!"

He took aim and fired once, putting Katie out of her misery; sending her corpse crumbling to the ground. You panted, tears in your eyes as you couldn't process this night, but then... The unexpected.

"Oh, God, no," you gasped, wrenching your daughter from your chest as she started wriggling uncontrollably. "No, no, no, no, no, no," you sobbed, dropping to your knees and laying her down. Quickly opening her baby blanket, you noted the adult-sized bite on her whole shin, sobbing harshly. "Delilah! No, not my baby, no, no, oh, fuck, no, c'mon, not you, too. Not you, too, Delilah, please, my angel, oh, fuck, no, God damn it!"

"Darlin'," Tommy stuttered from behind you. He looked up in fear, finding his brother's confused gaze and calling, "J-Joel!"

"Delilah, please, fuck, h-how do I fix this!?" You begged. "No, fuck, God damn it! Why can't I help my daughters!?" You snarled at Tommy, sobbing until your chest hurt. "Why!? Why can't I save them!?"

"Doll," he whispered, his older brother slowly letting go of Sarah to lay her down, shut her eyes, and rest her arms over her stomach before turning for you.

"Not her, too, please," you begged. "That's everyone, please, no, please, th-this can't - please, this can't be happening! How do I help, Delilah, baby, please?" You still begged, looking at her bite. "I-I can - I don't know what to do! Wo-Would amputation work? Oh, fuck, no, no, it's - no, please!"

Joel stumbled to his feet, nearing you, but pausing as he could only stare as his infant daughter, whom he had only just seen, twitched and convulsed as the infection proved too great for her little body. It also wasn't lost to his that you had name her after his own mother, long since departed from this world and who would never meet her granddaughter.

"Oh, my God," Joel whispered, slowly nearing you as you sobbed over your daughter; hands hovering all over as you weren't sure where to touch her.

"Please!" You begged nobody, sobbing uselessly as Delilah came to a slow but jarring halt. "Oh, my God," you squeaked, leaning back in shock. "Oh... Oh, my fuckin' God, no... Not our kids, c'mon, no, God, please, fuck - this has to be some fucked-up nightmare. Right?" You looked desperately at Joel. "This... This isn't real, right? This isn't really happening? Please, Joel, you have to fucking tell me this isn't real - this can't be real."

"I'm sorry," Joel wheezed, slowly reaching for you.

"This didn't happen," you shook your head. "O-Our daughters - what the fuck just happened?"

Tommy slowly took the seat on your other side, Joel easily tugging you into his embrace as your sobs wracked your whole being. There were no words to be shared, only the grief of two parents who had just lost everything. Sarah's blood stained both your skin, Delilah laid perfectly still in her baby blanket right in front of you, and Tommy, who felt his gun weighed more than himself after failing to protect those he loved most in this world.

Joel, who lost his daughters but kept his brother.

And you... Who lost your husband a year ago and both your daughters, your mother, father, little brother, and older sister all in a single night. You, who would carry this night of great loss with you, for life. You, who felt confused on how "moving forward" was ever possible. You, who would eventually lose feeling in your head and heart that would result in years of violent turmoil.

You, who would eventually find a path to redemption, but for tonight, you, who grieved loudly and openly in the bloody arms of your estranged husband.

requesting rules and masterlist

TLOU masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller tlou #joel miller hbo #the last of us #the last of us hbo #hbo the last of us #the last of us x reader #tlou #tlou hbo #hbo tlou #tlou joel

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fuck-hamas-go-israel · 30 days

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No matter what, don’t lose your humanity.

I see this rhetoric very often, that if you call for the release of the hostages and condemn Hamas terrorism and the atrocities they’ve committed, then you automatically “must support the death of Palestinian civilians”.

Conversely, those who claim to care about the Palestinian civilians don’t seem to call for the release of hostages, never acknowledge the rape, torture, and murder of civilians on Oct 7. In fact, they seem to celebrate death of who they perceive as “Zionist”.

I saw this play out before my eyes on TikTok. A singer named Cat Janice was dying from cancer, and she asked her audience to use her song in their videos as she had willed the proceeds to her young son who is not more than 7 or 8 years old. People labelled her a Zionist because she apparently was following an Israeli account on Instagram.

It was a very tragic story and her family was going through a hard time dealing with the aggressive cancer that was slowly weakening her body.

But as we’ve seen:

They don’t care about people who are suffering from terminal illnesses and will harass them anyway.

In her videos of her giving updates on her situation and pleading with people for empathy for her young son, they flooded her comment section with spam:

Unfortunately, Cat Janice passed away, BDE. But that didn’t stop the harassment. In fact, some celebrated her death and even lauded it as a good thing as there is “one less Zionist” now.

Yes, there are people like this out there. This shouldn’t come as a surprise as they’ve been violent, they’ve been sending death threats, they’ve been chanting for violent “resistance” and “intifada” and the death of Jews and Israelis, as well as their allies. They celebrate violence in the most disgusting and dehumanising way possible.

Just look at the comments in this video of a Jewish creator saying that in Berlin, a Jewish student was attacked:

Meanwhile, we chant “Am Yisrael Chai”. We call for life, we focus on saving all lives, no matter who.

As the leaders of Hamas said in an interview, “The Israelis are known to love life. We, on the other hand, sacrifice ourselves. We consider our dead to be martyrs.”

Every innocent death is a tragedy, Israeli and Palestinian. Death IS a tragedy. The killing of Hamas terrorists, albeit deserved, is a tragedy because of the terroristic path they chose in life and what horrific crimes they had committed in order to warrant death as a means of justice.

As much as I wish that one day, those people who have spewed those vile, antisemitic, inhuman things will feel guilty for what they have said, I doubt they will. The perceived safety and anonymity of social media coupled with their complete absence of humanity, compassion, and empathy evaporates any drop of guilty conscience they may have. All we can wish is that fair and just consequences for their actions will be meted out to them one day.

But my fellow Jews, my fellow zionists, my fellow allies, please never, NEVER stoop to that level. It goes against everything we are about.

Once we lose our humanity, we’ll become dulled to the suffering of others. That’s not what we want, and it directly goes against the spirit of Judaism and Israel.

Continue to mourn the death of innocents, continue to get angry and weep for tragedy and injustice, continue to celebrate new life and lives saved. Continue to feel like a human being. Don’t be like them.

Don’t. Lose. Your. Humanity.

#i stand with israel #israel #am yisrael chai #pro israel #average terrorist sympathiser #average palestine supporter #stop hamas #hamas #jewish #judaism #your antisemitism is on display #end antisemitism #antisemitism awareness #stop antisemitism #palestine

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starshideurfics · 1 month

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Daisies

The van is in the shop. And Eddie’s a little high, band practice ran long, so of course he misses Steve. Misses him so bad he *needs* to see him. Right away.

He says as much to Jeff as he stumbles out the door with a wave over his shoulder.

He cuts through a field, distracted for a minute by the wildflowers, thinks how long it’s been since he got Steve flowers. It’s been months, since Valentine’s Day, which *can’t* be right! His baby deserves flowers! To know how much he loves him!

His Stevie deserves pretty things.

Stooping awkwardly, Eddie gathers a small handful of white flowers, not wanting to take too many from their home, to condemn so many to a slow death on Steve’s desk.

He wipes at his eyes, knows he’s overthinking things. He breathes deep, sniffs at the daisies. Smiles again.

Focus renewed on getting to Steve, Eddie tramps along, crossing the field into the woods behind Steve’s house, tripping a little over roots and staying far from the edge of the pool, afraid he’ll lose his balance and fall in, ruin his nice surprise.

He knocks on the sliding glass door, holding out the bouquet expectantly.

Steve answers, smile big as he tugs Eddie inside. “I thought I was supposed to pick you up in an hour,” he says, accepting the flowers.

“You were?” Eddie asks dumbly, trying his hardest to remember said plans, but everything is fuzzy.

“Yeah, but I’m not complaining that you couldn’t wait.” Steve grins, smells his daisies. “I should get these in some water, and I’m guessing you’re thirsty too.”

He leads Eddie to the kitchen, getting the flowers into a vase and handing Eddie a glass of water. Eddie drinks the whole thing in one go, eyes on Steve the entire time. “You take such good care of me, baby. S’why I had to see you.”

“I’m just glad you made it here safely.”

Steve smiles fondly at him and Eddie feels like the sun is shining down on him, warming his whole body. “I’m sorry I don’t bring you flowers more often.”

“Eddie, it’s o—”

“You’re so wonderful, and I need to show you. All the time! You deserve flowers, Stevie.”

“And you brought me such pretty daisies, Ed. You know you don’t need—”

“Daisies. Daisy. Did you know daisy is a contraction of day’s eye? Because it is. And these eyes are all the better off for gazing upon your beauty.”

“How much of band practice was just a smoke sesh?” Steve asks, fond smile still firmly in place as he gently cradles Eddie’s face in his hands.

“We shared a bowl at the end, that’s it. I’m barely feeling it,” Eddie protests.

“Sure.” Eddie can tell Steve doesn’t believe that.

“I can’t help that you inspire the poetry of my heart, Steven! That I look upon your beguiling face and I must let you know the very depth of my love for you! Shouting it from the highest rooftops would not be enough. Filling your house with blossoms would not show my true ardor.

“If only I could place my very heart inside your chest, let it live beside yours, every beat in tandem.” Eddie shrinks then, proclamation finished, throwing his arms around Steve’s ribcage and burying his face against his shoulder.

Steve’s hand comes up to stroke his hair. “I know, love,” he whispers. Presses a kiss to his temple. “You tell me how much you love me with everything you say and do. Thank you, for never making me question how you feel.”

“You’re my Stevie,” Eddie mumbles, muffled a bit by Steve’s shirt. “I’ll always let you know. S’why I should give you more flowers.”

“I love the ones I have already.

#steddie #fanfiction #ficlet #short and sweet

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 2 months

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"Those angel's minds are hard to change".....

... those, huh. Not "an angel's" which could include you, but those.

And how would you know they were hard to change, Vaggie? Did you try? Were you trying?

Is that why you didn't look quite like them, or act quite like them?

"They're bloodthirsty and deranged-" well we know the ones YOU hung out with were, Adam and Lute and the other Exorcists.

And you certainly are bloody too- "killed THOUSANDS"- but you stopped when you saw the sinner you'd been chasing was a child. Seeing them scared and cringing under your shadow horrified you.

You also were afraid to let anyone else see you sparing this child. The way you glanced around nervously, the low urgent way you told them to "Go, run. Now!" and that instant look of terror when you turned and saw Lute there behind you, with her shadow looming over you instead.

You knew it wouldn't end well for you.

....was that the first time Vaggie realized what she was doing was wrong? Or, is it something she'd BEEN realizing, and this was just the first time she'd been CAUGHT.

Hard to change. Well. That could be why Lute followed. A few too many questions about who you were killing and why.

(but you must not have thought you'd stood out that much. You didn't think they'd recognize you- long hair and out of uniform, missing eye and missing wings)

(did you never realize what a "bad bitch" you were? Did it never click that you were one of Adam's top girls?)

(were the exterminations something you didn't take pride in. Was your kill count just a duty you did each year, because the people you trusted said it was needed and right and good, but the idea of being "good" at it didn't sink in for you. It didn't sink in, that Adam and Lute would know you on sight after three years- You didn't even change you NAME-)

(well... you are shit at lying, after all)

(and for all your talk about how terrible and untrustworthy angels are, you still thought it was worth the wasted breath pleading with Adam not to expose your secret)

(what does that say about you? What does it say, with you missing eye and missing wings, that you had even the smallest hope of mercy from them? You trusted them once, didn't you. You trusted them enough to do the extermination every year even when you weren't happy about it. Did they see that part too, without you realizing it?)

Or maybe you DO include yourself in "those angels".

After all, seconds before sparing one sinner who happened to be a child, you impaled another on your spear without a second's hesitation. Swooped down on them and pinned them to the street like a hawk stooping on a field mouse. Did it without the slightest pause or look of remorse before darting after your next victim.

So maybe even for you it was hard to change.

Easiest to do when a child's face was staring up at you. Harder when diving down at someone's back, when they were an adult and faceless to you, too busy running in fear to turn around.

Easier again though when it's not a sinner at all but the hellborn princess looking horrified FOR you, reaching down and bandaging your wound...

...and proving your little moment of mercy right.

Vaggie, were you up in heaven worrying that there were sinners in hell, people in hell, that DIDN'T deserve to be killed again?

Do you think about how long it took you, how hard it was for you, to act on that thought even when you'd already been having it- and flinch every time Charlie talked about touching the hearts of angels and making them understand?

As if it was that easy? As if one song or set of note cards could do it?

Because you didn't change. For thousands of deaths, you didn't. For that one last person you killed right before being cast out yourself, you still didn't understand.

(until it was too late for them, anyway)

#hazbin hotel #vaggie #angst thoughts #speculation

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obessedwithfictionalmen · 2 months

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I'll come pick it up after pt.5

John Egan X Female! Reader

Summary: The aftermath of a bloody mission. Egan takes too much time to come back, and his nurse is worried.

Warning: Historical inaccuracies/ Swearing/ mentions of injuries/ medical inaccuracies/ naked (non sexual)/ use of Y/n/

Word count: 1,5k

A/n: As you might realize, I don't really follow the timeline of the T.V show, I try to, but yeah. Tell me if you enjoy:)

Something was wrong, they should’ve been back by now. She couldn’t focus on anything she was pacing around her office, with Meatball looking at her. She tried to stay calm, telling herself that the weather wasn’t good. It had started to rain an hour after they left. Damn English weather, she thought. She went to talk with the mechanics, to try and change her mind. Lemmons didn’t help, he kept saying how they should be back, and something went wrong.

It was hell on earth, John Egan tried to stay calm, but the Germans were everywhere. They’d dropped the bombs on their target, now they were on their way home, but they were under attack. Curt crashed, Buck’s plane was damaged, and they didn’t know if they could hold on. ‘’ We have to get back to base! Protect Buck’s plane!’’ Bucky was shouting at his crewmate. The wing got shot, leading to one of the engines shutting off. He thought about Y/n, her smile. He couldn’t crash, not with her waiting for him. ‘’Cleven to Egan, Crosby says that if we rise up in the clouds, we might lose them’’ Bucky heard his friend voice on the radio. ‘’Let’s do that!’’ he quickly replied.

When she heard Lemmons yelling that they were back, she ran to the runway, near Lemmons. She didn’t care that it was raining, she needed to see if he was back. Meatball was with her. They counted the planes, they left 20, there was 11 planes in sight. Y/n heart squeezed, please let him come back to me, she thought. When all the planes landed, chaos emerged. There was a lot of injured soldiers. She had to organize her nurses. She didn’t spot Bucky, she was still hoping he would show up, with his cocky smile and his damn mustache. She saw Buck and ran towards him. ‘’Y/n, your soaked, what are you doing outside?’’ He spoke. ‘’Is he okay? Please Buck, tell me he made it.’’ ‘’He did, he’s coming’’ he said. He’s alive, John Egan is alive. Y/n let out a shaky breath as she hugged Buck. ‘’Thank you, I took care of Meatball!’’ she says, showing him the dog. Buck walked towards the building when she spotted him. She was so relived. His eyes laid on her, wet from the pouring rain, but she was still beautiful. She ran towards him, when she reached him, she jumped in his arms. ‘’I was scared to death! Damn you!’’ she kissed him. She didn’t care that they were in public, he was okay, he made it back. ‘’I’m sorry, but I’m here now. I’m back darling, I’m okay’’ he said, calming her down. He kissed her back, then kissed the top of her head. ‘’Let’s get inside, you’ll get sick’’ he proposed. ‘’I need to go help the nurses, and you must get to interrogation. Now I know that you’re okay, I can go help mt girls’’ she said, coming down from his arms. She was on him like a koala, put now, she was back on the ground. ‘’Alright, I’ll see you after interrogation, go work your magic, darling.’’ He said as he helped her get down.

She entered the medical center and had to shut down her emotions. Men were in agony, a lot of them got shot, some had frost bites and burn marks. It was chaos, the screams were echoing in her mind when Elodie ran towards her. ‘’ Dr. Hamilton, we need your help with one of the soldiers, his leg was sectioned, and he lost it. The cut is in the middle of his calf, we need your help to close the wound’’ She explained as she guided the chief nurse to the injured men. ‘’He already had 2 shots of morphine, what do we do?’’ another nurse asked. ‘’First of all, we need to stop the bleeding, Elodie, go get me some 0 negative blood right now! Focus on stooping the bleeding, be careful with his bone! Once the bleeding stops, give him the blood!’’ She said as she pressed to his wound to stop the bleeding. ‘’I’m sorry, private, I know this hurts’’ she said the men in the bed. Elodie came back running with the blood. ‘’Put it in ice for now, put your hands where mine is and press hard!’’ she ordered the young girl. ‘’Dr. Hamilton! We need your help here!’’ another nurse yelled. Once Elodie replaced Y/n’s hands, she ran towards the scream. It was a man, he had frost bites all over his legs. She had to act fast, her body was on adrenaline, she didn’t even feel cold, she was soaking wet, but she didn’t feel it. ‘’We don’t have the things to treat him, go call the hospital and get him prepped for transportation.’’ She announced. Another nurse was asking for her help, and she ran to the rescue.

His interrogation was over, he was ready to go see his nurse. But when he heard the commotion inside, he knew he had to wait. When he looked by the window, Egan could see his nurse, soaking wet, running around, covered in blood. She was giving orders, helping patients and clearing the ones that were okay to walk, she assigned them to bed rest. He didn’t want to come in and disturb her. He went to the cafeteria to wait for her.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, 4 guys were transferred to another hospital, 3 died and 7 were on bed rest inside the medical center. Her hair was still a little bit wet, but her cloths didn’t dry, and it had blood on it. She was sitting on the floor of her office, staring at the picture of her and her brother, he was a marine, he was killed during the attack on Pearl Harbour. The emotions that she had shut down, were starting to rise again. 2 out of the 3 dead had died in her arms. She was trying to stop their bleeding, but their injuries were too important for her to fix. She had blood of almost every man that came in on her dress, her hands, and even her face. She was cold, the adrenaline had come down and everything she hadn’t felt, she feels it now. She played with Bucky’s necklace; it was just a habit of anxiety. She heard a knock at the door, when it opened, it was her pilot. ‘’Hey, darling’’ he said with a soft, compassionate voice. When he saw her on the grown, his heart broke a little. ‘’Hey Bucky.’’ She responded. ‘’Hell of a day, uh’’ he sat down next to her. She just nodded and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘’I’m still happy you made it back, I was worried’’ she said, she was tired, it showed in her voice. ‘’Me too, darling, me too’’ he responded. They sat in silence for a little while, just enjoying each other presence. She wanted to hold his hand, but hers was covered in blood. She fidgeted with her fingers, trying to get blood off them. ‘’Let’s get you cleaned up, darling’’ he proposed. She got up, so did he and went to the sink in her office. He helped her wash her hands, taking time to take the blood off her hands. ‘’Do you have any spare cloths in here?’’ he asked. ‘’In my room, but not in here.’’

Rank had its privilege, John Egan had a Jeep, they took it to go to Y/n’s room. It was the nurses’ quarters, but when the nurses saw Y/n enter, covered in blood, with no emotions to her eyes, they didn’t say anything about the men entering with her. When they came to her room, he closed the door. Since she was the chief nurse, she had a room for herself. Egan took cloths out of her drawers and put it on her bed. He was about to turn to face the wall, to give her privacy. ‘’Can you help me?’’ she asked. ‘’You sure?’’ he wanted to make sure she was comfortable. She nodded. She turned around, so the pilot could unzip her dress.

It wasn’t sexual in anyway, she was almost naked, she remained in her underwear. Egan was in admiration before her. Not because she was in her underwear, but because she was so strong, she had saw 3 men died today, a lot of blood and she was still able to get through the day. He passed her the cloths he’d picked out and helped her get dress. ‘’Here’s your necklace, Bucky, I’ve kept it safe’’ she smiled, well tried to. She tried to lighten up the mood. ‘’Did pirates try to steal it?’’ he joked. She chuckled. ‘’Yeah, had to fight one this morning, you were there, you saw it.’’ She referred to the accident this morning. He smiled and looked at her cheek, it was in the process of scarring, just like his wound. She handed the necklace to him with a smile. ‘’Rain check on continuing what we started yesterday’’ she said. Of course, he was going to rain check, he wasn’t going to have sex with her now. ‘’No pressure, darling, we do it when you’re ready. Take your time’’ he said, reassuring her. She smiled. ‘’Can I hug you, Major?’’ she asked. He nodded and opened his arms. They hugged, just happy to be with one another. Happy he came home.

Part 6⬇️

#john egan x female reader #john egan x reader #master of the air imagine #major john egan #callum turner imagine #callum turner x reader #callum turner #gale cleven #austin butler #harry crosby

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glorianas · 8 months

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Keep Your Knife Bight 1.01/ To Death We Must Stoop 1.08

BECOMING ELIZABETH (2022)

#my gifs #becoming elizabeth #elizabeth I #alicia von rittberg #perioddramaedit #tudor tag

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caffiend-queen · 1 month

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Do NOT Say 'Always After My Lucky Charms,' Or I Will Stab You

Welcome to another addition to the Holidays in Hel series! Where Loki and Mina attempt to save the Avengers from yet another catastrophic holiday fuckup.

I've been cleaning up and adding bits to my Holidays in Hel series because really, it's my favorite. I hope you enjoy, and thank you as always for reading!

Chapter One: An Unmitigated Disaster Awaits

In which Loki and Mina once again find themselves in the middle of a colossal Avengers holiday fuckup. And who knew the Fey Folk were such assholes?

If there was blame to be assigned for the night that destroyed any charm and mystery left in St. Patrick’s Day, it should really go to The Paddy O’Hoolihan’s, an Irish folk band with a painfully cheesy name. But their music- it was frenzied and delightful, which was why Mina, Wanda, Jane, Pepper, Darcy, and even Natasha were swirling madly in some sort of a jig between each other like a flutter of butterflies, colorful spring dresses flaring out in a pleasing way that exposed a toned thigh or two. They were so fascinating to watch that the rest of the Avengers agreed right then that a Night Out On The Town would be necessary in the hopes of seeing more of this.

“A flutter of butterflies?” Tony blustered. “That can’t be right.”

Loki was seated elegantly on a comfortable chair in the middle of Central Park while most of the other male Avengers were seated in the grass, soaking the seat of their jeans. “A flutter,” he confirmed, watching closely as Mina sent him a saucy little wink. “Known also as a kaleidoscope or a swarm.”

“Swarm isn’t the right word,” mused Steve, still brushing at the green streaks on his pressed chinos. “That sounds like bugs. The girls are definitely butterflies.”

“Butterflies are bugs,” grunted Bucky, eyes closed and soaking in the weak spring sunlight.

“You romantic bastard,” chortled Sam, who was watching Thor capering with the women and getting the dance steps wrong. “I’m gonna go save those ladies from his bigass feet.”

“That slick son of a bitch,” Tony observed morosely, watching Sam gracefully sweep Pepper under one arm and Natasha with the other.

It was a rare day, a blissful day where nothing was exploding, no one was invading anyone else’s borders, no one was getting kidnapped, and even HYDRA appeared to be taking a long afternoon nap. The Avengers were all lazing in Central Park on an almost unnaturally warm day for March 17th and enjoying a holiday where they were, for once, not urgently needed. Anywhere.

“To St. Patrick’s Day!” toasted Bucky, raising his bottle of Guinness to clink with Steve’s. “So what’s the plan for tonight?”

Tony pulled another bottle from the specialty vibranium cooler that floated next to him, its propulsion jets hissing softly. “Watch the parade from Stark Tower, say a prayer at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and hit The Dead Rabbit Grocery & Grog. The Dropkick Murphy’s are headlining.”

Loki sniffed, still watching keenly as Mina took the hands of an elderly gentleman so wizened and stooped that he could legally be classified as a leprechaun. “My lady and I will be spending the evening safely at the Tower. I do not understand this keen desire for holiday-based mayhem and disaster, but I assure you we shall not participate.”

“Brother!” Thor’s voice was unfortunately right next to Loki’s ear, and God or no, the roar from the oaf seared through his ear canal and scrambled his ganglia. “You must bring the Lady Mina, she will be terribly disappointed! Darcy has been telling her of the majesty of the Celtic celebrations here. She must pay homage to her ancestors.”

Loki frowned. Mina had Irish blood? He would rather crush his own skull with Thor’s hammer than admit that his brother knew something about his Mina that he did not, so he settled for a haughty sniff. “Why must I be the sole sentinel during every holiday on this benighted excuse for a realm to remind you all that it will always, always invariably result in death and destruction? That there will be some unnatural force that will target the Avengers and endanger all those we love? Why must I be the-”

“Hey, did you hear that?” Tony interrupted happily, “Loki looooves Mina!”

And then the tiresome chorus rose from this pack of imbeciles. Loki rolled his eyes, wondering if he sent a hailstorm of toads down upon this crowd if it would immediately be traced back to him. But then his Mina returned and sat down in his lap. Kissing him on the tip of his aquiline nose, she sighed, “And Mina loves Loki, so all of you hush.”

“Darling, are you indeed of Irish descent?”

Mina looked up from the 3D chemical strain she was modeling for one of Jane’s experiments. “Yes, and Scottish. How did this come up?”

Loki sniffed haughtily. “My oaf of a brother attempted to claim that I must indulge you in a night of drunken excess with the rest of the team as some sort of homage to your heritage. Is this night one that must be dedicated to your ancestors? Is it a sacred rite?”

Giving a very unladylike snort, Mina said, “Nothing sacred about gulping down too much green beer and singing Irish folk songs. But…” Loki groaned internally. His sweet girl had a look of longing as she continued. “But it’s always such a fun night! I get to dance and sing, and the saying is that ‘On St. Patrick’s Day, everyone is Irish.’” She smiled up at him sweetly. “Even you, Loki.”

Lip curled, he snarled, “Do not assign me a heritage from this insignificant rock!” Traditionally, this sort of elegant sneer would quail Mina, but this time, she gave him a sneer of her own.

“Oh, you do not disrespect my people, Loki!” She quailed slightly before seeing his curled lip stretch into a smile.

“My, my. Look at my fierce little banshee! I would not think of it.” Mina gave him the sort of shameless, hopeful grin that crumbled the God of Lies and Mischief’s will more often than he’d care to admit.

Sliding her hands over his broad shoulders, admiring the hard muscle beneath, she asked, “Does that mean you might be willing to join the group tonight at the Dead Rabbit?”

His elegant head pulled back from hers, “What a truly bizarre name. Does the proprietor wish to drive people away from his tavern?”

Mina cackled a bit. “We Irish are tough. We like it rough and difficult.” She instantly realized her mistake as Loki’s pupils flared.

“Really…” he purred, his deep tone more like a rumble against her spine. “You like it, ‘rough,’ do you, darling?”

It was a desperate scramble to get away from her God’s ruthless grasp, but Mina found herself pulling on her old plaid kilt and cream Irish fisherman’s sweater after a promise to show Loki later the bit of “rough” that a good girl from the Emerald Isle could handle. “My lovely Mina,” he approved, stepping behind her in the dressing room mirror to straighten his cuffs. She’d just pulled on some warm black tights and her knee-high riding boots. “You have a very delectable ‘upper-crust schoolgirl’ sort of look here. I find myself quite interested in knowing what good Irish schoolgirls wear under their kilts.”

“Well, I imagine a big, strong man like you can find out for yourself,” Mina answered primly, then leaped over the bench with a yelp when Loki made a sudden move at her. Chuckling, he straightened his tie and strolled sedately after her.

It was, of course, vile. Loki sighed in a long-suffering way as he surveyed the crowded bar, one hand securely on Mina’s back. “The sun barely set and here are your countrymen, already intoxicated,” he said, leaning in close so she could hear him over the drunken chorus of “Whiskey You’re the Devil.”

“Oh, look!” Mina shouted back, “There they are! In the Snug.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki raised a brow.

“The Snug,” Mina was the one carving a path through the partygoers, heading for their friends. “There’s one in every proper Irish bar. It’s the room right off of the bar where the ladies used to go to have a pint or a sherry and not have to worry about being considered loose. Now the bars just rent them out as a VIP space.”

In his usual fashion, Tony had not only bought out the Snug, which had an excellent view of the rest of the pub, but he also had the management re-create the magnificent, shining walnut bar that ran nearly the length of the main room into a private version for the Avengers. When they drew closer, they found Thor in a handstand with one end of a tube in his mouth and the other in a cask of aged whiskey.

Sam, Clint, Darcy, and the usually shy Bucky were circling the spectacle, shouting “Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!” Thor finished the cask and flipped upright with a flourish, raising his huge arms and roaring in triumph.

“What are you wearing?” Loki frowned, all the men were sporting hideous green plaid patterned neckties, and the more drunken amongst them - namely Clint and Tony - had little green bowler hats perched atop their messy hair.

“It was Tony’s idea, where’s your tie?” asked Bruce, who looked distinctly put out that he’d been forced to wear this itchy novelty neckwear while Loki looked as smooth and perfectly put together as always in an onyx Tom Ford suit.

Loki sniffed, “Ideally, at the bottom of the Hudson River.”

Tony stumbled up behind Loki and Mina, sunglasses askew as he looped an arm around each of them. “Your brother knows how to party, Severus Snape! Let’s tap another cask for you!”

“It is a crime to treat a good whiskey so,” admonished Loki, “and Thor must consume twenty or so of those casks for him to find something even approaching intoxication.” Nonetheless, he found himself relaxing and even amused as his Mina dragged Natasha up on to the bar for a round of Irish Ceili dancing, the Russian gracefully moving along as if she’d performed Irish jigs all her life.

“Man, is there anything Natasha can’t do perfectly?” groused Darcy, watching the footwork until it made her dizzy.

Bucky put his arm around her. “She can’t make that cute little noise you make when I…” She dissolved into a round of giggles and Loki rolled his eyes, looking around the pub. There was a thicket of drunk college students, singing along off-key with the Dropkick Murphys, who’d moved on to “Rose Tattoo.” The main bar was claimed by the regulars, who held court and toasted something new at least every sixty seconds, based on the cheers and clinking of glasses. Small islands of tourists floated through the crowd, gripping a beer mug in one hand and a souvenir Dead Rabbit t-shirt in the other. Irish flags were draped in every corner and the light glowed off the massive selection of alcohol behind the bar, bathing everything in a pleasingly golden glow. And… Loki raised one elegant brow. There was a small group of… small people?

“Little people,” Steve said, leaning in. “The correct phrase is little people.”

“Descendants of a visit long past from a group of lustful and irresponsible Nidavellir,” mused Loki, “the dwarves always eager to spread their seed.”

Steve looked alarmed, “I don’t think you want to be floating that theory, Loki. Especially not here, and not tonight.”

Before the God of Mischief could further discuss Nidavellir sex tourism, he heard a loud “Hellooo, Monty!” from his sweet girl, still tip-tapping away atop the bar.

One of the men broke away from the group and waved eagerly. “Éire go Brách, Mina!”

Leaping rather gracefully from the bar, she took his small hand, greeting him warmly. “Éire go Brách, Monty! I’m so glad you came.”

The gentlemen had a face like a withered crabapple, all wrinkles and slightly sunken, but when he glanced at Loki, there was a spark of… something in his eye. One trickster always knew another, and he recognized the elderly gentleman she’d favored with a dance that afternoon at the park. “Well, when you promised me another dance, my dear, how could I not?” Monty turned to Loki and bent his head in a courtly gesture, “If your date for the evening has no objection, of course.”

Oddly, Loki did have an objection. The gleam in the small man’s eye was growing brighter, and his own emerald ones narrowed. “And what brings you to New York, Monty? Your accent has all the slurs and ellipses of a Dubliner, born and bred.”

Mina’s new friend threw back his head and laughed grandly, “Ach, you’ve caught me. I am, indeed. But I find that here in America, the Irish celebrate this day with greater enthusiasm.”

Just then the Dropkick Murphys launched into “The Boys are Back” and Mina squealed. “Monty! This is my song, let’s go!” And with a final smirk at Loki, her diminutive beau allowed her to pull him into the crowd.

He stared after them disapprovingly. The Dead Rabbit was even louder - if possible - than it had been when they arrived and the discordant screech of electric guitar and the accompaniment of the Uilleann pipes rose over the crowd.

The boys are back

And they're looking for trouble

Standing on the highway, ???

I'm missing my home, and it's killing me

Down the ramp past the jail, I'm feeling alright

Bought roses for my ladies from a corner delight

It's time to get ready for that song and dance

Let's go my friends, it's time to take a chance

We're back in town, we're gonna get it done

We got nowhere to hide, we got nowhere to run

It's been a long time coming,

The boys are back

And they're looking for trouble

And in the blink of an eye, Mina and her questionable dance partner were swallowed up into the crowd. “Did he not seem unnatural to you?” Loki asked Tony, who was leaning heavily on his shoulder and wrinkling the perfect cut of his jacket.

Tony stumbled back, “Woah, Lokes, prejudiced much? What’s next, snide comments about the little people always being after your Lucky Charms?” He said the last in a deplorably bad Irish accent, and Loki’s brow furrowed. Tony (partially sober) was just barely endurable. Completely intoxicated Tony was a punishment that could make the strongest Asgardian choose Odin’s dungeons over Stark Tower.

Bucky gently elbowed Tony into a seat, where his head tipped back and a gentle snore rose from his slack mouth. “Ignore him, Loki. What’s the problem?”

“Most pressing,” he said, “is that my dear Mina seems to have disappeared into this drunken throng with a most untrustworthy creature.”

“Takes one to know one,” Bucky agreed, but he refused to take offense, still searching the crowd. Looking around, he frowned. “And where’s Darcy and Jane? And Pepper? And Natasha?” By now the others were closing in. Thor shouldered his way into the knot of drunken, flailing New Yorkers and Clint hopped up on the table.

Pale hands shooting out, Loki sent a silver stream of energy that coiled and ripped around the pub, curling and snaking along, but there was no sign of the women. “By the NORNIR!” he shouted. “Why? Why must it always be the holidays? You Avengers are a curse, I swear it!”

“Huh?” Tony woke up, standing and rubbing his face. “What?”

Loki turned on him. “You will never heed my warning, will you? All our women- they are gone. Gone!”

“Aw, damn,” sighed Steve, "AGAIN?"

Chapter Two is up tomorrow. You know, the one with all the smut.

I'm starting over with a vague memory of who might like my Loki and Avengers tales. If you would like on or off this list, please let me know! Thank you. Mwah!

@what-is-your-plan-today

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork

@the-soulofdevil

@americasass81

@mdemontespan1667

@sultry-rachael

@myoxisbroken

@gigglingtiggerv2

@notpedeka

@narnianarcher

@sylviefromneptune

@winterslove1917

@kimanne723

@hawkeyes-queen

@grymrayven

@stevihj

@lizette50

@jevans2

@wolfsmom1

@devikafernando

@wegingerangelica

@nildespirandum

@alexakeyloveloki

@thebatshitcrazyfangirl

@thehumming6ird

@archy3001

@iheartsebastianstan

@tomstinkerbell

@wolfpawn

@rayofdawnworld

@thecutestlittlebunbunfairy

@dangertoozmanykids101

@alexakeyloveloki

@nuggsmum

@boredbrooder

@fairlightswiftly

@inkededucatednnerdy

@nonsensicalobsessions

@viv-annelore

@eleniblue

#tumblr besties and beloveds #loki fandom #tom hiddleston #loki smut #Avengers Holidays in Hel #yet another Avengers holiday fuckup #St. Patrick's Day with Loki

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awkward-sultana · 10 days

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(Almost) Every Costume Per Episode + Mary Tudor’s red velvet riding habit in 1x08

#Becoming Elizabeth #becomingelizabethedit #Mary Tudor #perioddramaedit #weloveperioddrama #period drama #perioddrama #costumeedit #To Death We Must Stoop #costumes #costume edit #costume drama #costume set #costume series #Almost Every Costume Per Episode #historical drama #Awkward-Sultana

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year

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Carrion Flowers

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Ceryse Stone) Warnings: Cartomancy/tarot/fortune telling, mentions of death, smut. Word count: ~4k

Summary: Annoyed after offering to help seek out his older brother, Aegon, Aemond wanders into the tent of a fortune teller in Flea Bottom to seek out information. He gets much more than he bargains for. Based on this request.

Artwork by the insanely talented @cyeco13

Ceryse drums her ring covered fingers on the cloth covered table top, her green eyes scanning over the tarot deck spread out in front of her for what feels like the hundredth time that afternoon. It has been a slow day in Flea Bottom. Were it not for the merciful relief from the blazing sun that her tent provides, she'd have packed up and gone home hours ago. The only people that have ducked under the canvas so far have been opportunistic drunks looking for somewhere private to pass water, or lost merchants seeking out directions.

She sighs as an intrusion of sunlight casts her in momentary brightness, before darkening once more. The movement of the opening causes the candlelight to flicker. She doesn't bother to look up, she hasn't had a customer all day.

"I'm looking for a man." A smooth, even voice says.

"Pleasure house is that way." She huffs tiredly, half heartedly casting her forefinger in the general direction of the Street of Silk, the movement causing the bangles that adorn her slender wrist to clatter together, as her gaze remains on her cards.

"It's information I'm after, actually."

She looks up, pushing the waves of her long auburn hair from her face in order to take a better look at her insistent visitor. The tall figure is having to stoop to prevent his head from hitting the peaked roof. He exhales heavily through his nose, his nostrils flaring in obvious annoyance.

She'd recognise that face anywhere; the eyepatch, the scar. It is Prince Aemond Targaryen that stands before her. He is trying to disguise his identity, though doing a poor job.

The clasp holding his cloak together costs more than she makes in an entire year. She bites back a laugh thinking about how stiflingly hot he must feel in all those layers.

"Information?" She muses nonchalantly, hiding her recognition. "That will cost you a silver."

He hesitates, narrowing his eye and pursing his lips. "A silver? My lady, you are attempting to extort a Prince!"

"A Prince?" Ceryse rests her chin on her hands, regarding him with amusement. "Well, why didn't you say sooner? In that case, for you, it's two silvers."

“I do not have time for this.” Aemond seethes, turning to leave.

“I’ll throw in a free reading?” She offers, her tone saccharinely sweet.

“No.” He says icily, pulling back the tent flap.

“Suit yourself. Good luck finding your brother!” She retorts cheerfully.

He turns, looking at her incredulously as he’s about to crouch back through the way he came. “How did you-”

“Goodbye, Prince Aemond.” She calls out airily, returning her focus to the fanned out cards on her table.

He leaves with a haughty huff.

Ceryse smiles to herself. Aemond has provided welcome amusement on an otherwise dreary afternoon. She spends the rest of the day half wondering to herself if he’ll send the Gold Cloaks after her for her insolence, though when early evening rolls around and she begins to pack down for the day, she is relieved that he has not.

The sky is awash with purple and orange hues as the sun sets, and she is placing the last of her tent poles into a linen sack when Aemond approaches once more. She straightens, eyeing him with levity as he stalks towards her.

“You know you’re fooling no one with that silly cloak.” She laughs.

He ignores her comment, though she notices the tight line his lips press into. “I would like a reading.” He tells her matter of factly.

“Couldn’t find your brother?”

“No, we found him, but…you knew I was looking for him. Your powers of divination must be strong.”

She gives a wry smile, shaking her head. “‘Tis no divine magic. Prince Aegon frequents this little corner of King’s Landing. I’ve chased him out of my tent more than once for trying to piss in it. It wasn’t hard to guess who you sought.”

Aemond appears to consider this for a moment, his gaze downcast. “I’d still like a reading.” He states, meeting her eye.

“I’ve packed down for the day already.” She gestures towards the bags around her feet.

“I’m willing to pay. Double what you asked; four silvers.”

Ceryse’s eyes go wide. She wouldn’t have to work for an entire week with that sort of coin, she’d be a fool to refuse him. “Very well.” She nods. “You can accompany me home and I’ll do it there. The sun is setting and this isn’t a place it’s wise to be once night falls.”

She picks up the largest of the bags, containing the tent canvas and poles, and thrusts it into Aemond’s arms. “Might as well make yourself useful.” She smirks, collecting up the rest of her things.

Aemond adjusts the bag in his arms, looking affronted at having been asked to carry it. “Who helps you with this usually?"

“Nobody. Us small folk don’t have servants to fetch and carry for us. I load that onto my back and carry the other two in my hands.”

“Hmm.”

They walk through the winding, cobblestoned streets of Flea Bottom for a few moments in silence, until Aemond decides to speak. “I didn’t ask you your name.”

“You didn’t.” Comes Ceryse’s clipped reply.

“You are infuriating.” Aemond mutters.

She giggles, looking sideways at him. “My name is Ceryse.”

“Might I know your last name?”

She hesitates a moment, sighing. “Stone.”

“Hmm. A bastard of the Vale.” He muses.

“Does that offend you?” She eyes him curiously as they continue walking.

“No, it’s just-”

“A bastard put out your eye.”

“That is treason.” He states coolly.

“Do you care?”

“I suppose not.”

She stops once they reach a row of single storey houses all on a slant. They are packed tightly together and look as though the slightest breeze could topple them over. She approaches the one on the end, setting her bags down and unlocking the door.

“Here we are.” She announces, stepping over the threshold and moving to the side to allow Aemond in.

He has to duck to get through the doorway and once inside the sight of this towering hooded man in her humble abode feels like a fever dream. She watches as he takes in his surroundings. She has never felt resentful of the little she has, but now, seeing the face of royalty cast their gaze around the cramped space she inhabits, she can’t help but feel a little embarrassed. Her bed is unmade, and her belongings litter every available surface.

“You have a lovely home.” Aemond says stiffly.

“You’re a horrible liar.” Ceryse snaps back.

“Where should I..?” He hefts the tent bag in his arms, looking at her questioningly.

“Oh, just stick that anywhere!” She says with a shrug, masking her shame as she sets her own bags down, and begins rummaging for her deck of cards. “So you wanted a reading?”

Aemond unfastens his cloak, taking it off and folding it carefully. “Yes. Where shall I put this?”

She takes it from him, throwing it onto the bed, then sets the cards down on a small wooden table that sits at the end of it.

He raises his eyebrows in shock. “Do you have wine?”

“No, too expensive. I’ve got ale though.”

She moves towards the little area that serves as her kitchen, snatching up a clay bottle from the side. Pulling the cork out with her teeth, she fills two mugs before handing one to Aemond.

He accepts it with a quiet thanks, sniffing it apprehensively before taking a sip. His nose immediately wrinkles in disgust.

“Not to your liking, my Prince?” Ceryse asks with a grin.

He coughs slightly, shaking his head. “That is vile.”

She chuckles, moving back towards the table. She seats herself on the end of the bed, gesturing a hand towards the sole stool situated at the other side.

Aemond sits, looking comically too large for the rickety wooden furniture. “So, how does this work?”

“Payment first.” She reminds him. “The drink is free, no need to throw in extra for that.”

For the first time that day he smiles, genuine mirth tugging at the corners of his mouth. Fishing four silvers from his coin purse, he deposits them onto the table, then takes another swig from his mug with a grimace.

Ceryse pockets the coins then shuffles the deck of cards. “What is it you wish to know?”

Aemond licks his lips nervously, his voice lowering as though he is afraid he’ll be overheard. “Am I to be King?”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Is your father dead?”

“Yes…I should not be telling you this.” He pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“I shan’t tell a soul, but what of his heir, Rhaenyra?”

“My mother has plans to crown Aegon instead. His coronation is tomorrow.”

Ceryse inhales sharply. She is no fool, that is as good as a declaration of war. “So what makes you think you will be King?”

“My brother does not want the crown, furthermore he is not fit to rule.”

“I see.” She spreads the cards out in a fanned formation on the table between them, her jewelry clinking together as she moves her palm over them, waiting to feel the warmth of the one she should pluck out first. As heat tingles her fingers, she snatches it up, laying the card face up in the centre of the wooden surface.

The Tower.

A snap of jaws. Bones crunching. A dragon and its rider falling from the sky.

Ceryse startles from her vision, meeting Aemond’s worried stare. “There will be a terrible accident, it will change the course of everything.”

“Does it involve me?” He asks.

“Truthfully, I do not know. I didn’t see enough.”

Aemond takes a deep breath, nodding for her to continue.

She passes her hand over the cards again, selecting one once she feels a prickle of hotness.

The Magician.

Aemond sits upon the Iron Throne. He wears an iron and ruby crown.

“You will rule as King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Aemond’s eye widens. “What of Aegon?”

“I do not know. There is one more card to draw still.”

“Go on then.”

She picks it up as soon as she feels the subtle warmth.

The Hanged Man.

Aemond plunges into water. He is chained to his dragon. A sword is plunged through his seeing eye.

Ceryse’s gasps, her hand shaking as she lets the card flutter loosely from between her fingers.

“What is it? What did you see?!” Aemond demands.

She hesitates. When she’d learned her craft in Braavos one of the first rules she’d been taught with regards to divination is to never disclose the nature of a person’s death to them, should she happen to see it.

“I saw nothing.” She lies. “The card means sacrifice, release, martyrdom. You will serve Westeros well.”

“I think it is you who is the horrible liar.” He stares pointedly at her. “Tell me what you saw.”

“I saw nothing.” She repeats, her voice raising as her heart hammers in her chest. She puts the silvers back on the tabletop. “I couldn’t complete your reading fully. Take this back and go.”

He leaves the coins where they are, but stands and retrieves his cloak from the bed. “I bid you goodnight, Ceryse.” He nods at her as he moves towards the door. “Perhaps I shall return another time for the rest of my reading.”

“Do not come back here.” She urges, rising from the edge of the mattress and ushering him into the street.

She leans heavily against the door after closing it on him, the image of his lifeless body sinking downwards branded into her mind.

True to Aemond’s word, the next day brings about the coronation of Aegon Targaryen. Watching through her window, as the crowds filter through the streets towards the Sept, fills Ceryse with an eerie feeling. She will not join them. Nothing good will come of this. They are doomed to a terrible fate and she wants no part of it. She thinks back to how she had seen Aemond smile the previous evening and wonders how many more times he will feel such genuine happiness before his life is cruelly snuffed out.

The almighty crash, followed by a dragon’s roar that echoes through the city causes her to jump, and she knows she was right to avoid going to the sept. The distant screams of the smallfolk are a stark reminder of how easily her life could have been taken from her. She wonders if Aemond is okay, whether today will be the day that he meets the fate she foresaw.

It is early evening when she hears a knock at the door. She pulls it open and there he stands, dressed in the same ridiculously obvious disguise from yesterday; Aemond.

“I told you not to come back.” She says flatly.

“I know.” He shifts awkwardly. “I just…I went to look for you after the coronation and I couldn’t see your tent in Flea Bottom. I thought-”

“I didn’t go.” She interrupts.

“I can see that. I’m glad you’re alright.” He replies, relaxing slightly.

She smiles softly. “I’m glad you are too.”

“Does that mean I can visit you?”

She rolls her eyes. “On one condition; you don’t ask for any more readings or for me to elaborate any further on the one you already had.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“And it’s a long walk back to the Red Keep. Off you go.”

He smiles that smile again and she finds herself returning it, a warmth spreading through her chest.

She invites him inside and they while away the evening, drinking more of the ale that makes Aemond wince in distaste as he tells her all that happened at Aegon’s coronation. She hears about the tears he saw on his brother’s cheeks as he walked through the sept, about how Rhaenys had burst through the floor on the back of Meleys and had now surely made her way to Dragonstone to swear allegiance to Rhaenyra.

Ceryse listens in silent horror. She feels anguish for the lives needlessly lost over Rhaenys’ arrogant urge to make a statement, and dread gnaws at her insides over the war she knows will stem from the rivalry for the Iron Throne. She knows if she had any sense she’d push Aemond from her home and make sure he never returns, nothing good can come from inviting this man into her life. She cannot escape the image of his death, and yet she is drawn to him all the same.

He eventually leaves her home under the cover of darkness, with a promise to return soon. It is an unlikely friendship, a fortune teller and a Prince, but she enjoys his company and he seems to like hers too.

He returns two nights later, a bottle of Dornish red in hand.

“I thought we might indulge in something a little more refined than that swill you call ale.” He tells her.

It is viscous and sweet, subtly spiced. The flavours dance on her tongue and she is certain she has never tasted anything more exquisite.

“It’ll do.” She shrugs, and there it is once more; the slight curve of his smile. Her heart flutters, though she is certain it’s the effects of the wine.

They chat idly for a while, until Aemond grows solemn. “This will be my last visit.” He tells her quietly.

“Oh?” She feels her chest tighten. She knows she will have to let him go eventually, but hadn’t anticipated ending their friendship so soon.

“I am to fly to Storm’s End tomorrow. My mother wishes for me to marry one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters, in order to strengthen Aegon’s claim to the Iron Throne.”

She nods, the acrid heat of jealousy blooming down her throat and into her chest. She despises the sensation, swallowing thickly in an attempt to rid herself of it. “Well, I suppose congratulations are in order.”

They sit in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, neither one of them knowing quite what to say.

“I suppose I should go.” Aemond finally decides.

Ceryse stands to see him out. He turns to her as opens the door.

“Would you let me kiss you? Just to say goodbye. I-I can’t face never seeing you again and not knowing what it is to taste your lips.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Aemond, I’m sorry.”

He bows his head sadly, glancing up at her one final time before turning and walking away.

She closes the door, knowing in her heart she has made the right choice. She knows that the moment his lips touch hers she will beg him to stay, but he is not hers to keep. Their destinies are not entwined.

Life carries on as normal for Ceryse. Setting up her tent each day in Flea Bottom, before packing it down again and returning home at dusk.

Three days after Aemond leaves her he returns to her. He stands at her door soaking wet, his right eye rimmed red with tears.

“I-I didn’t know where else to go.”

She ushers him inside, stripping him of his wet clothes and hanging them in front of the small fireplace.

“May I stay here?” He sounds fragile, like a frightened child. “I cannot return home. Not yet.”

She nods, passing him a blanket to wrap himself in as he sits in front of the fire in his braies and undershirt. “What happened?”

He simply shakes his head, wet silver hair hanging in his face.

He doesn’t need to say it, but she knows it has happened. The Tower.

They share the space of her tiny bed that night, and Aemond clings to her like she is a lifeline. She isn’t sure if he ever actually falls asleep, his breathing never deepens or relaxes, and he remains rigid against her despite the embrace he holds her in.

As the first soft rays of sunlight begin to stream through the small window, she rolls to face him. His seeing eye is closed, and his patch has slipped away from the one that bears his scar. She studies it intently, she had heard rumours that Prince Aemond wore a sapphire in his empty eye socket, but had never seen it for herself. It catches the light, shimmering brightly. She traces her finger delicately along the ragged line that mars his cheek and he grumbles, rolling to face her and pulling her tightly against him.

“Does it not bother you?” He asks groggily.

“No, you wear it well.” She replies honestly.

They lay together, the steady rhythm of their combined breathing the only sound in the room, until finally she builds up the courage to ask. “Aemond, why are you here?”

He closes his eye, inhaling shakily and it is only then that she notices he is trembling. “Aemond?”

He buries his face in the crook of her neck, his voice muffled. “You saw it, didn’t you? You said there’d be a terrible accident.”

She strokes a hand comfortingly through his hair. “I saw parts. What happened?”

“I didn’t mean to do it.” His voice cracks. “I only meant to scare him.”

A snap of jaws. Bones crunching. A dragon and its rider falling from the sky.

“Oh, Aemond.” She says sadly. “Who was it?”

“My nephew, Lucerys. The one that took my eye.”

There will be a terrible accident, it will change the course of everything.

“You have to go back, you must deal with this.” She tells him.

“I will.” He sniffles. “I will, just…not now. I want to feel anything but this, if only for a moment.”

He presses forward and his lips are upon hers. She kisses him back, his tears wetting her cheeks, wanting to give him a fleeting moment of happiness amidst his turmoil. The moment intensifies as their tongues meet and he pulls her on top of him before sitting up, her legs falling either side of his waist.

She gasps as his mouth moves from hers to trail white hot kisses along her jaw and down her neck, and she wonders where a man of such good breeding learned to commit such sinful acts. Her fingers tangle into his silver locks as he tugs down her shift to reveal her breasts, mouthing at them before sucking a hardened peak into his mouth. Arousal pools between her legs as she feels herself involuntarily grinding against him, his own desire more than evident through the thin cotton of his undergarments.

“Aemond, we shouldn’t…” She says breathlessly, as his hand moves beneath her hem and up her thigh.

“I know.” He responds in a whisper. “But I do not have the willpower to stop.”

Her jaw goes slack as she feels his fingers move through the slick that has collected between her legs. A noise akin to a growl rumbles from the depths of his throat.

He withdraws his hand, freeing his cock and before Ceryse can stop herself she is sinking down onto it, moaning quietly at the gratifying stretch, as Aemond grits his teeth, his grip on her tightening.

He pulls her in for another passionate kiss, as she plants her feet flat on the bed, using the purchase to aid in meeting each of his upward thrusts. She wraps her arms around his neck and his mouth returns to her chest as he fucks up into her. Their pace is hurried and full of desperate need.

Ceryse’s hand drifts between her legs, circling her pearl as her and Aemond’s hips move together. Her other hand returns to his hair, her grip tightening as she feels her impending climax and he lets out a feral groan, releasing her nipple with a wet pop.

“I am not going to last…” He murmurs.

She nods, the familiar tightness coiling itself in her lower belly. “I won’t either.”

Speeding up her ministrations, she pushes herself over the edge, clenching around Aemond as she cries out in ecstasy, feeling light headed as every nerve ending comes alive. He is not far behind, pulling out and spilling ropes of pearly spend across her thighs and lower belly with a relieved grunt.

They collapse next to each other, both panting for breath. As the rush of euphoria wears off, reality sets in and a deep, aching sense of dread overwhelms Ceryse. She is certain Aemond feels it too, as he tenses up beside her.

“Will you really not tell me what you saw in the final card?” He asks solemnly.

She gulps. “It wouldn’t change anything. It’s better that you don’t know.”

He rises from the bed, dressing in silence, and she does the same.

“I won’t forget you.” He whispers, cupping her cheeks and pressing his forehead to hers, once he is ready to leave.

“Nor will I forget you.” She answers softly. “But I mean it this time, you cannot come back.”

“I know.” He says sadly.

He gives her one final soft kiss on the lips, before walking away. Ceryse turns away, unwilling to watch him go.

In the days that follow, Ceryse decides it is best if she leaves King’s Landing behind for good. Lucky for her, she has spent little of Aemond’s four silvers and is able to afford passage on a ship departing to Braavos, the city in which she learned the art of divination. She is eager to be away from Westeros before the war begins in earnest. She does not want to be on the continent as it burns and crumbles, and she cannot bear the thought of being there the moment that Aemond ceases to be.

As she stands on the sole of the ship, the wind whipping her auburn hair around her head, she pulls the Hanged Man from her pocket, watching it flutter in the breeze before she lets go, her final tie to the One Eyed Prince. She watches as it floats on the surface of the water before sinking downward, much as she has watched Aemond do the same.

225 notes · View notes

whitedarkmoonflower · 10 months

Note

Hi I haven't read too far into the books. I'm on book two so far. Sihtric is my favorite and he needs more recognition. I didn't like how the film just forgot to even mention his family. I would love a story where his wife and children are safe although he is panicking searching for them. One of his daughter can find him on the road coming back and tell them and attack has happened.

Lost

Pairing: Sihtric x reader

Authors note: my very first fic request! Oh gosh, oh gosh! I am so excited! Thank you for trusting me to write a story for you! I loved it and I hope you will enjoy it too. In the books Sihtric’s children are mentioned only a few times and he apparently has daughters and two sons, so I took the liberty to add a son to the story. As for the name of his wife I also decided to stick to the one that is mentioned in the books.

Warnings: mention of death, violence, murder and blood.Quite a big portion of angst.

Word Count: 3,407

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The screaming started suddenly and out of nowhere. You looked out of the window and saw people chaotically running in panic. And then amidst the chaos you saw them - the strangers who had previously caught your attention in the village.

With swords unsheathed, they trailed behind the fleeing women, children, and a handful of elderly men. Along their path, some invaders forcefully barged into houses, and you saw one of them violently dragging a woman by her hair out of her own home. He callously through her to the ground and bellowed something at her, gesturing towards the gathering crowd near the modest church. Fear etched across her face, the woman mustered the strength to rise and sprinted in that direction.

Another man entered the house across the narrow street. He emerged, pushing an elderly man before him. Suddenly, the stranger struck from behind, causing the man to stumble and collapse onto his knees. Another warrior approached, stooped down, forcibly seized the pendant hanging from the man's neck, and violently tore it away. The sword shimmered through the air and the man’s lifeless body crashed to the ground, blood spurting from his throat.

You knew that there was almost nobody there to stop the invaders. Uhtred had left with his men to Eofervic to rescue his daughter and aid his son-in-law, Syggtriger, to recapture their city from Brida and her followers. Hardly any warriors remained in Rumcofa. Sihtric went with Uhtred. They had left behind no more than a dozen of Uhtred's men to oversee the ships sailing up the river and collect tolls. Nothing had forewarned them of the necessity for additional defenders to safeguard Rumcofa. After all, the Danes were far away, and there had been peace for five years already. However, the men you saw through your window were not Danes – they were Christians, as you had plainly seen the crosses hanging on their necks. You had counted twenty of them, but there might have been even more.

You had seen enough. There was no time to hesitate. You knew the children were in the backyard and the threat was closing in. Being a warrior’s wife had taught you a lot of things and one of them was the importance of being prepared for life to be turned upside down in a flinch of an eye. With urgency, you dashed towards the chest, where your ever-ready saddlebag lay stowed. Seizing it, you hastily fled through the backdoor of the house.

You called on your oldest son – a tall twelve-year-old boy who bore a striking resemblance with Sihtric, your husband, with his dark, curly hair, broad forehead, strong jawline, big eyes, and straight nose.

“Strangers are in the town. Murdering. We must flee,” you explained hastily, “Take the fastest horse and ride to Eoferwic. Tell your father and Lord Uhtred, that Rumcofa has been ambushed by Christian men. Go, go quickly! I will take care of the girls. Let your father know that we will be heading to Winchester.” With that you pressed a kiss on his forehead and swiftly turned to make your way towards the small garden behind the house. You knew the girls were there gathering herbs and vegetables for lunch. Your son had already leaped to his feet, sprinting toward the stables, while the sounds of screams and cries in the village centre grew increasingly louder.

------------------------------------------------

“Father!” a familiar voice called out, prompting Sihtric to abruptly pull the reins of his horse, bringing it to a halt. Uhtred followed suit; his eyes filled with astonishment. They turned to witness a rider approaching from behind. Sihtric instantly recognized his son, his face draining of colour as alarm flickered in his eyes.

“Sig, what are you doing here? What has happened?” Sihtric asked anxiety lacing his voice as the rider reached them. Dismounting, he took hold of his son’s horse by the reigns, the boy swiftly jumped out of the saddle, and they embraced.

“Rumcofa, father! We were attacked! Christian men started slaughtering all the Danes in the village. They overwhelmed us. There was nothing we could do," the boy panted heavily from the strenuous ride, his words tumbling out in a rushed torrent. “Mom told me to ride to you. She took the girls and wanted to flee to Winchester”.

"What?" Sihtric placed his hands on his son's shoulders, his expression shifting from alarm to sheer dread. "Did you see them leave? Do you know if they are safe?" Sihtric was desperate for more information.

“I don’t know, father. I did as mom instructed me. I rode as fast as I could to Eofervic, to warn you and Lord Uhtred,” the boy replied, his words laden with uncertainty.

Sihtric turned to face Uhtred, anguish contorting his features. “To Rumcofa, as fast as we can,” he declared and Uhtred nodded in agreement, urging his horse forward.

It was two days ride to Rumcofa and they were riding like mad. However, as evening approached, they were forced to pause and allow the horses to rest, otherwise they would not withstand until the end. They made their camp in the wood, slightly off the main road.

Anxiety consumed Sihtric, causing him to pace around the flickering fireplace like a captured wild animal, his fists clenched, struggling to maintain control. After a while, he leaned against a tree and gradually slid down until he was seated on the ground, his hands gripping his knees, his head bowed. Uhtred approached his friend and settled beside him.

“We will find them. You’ll see, they are safe,” Uhtred was trying to comfort Sihtric. “Ealhswith is cunning and resilient. Don’t lose hope.”

“I wasn’t there, Uhtred. I wasn’t there to protect them. I failed her once again,” Sihtric whispered, his voice trembling with despair and anger. “I promised to protect her. You remember, after Heasten kidnapped her, and when we finally rescued her, I vowed to always be there for her, to never let any harm happen to her again. But I wasn’t there. I can’t bear the thought of losing her and the girls. I will never forgive myself, if something has happened to them.”

"If anyone is to blame, it's me," Uhtred objected, “"I should have made better decisions. I should have left more men to safeguard Rumcofa. I can't comprehend how this could have happened. Where did all this chaos come from?"

"We need to rest and sleep. Tomorrow, we will have answers," Uhtred consoled, placing a comforting hand on Sihtric's shoulder. "Your son is already snoring. He's a brave and clever boy. He managed to find us all on his own."

Sihtric remained seated by the tree, his head buried in his hands, his mind running wild with worry, thinking about all the different possibilities of what could have befallen you and the girls. He drifted into a fitful slumber, only to be abruptly roused by Uhtred, what felt like a few hours later. They swiftly gathered their belongings and resumed their frenzied ride towards Rumcofa, arriving as the evening was already casting its shadows. It was unusually quiet, the eerie silence enveloped them and not a single soul crossed their path.

Sihtric rode on, his desperation urging him forward until he reached his house. Disembarking from his horse, he dashed to the door, only to find it ajar, hanging precariously on a single hinge. With urgency, he stormed inside, calling out your name, only to find the room completely ravaged – benches strewn about, the table shattered, and the cupboard upturned. His eyes widened at the sight of such devastation. He continued to cry out your name, the anguish creeping into his voice. Racing up the stairs, he discovered another room in ruins. Descending hurriedly, he burst out into the backyard, where his gaze fell upon a silhouette lying near the stables. His heart thundered in his chest.

“Oh gods, no! No, no, no…. Please, gods, do not be so cruel!” he cried out, hastening toward the figure on the ground. Although he recognized it to be you after a few steps, he desperately clung to the hope of disbelief. His heart sank with each stride as he was approaching your body, lying peacefully, as if in slumber, just outside the stable entrance. He sank to his knees.

“No, no, please no” Sihtric whispered, his hands rising to grasp and tug at his own hair. “My love, please look at me. Please, open your eyes. I am here. I will never leave you again, I promise,” he whimpered, his hands trembling as he wrapped them around your shoulders, cradling your upper body and head against his chest.

“Please, no, my love,” he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks. His trembling hand caressed your hair, as he leaned in to place tender kisses on your forehead, closed eyes, cheeks, and lips.

“It can’t be true. You can’t leave me. I can’t live without you. Please, come back to me, my love, my sweet girl, don’t leave me!” he pleaded in despair, his voice choked with grief. He clung to your lifeless body, pressing it against his chest, burying his face in your hair. Taking your hand in his, he kissed your palm and pressed it to his cheek. Time stood still for Sihtric, and he couldn't tell how long he had been sitting there, cradling you in his arms. As the harsh reality of the irreversibility of what had happened began to sink in, he reluctantly loosened his grip, allowing your body to slide back onto the ground. He leaned his head back and let out a wild, heart-wrenching howl that echoed across the yard.

In that very moment, a sudden realization struck Sihtric. The girls, where were the girls? With a fierce growl, he sprang to his feet. His eyes scanned the surroundings in complete astonishment, as he found himself back in the woods, the dawn light casting its glow. Uhtred, awakened by Sihtric's cry, gazed at him with questioning eyes.

Sihtric’s heart raced, cold sweat covered his forehead, and his eyes filled with fear and desperation. “It was just a dream, just a dream…” he murmured to himself, shaking his head as if trying to shake off the lingering dread of that nightmare. Determined, he headed straight for the horses, preparing to saddle them.

Sihtric’s tension and anxiety intensified as they neared Rumcofa. He urged the exhausted horse to go faster, his muscles taut, jaw clenched, and his hands gripping the reins so tightly that his knuckles turned white. As the familiar outline of Rumcofa emerged on the horizon, he completely lost the last remnants of his composure and self-control. With a forceful kick, he spurred the horse, propelling them in a frantic gallop towards the gates. Uhtred closely followed his frenzied ride. The gates stood open, allowing them to pass without hindrance.

As they reached the central square, where Uhtred’s house stood near the small church, a horrifying scene opened before their eyes. Dead bodies lay strewn on the ground in front of the church –Uhtred counted thirty, each covered with blankets in preparation for burial. A man sat on the church steps, his head bowed and his hands supporting his weary frame. Startled by the approaching hoofbeats, he stood up, lifted his head, and gazed towards Uhtred and Sihtric, his face etched with pain. It was Finan.

Without a moment's hesitation, Uhtred and Sihtric dismounted and hurried towards their friend.

“Finan, what happened here?” Uhtred spoke first, while Sihtric stood frozen, his gaze lingering on the lifeless bodies. His handsome face contorted with anguish and his eyes flickered with despair. Among the bodies, he noticed some smaller ones, but none appeared to be as small as his three- and four-year-old daughters would be.

“Ethelhelm,” Finan managed to utter, before collapsing back onto the steps, his head buried in his hands. “Osferth is dead,” he continued, his voice breaking with each word. “It is my fault, Uhtred! I should have been more cautious, more wary of those men. They were no ordinary traders… It’s all my fault,” he repeated, pulling at his hair in anguish.

A voice emerged from behind them. It was Ingrid, approaching with a sombre expression. "There were approximately thirty men," she explained. "We were vastly outnumbered, and there was nothing you could do to prevent this," she addressed Finan before turning to Uhtred. "Finan fought like a madman, as did all our men, including Osferth. But there were too many of them."

Finally tearing his eyes away from the corpses, Sihtric found his voice, hoarse and laden with fear. "Where is my family? What happened to them?" he asked holding his breath.

"They are not among the dead," Ingrid replied. Sihtric let out a loud sigh of relief and turned to hasten towards his house. However, as he approached, his steps became slower. The vivid memory of the dream he had the previous night flooded his mind, causing his heart to race uncontrollably. Sihtric reached the entrance and stood still, his gaze fixed on the open doors, hanging askew just as he had seen it in his dream. A surge of anxiety threatened to make his heart leap out of his chest.

Summoning his courage, he approached the door cautiously, pushed aside the damaged frame, and entered the room, dreading what he might find. His eyes moved slowly across the space, but apart from the broken door there was no other evidence of a struggle. The furniture remained undisturbed in its rightful place. "Ealhswith ," he called out, yet there was no response. Sihtric searched the entire house frantically, repeatedly calling your name, but to no avail. The house was empty. Determined, he made his way to the back door and pushed it open.

"Gods, please," he prayed silently as he stepped into the backyard. "Please, do not take them away from me!"

Holding his breath, Sihtric scanned the area before the stables where he had seen you in his dream, but the yard was empty. Relief flooded over him, and tears threatened to spill from his eyes. He rubbed his eyes vigorously to wipe them away, as he heard footsteps approaching from behind. Sihtric turned to face his son.

"They are not among the dead, and they are not here," Sihtric told him, attempting to speak with conviction, although his voice quivered. "I am heading to Winchester immediately. You will stay here and help Uhtred and Finan to bury the dead. They have a four-day advantage, but if I ride swiftly, I may be able to catch up with them." Sihtric's voice was laced with worry. The relief of not discovering you and the girls among the dead was now replaced by anxiousness about your safety as you travelled alone with two small children to Winchester. His mind spun with the myriad of dangers you could encounter on such a perilous journey. His mouth grew dry, and a lump formed in his throat.

-------------------------------------------------------

Sihtric stood outside your sister's house in Winchester, mustering his courage to knock on the door. It was the only place he could think of where you might go. The uncertainty gnawed at him, pushing him to the brink of madness. If you weren't there, he didn't know what he would do. He didn't even want to think about it, so he hesitated. Sihtric raised his hand once more, preparing to knock, but before his hand could make contact, the door swung open. Someone emerged from inside and dashed forcefully into Sihtric's chest, letting out a cry of astonishment as he obstructed the doorway.

---------------------------------------------------------

You had arrived at your sister's home in Winchester two days earlier. She was pleasantly surprised to see you, but when you revealed the reason for your unexpected arrival, she was utterly shocked. Thankfully, the journey had been relatively smooth. After discreetly escaping from Rumcofa, you followed the old Roman road to Winchester and soon enough you were lucky to meet a kind elderly couple travelling in a wagon along the same path. You told them a made-up story about your mother's critical condition, that had made you to leave in hurry with your both children to reach her side before it was too late. Seeing you with two small children alone on the road they instantly offered you a ride. And although you were safe now in your sister’s home, your heart was heavy with worry for your son, and you prayed to the gods that he had safely reached Sihtric. This morning, as you hurriedly stepped out the door to fetch some cheese from the market, you unexpectedly collided with a solid, muscular chest. Startled, you let out a cry of astonishment and looked up to meet the gaze of two mismatched eyes that could belong to only one man in the entire world – your beloved husband and the love of your life.

Sihtric let out a heavy exhale, his eyes fixated on the person who had bumped into him. "Ealhswith!" he exclaimed with pure joy, a radiant smile illuminating his face. In the blink of an eye, he enveloped you in his strong arms, effortlessly lifting you off the ground and twirling you around. With a gentle descent, he placed you back on the earth, drawing you close and pressing you against his chest. Sihtric, so strong, resolute, and handsome as always and you had missed him so much!

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stood there overwhelmed by the feeling of relief and happiness that all your loved ones were safe mingled with your deep sorrow about what had happened in Rumcofa and your grief about people you knew there and were surely dead now. It all spilled out in uncontrolled wave of sobs, your shoulders shaking and your entire body trembling. You covered your face with your hands and hid it against Sihtric’s chest.

"You're alive, and you're safe! And the girls? Are they with you? Are they alright?" Sihtric's voice exuded a blend of elation and concern.

"They're safe, we're all safe. Sig found you, didn't he? Is he here with you?" you managed to utter through quivering sobs with tears streaking down your cheeks.

“My love! My life, my everything! I was getting insane from the worry about all of you! Sig is fine. He stayed with Uhtred. I was terrified that I have lost you and the girls,” Sihtric whispered, holding you tightly against his chest and gently stroking your hair, while you just couldn’t stop crying. Cupping your face in his hands, he tilted your head back and gazed into your eyes. Seeing the tears streaming down your cheeks, he began to kiss them away, placing tender kisses all over your face.

“Please, my love, don’t cry! I know I’ve hurt you. You must hate me. I have failed as a husband and father. I broke my promise. I wasn’t there when you needed me. I couldn’t protect you,” Sihtric murmured into your ear, his voice filled with remorse.

Suddenly he went down on his knees, clasping his hands tightly around your waist and burying his face in your clothes.

“I am so sorry, sweetheart. I will never leave you again! Please, forgive me!” he begged, “Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

Gradually, you regained composure, gaining control over your emotions, and noticed the astonished gazes passers-by directed at the two of you.

"Sihtric, my beloved, " you finally managed to whisper, "I have never hated you. You couldn't have foreseen something like this would happen. You left us in the safety of our home," you held his head and gently guided his gaze to meet yours. "The only thing that matters now is that we are all safe. Sihtric, I love you. I do not blame you for anything. I am not that vulnerable and silly girl from before. Don’t make promises, you know you will never be able to keep! I have been a warrior’s wife for fifteen years now and I would never want to change that," and with those words, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a passionate and intense kiss.

Later, as you finally made your way inside, the girls came running, leaping into his open arms, shouting "Daddy!" and you quickly wiped away the tears that threatened to well up in your eyes again. Only this time, they were tears of pure happiness as you watched your husband, the love of your life and the most handsome man on earth, embrace and shower the girls with kisses, his eyes shining with sheer bliss.

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #tlk #sihtric x reader #sihtric fic #tlk fic #sihtric x you

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comfortfoodcontent · 2 months

Text

2024 X-Men #35 cover by Pepe Larraz

2019-2024 - RIP Krakoa Era X-Men

I love this cover. The art is amazing. It marks the end of the Krakoa era X-Men. It's been on my mind a lot lately and I had to get some thoughts out on it. If you know me, if you ever followed me or my comics site or whatever, you know I was a very loud, very big fan of the Krakoa era at the start, basically up until X of Swords and Hickman's decision to leave. It's finally ending.

2019-2024 - RIP Krakoa Era X-Men

But truthfully it may as well be 2019-2019 -RIP Krakoa Era X-Men. It pretty much failed from the start. I loved HoxPox when it dropped. It was, embarrassing to say now, life changing for me. I thought Hickman was a genius and had found a way to reinvigorate the line and render death as a cheap storytelling gimmick useless. A bunch of my faves were being used and ressurected. I was happier than a pig in shit. I joined Twitter and all the insane X-Fans on there. I started a website and a podcast dedicated to comics. Soon the Covid pandemic started. I was terminally online, my brain rot started and grew worse by the day. It was an insane wild ride that started high and died soon thereafter.

It's hard for me to separate my pretentious Comfort Food Comic media brand time with the pretentious Krakoan Era. Both started out so happily, so full of potential and optimism. To run a site or a podcast in these hellish times you must also play the social media game. Constantly be on there, constantly push your product. Being on Twitter during that time and being part of the X-Community, you start to see how much being on social media fucks you up. You constantly feel like you need to have an opinion on everything, and that it actually matters. You need to be a critic to every piece of media, every decision, every little thing someone says or posts. You lose your grasp on reality, the real world, how to function and interact like a normal human being not stuck hidden behind a screen with your dual public twitter profile and private locked one (something I'm glad to say I never stooped to). It brings you attention. It brings you friends. It pushes your product or brand. It gives you validation and the dopamine rush. It's an addicting, disgusting, fake as hell experience. I was fully caught up in it. It didn't help that I was quarantining and barely leaving my house for a few years. It got me through the pandemic but it also left me so much worse than when I started. Much like how the Krakoan Era treated the X-Men franchise.

Why am I talking about social media so much when I started with X-Men? Well, it felt like this era of publishing went hand in hand with what was being put into the comics. Every creator was constantly on Twitter interacting with fans, always seeing what they had to say. Even Hickman was on there. Dude just wanted to post photos from movies and talk about like what Gen X members he liked. He eventually left because insane X-Men fans wanted him to talk about George Floyd and compare real world race issues with some superhero comics and weigh in, OH GOD WHY ISNT HE WEIGHING IN PUBLICALLY??. It was really weird how fans dealt with that one. Vita Ayala, Tini Howard, Leah Williams - constantly interacting with fans, friends with many of them. A pretty cool thing really, but that shit started influencing their comics throwing in characters or scenes specifically to make some X-Men fan they know on Twitter squee real loud. Shatterstar is not your favorite AEW wrestler. We do not need a book of human X-Men fans who pretend to be mutants influenced by dorky X-Men fans online. We do not need longtime villain Apocalypse to become our "Blue Dad". Jordan White should be editing or at the very least reading any old X-Men comics instead of being on Twitter. We don't need to know what the X-Writers do on their Slack, or worse, what X-fans do on their own incestuous Slack. Gerry Duggan, a writer I loved and thought could do no wrong, joined this group and upped his Twitter usage and the brain rot commenced and his work was so influenced by it. I'll never forget when white people started using fuck around and find out on Twitter and then it was in like 3 of his books the next month. My point in this ramble is the books were being influenced by and written for the loudest X-Men fans on Twitter. The art was dead. The books were a product made in that echo chamber for that echo chamber. They got bad real fast because of our society's addiction to social media these days.

Now that the honeymoon phase is over and I've revisited a lot of these books I do still feel HoXPoX was a wonderful series, one of the best X-Men series, masterfully executed and a perfect jumping off point with so much to explore. I also see the usual Hickman faults. The my series starts some time later, not really addressing anything prior to it that all his books share, the insanely detailed long term plans that he nor the comics business machine will actually follow through on after a year or so, and the shadowy superior group of power that exists in all of his comics. The Moira retcon, while brilliant, quickly falls apart when they never develop her further, or deal with the fact Xavier and Magneto went on to have an entire publishing history knowing what amounts to their entire future until the Krakoa Age must be established. That never really worked and was ignored by the creators and fans alike, including me. So it never really worked from the jump.

Rather than keep the line condensed and maybe just let Hickman write his own story, they expand it out from there involving a bunch of different creators and new ongoings. Plenty of series to explore the ramifications of these retcons, the perceived ethnostate the mutants have established and their abandoning of the coexistent dream the X-Men always fought for, grappling with identity and what it means when death no longer matters, and the conflicts that would arise from having all these villains live with them now. Sadly we instead basically just got Utopia 2.0. Surface level shit where the mutants are on an island surviving that rarely ever went in on all the amazing story ideas we could have explored. But hey certain fans were happy because they could go "Hey Synch is here for a few panels!" or "this horrific out of character gladiator death ceremony is TOTALLY the same thing as my real life transitional phase". Nobody really wanted to question any of this in the comics or in real life. And hey sour grapes aside, we did get some cool stories and some fun character interactions and moments, mostly in the Hickman books. But even from the start, some of it is horrible, more of the same schlock - Fallen Angels a great example, or Hickman's more boring Giant Size issues or his Shi'ar issue, or half of every other title. What should have been being explored or dealt with in the text often went ignored and we got X-Men being superheroes or Otherworld nonsense, which at the time I ate up because I'm such a fan of the old Captain Britain material. Sadly that never really went anywhere either, just making nebulous dimensions that were out there somewhere, don't question it LOOK IT'S JIM JASPERS! ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED! Even things that should have been celebrated like Betsy and Rachel pushing through Gal Pals territory to being together felt largely flat and hollow and forced rather than natural or fun. And that was a common theme as it kept going. Everything felt forced, felt wrong, the writing felt amateurish and simple as it ignored more major issues or reasons to exist. Things just seemed to start happening for no real story reasons. No real further development or exploration. A ton of plots don't make sense as established history and characterization is thrown out the window. Nothing really matters. Rockslide is ruined forever just because. Arrako will never REALLY make sense, Loa and Mercury are psychopathic sex fiends, Pixie of all people is a callous death pervert, Banshee is a Ghost Rider, Warlock's doing something, Colossus joins the Quiet Council and just sits there, Children of the Atom is designated a "red" important book and does nothing of value or import, Moira gets pissy so she turns into a no shades of gray villain robot who skins her soul mate and wears his skin and joins Orchis, mutants are fucking so much and I guess just quickly going to term and they just abandon countless babies in the forest, Anole and a few others are brainless dolts who love the Shadow King, Onslaught is bouncing around, there's an old X-23, Synch is now the best and can recall any power ever magically but never talks to any member of his old team or deals with his death, Inferno as a whole essentially just didn't happen or matter, Sinister isn't Sinister at all he's a clone and there's 3 more of them, Casandra Nova is on a team, Doug knows secrets, Magneto buys a lighthouse, characters are randomly and indiscriminately put into The Pit, Shaw and Selene are maybe the only two villains ever that get examined in a way where maybe they shouldn't be buddy buddy with the X-Men - I need to stop now before I get more angry and depressed but I could go on and on and on. Point is things got bad. Like a ton of this was just bad writing and bad comics. I'm sorry. I get it. I was blinded too. I ignored things. I made my own head canons. I focused on the good stuff.

By the time Hickman actually announces he is leaving, things are already falling apart due to him and Marvel deciding to expand and stretch this shit out instead of just letting him do his shit and end it as a complete story or era. He does Inferno which as I said did nothing and didn't matter. It's good but it's a big ball of nothing. From there the books get worse and worse. Duggan's superhero X-Men book is fluff. Nearly every other series declines more and more. Hellions is a fun dark comedy, but sloppy and lacking that depth and exploration. Al Ewing's work tries hard to reach those Hickman highs and I found myself quite enjoying his work on SWORD and later on X-Men Red but mainly because it all ends up divorced from Krakoa as part of his larger Marvel Cosmic work, with great characterization. I really dig that work and it's common theme is really how off to the side not involved it is.

Later writers, including some real Literal Whos? and pretentious "novel authors" further dilute the line with their less talented work(I like Steve Orlando as a person but I desperately wish he'd try harder to write actual stories instead of being a human youtube video that summarizes obscure 90's comic characters for modern day zoomers). Kieron Gillen, bless him, tries to be the new Hickman and he does have some of the best Krakoa era material, but even he starts failing pretty badly. Sins of Sinister was a clusterfuck of boring nonsense for people who want to seem or sound smart, same goes for this current Dominion plot.

Looking at the art now I'm struck by how none of these characters are TRULY changed from this era, let alone had a lasting or defining story. It's crazy to me we went 5 whole years with this and really what has changed, ESPECIALLY with the current Orchis wrap-up story. X-Men fight some nasty humans who don't like them. We're back to that ALREADY. We aren't getting to the end of the Krakoan Era, we've been in it for quite some time. As I look at this art I see only 3 wholly new characters, which they'll be lucky if they are used after this. One of them is Pogg-Ur Pogg, a perfect example of this era. A big Aligator man, not much thought behind it, that fans LOVED. Sadly, he wasn't actually an alligator man. It was all a fakeout. That was some suit a little boring gremlin wore. A little boring gremlin. Nothing unique, nothing fun. Same old shit you've seen in thousands of comics. That's what the Krakoa Era was. Something that seemed SO DAMN COOL, SO DAMN THOUGHT OUT, but really it didn't have much thought behind it. It was a flashy suit of potential hiding the same old gremlin you've always seen. Even after the eternally online creators saw how popular he got, they didn't change any of this, they just thought we've got it. The suit/gremlin thing is good. It wasn't and they tried to bring it back for further stories but it was so lame at this point it was pathetic. Much like the repeated attempts to salvage and course correct after Hickman.

So here we are at the end. I can't believe I'm actually THANKFUL it is ending. That I actually want to regress and return to the X-Men as superheroes fighting their villains again. I've been rereading old X-books and I crave that big, bold excitement of what truly made the X-Men superhero team work. It's such a bummer and such a failure of execution with so many to blame. What DISGUSTS me so much is already seeing fans eulogize this era as perfection that was cut short by Marvel and not a fun experiment that was botched from the start. I'm with you, I was the biggest believer and supporter at the start. I joined Twitter, I examined every panel, made countless threads of discussion, debated and discussed every little thing with fellow fans. I wanted so much for this to be what it could be. Please, examine it honestly and critically. It's a failure. It's time to pull the plug.

It's ironic to me that I deleted my Twitter this year, the Krakoan age having the same amount of life my Twitter fandom life did. It went from such excitement and fun to soul sucking everyday nonsense. It seems fitting and emblematic of what this age was and turned into. This era, just like Twitter which influenced it so much, is/was a stupid, ugly, brain rotted mess dotted with sparing gold with the unrealized potential for so much more. I for one, welcome it.

Peace Out Krakoa Era, you won't be missed.

#krakoa #krakoa era #x-men #mutants #me #my writing #writing #comics #comic books #marvel #marvel comics #pepe larraz

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sdyd · 9 months

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𝑀. the secrets of life ... sentence starters from valentine wolfe's 2018 album, the haunting of mary shelley. feel free to change tense / pronouns !

you'll see me soon, or nevermore.

how slowly time passes here.

I am as fixed as fate.

I can't stop, or turn back now.

I've left too much unsaid.

I am your voice in the dark.

I have no friend.

they will try to cut you up.

they will put you back together wrong. so very, very wrong.

a vessel can have many purposes.

decoration lends a purpose

hold on to my voice at night.

you can be remade.

revel in the decadence as they wallow in their ignorance.

you will have all the knowledge they foolishly squandered away.

you won't ever be alone again.

you can hear her anguished cries.

your compassion makes you perfect, so perfect.

I know what you seek.

I know why you cry.

I know your breaking heart.

I know how you'll die.

[ name ] was as a daughter.

we thought that your compassion made you perfect.

the shadowed window pane offers a ghostly glimpse into your paradise of domestic bliss.

where is my place in this ?

I am an endless wanderer upon this land, a maker's thoughtless touch.

why am I so alone ?

you never stooped so low.

chase away my fears.

my tears must burn with rage.

lashing out in anger, my soul is fractured fragments.

this haunted world is littered with the ghosts of the past.

everywhere I turn there’s a part of me in all of them.

there’s so much of you in all of me.

but I don’t fit.

then sorrow shall follow behind me as my bridal train.

It’s a mystery I never understood.

it's not your story to tell.

she never knew her mother.

her voice was always there.

If only the good doctor had taken better care to imbue their new creation with a mother’s love.

what horrors might have been averted !

this author knew her subject well.

all men hate the wretched, how then must I be hated.

your actions have wronged me, I must have revenge.

I am miserable beyond all living things.

make me happy, I shall again be virtuous.

what flows out must pour back in.

I will be with you on your wedding night.

I will glut myself on your shrieks.

I will revel in your misery.

I bear a hell within me, I will loose it all upon you

you will learn to dread misfortune, you will learn the agony.

I will work at your destruction, I will desolate your heart.

the death knell shall be rung, each toll a stake into your heart.

in the halls of silence, electric genius cursed me.

I remember when I wondered : what if no one had to die ?

no more farewells.

you will never have to die.

it was not what I'd intended.

I was only ever meant to live alone until the end.

death is now a welcome guest.

the pages turn, the book never ends.

the story grows cold inside my head.

I only ever wanted to help.

the echo of you will never be enough, as long as the black veil separates us.

even stretched on your grave, I’m not close enough.

the reaper is a friend.

death's kiss is a gift.

you took from me, my agency.

now I'm just a whisper in a shadow.

I am leaving this world behind.

do not search for me in heaven.

they were atypical in their custom and belief.

yet, I am bound to them.

they would slander and decry that which they don’t understand.

ignorance will lead to fear, especially if it runs unchecked.

the only way to fight the dark is by lighting up the truth.

never once back away from what lies beyond.

your lies can't hurt me now.

#rp meme #rp memes #rp prompts #sentence starters #roleplay memes #roleplay prompts

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burnthoneydrops · 12 days

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The Sun and the Moon II (e.b. x original character)

synopsis: the first ball for two recently debuted girls reveals a familiar feeling for one.

requested: no

warnings: none

word count: 1.6k

a/n: heyyyy, anyone remember this from over a year ago? im so sorry for the delay, i really ran out of long writing motivation there for a hot second, but hopefully i'm back at it? i make absolutely no promises though

My right glove sags unceremoniously from my arm and as I go to adjust it for the millionth time, Aunt Moore tugs at the back of my dress. I quickly retract my arm back to my side as we step through the double doors of the conservatory Lady Danbury had secured for the evening. She seemed a most formidable lady indeed, from what Aunt Moore’s staff had told me, but the gorgeous flowers hanging from the walls were not overtly intimidating. Hearing that she was sponsoring two girls also foreign to the ton had put me at ease this afternoon, as I hoped I might find some comfort in a group of those trying to learn. I would never suggest admitting that I am an outsider to Aunt Moore, but I fear my accent has already done that for me.

“Lord Cabernathy, the oldest of his mother’s five children, hardly objectionable,” Aunt Moore has spotted her first victim standing against a floral column.

“Being the eldest is the only requirement making one suitable for a wife? The bar seems incredibly low,” I reply, much to my aunt’s dismay.

“Must you be difficult when we have only just walked in the room?” She mutters through gritted teeth as another mama and her daughter walk past us with odd looks in their eyes. She smiles and waves at them, looking at my sideways to ensure that I heard her.

“Is there anyone else, with at least more admirable qualifications?” I offer.

“Lord Landry, a fine young man whose family owns a renowned horse breeding farm in the country. Good standing, only child so due to inherit a large fortune when his parents pass”.

“Ah yes, wishing death upon people your age, my favourite pastime”.

“I am merely stating that he would have a sizable income to take care of you,” Aunt Moore sighs.

“I suppose the horse farm would not be the most impossible thing,” I try to sympathise with her efforts, thinking back to my family at home.

Aunt Moore turns to me, and for a second I think she is stooping to an apology, when there is suddenly one voice ringing above them. “This is the season the Viscount intends to find a wife!”

As if someone had thrown a pile of breadcrumbs in front of some incredibly competitive pigeons, a flock of young ladies swarm the location of the voice. Standing on the tops of my feet, I see a rather uncomfortable looking man with his mother at the other set of doors. I recognize the mother from the presentation, Lady Bridgerton. Before I have time to recount this thought to Aunt Moore, she is pushing me towards the flock. I attempt to delay the process by dragging my heels into the ground, but her will is stronger than my calves, so I lose the battle quite quickly. I am stuck at the back of the half circle, watching girls fling their dance cards in the Viscount’s face, hoping he would sign his name. I would believe that half of these girls even felt blessed that he breathed in their direction, but I have slightly more hope for humanity than that thought would allow.

As the circle of girls starts to diminish, thanks to those who realise that nothing productive will come of this swarm, I am left standing in front of the Viscount with Aunt Moore watching me from her seemingly perched position against the column. “Lord Bridgerton, it is an honour,” I state, curtseying as best I could despite the slight wobble in my ankles.

“It is an honour to meet you as well,” he replies, though I can tell he is looking to get away as quickly as possible. His mother seems to pick up on my identity quicker than her son, as I catch her eyeing me in my peripheral, followed by her mouth forming a soft ‘oh’ of recognition.

“You must be Lady Moore’s charge for the season,” she verbalises her thoughts, and it is then that Lord Bridgerton actually looks at me.

“Indeed I am Miss,” I nod.

“Lovely to be formally introduced. I noticed you at the modiste and the presentation, but it’s wonderful to properly make your acquaintance,” Lady Bridgerton smiles at me as I stand back up, finally being able to look both of them in the eye.

“Perhaps a dance, Miss Moore?” Lord Bridgerton proposes as his mother wraps a gentle arm around his elbow.

“I would be delighted my Lord,” I reply, extending my dance card forward so he may sign it.

“I shall see you then,” he gives a curt smile before departing, leaving his mother and I by the double doors. I look back over at Aunt Moore, who is smiling like I have never seen before, and I excuse myself to head back over to her.

“Very good start, I must say,” she says and I cannot tell if she is more proud of me or herself.

It is soon after this that Aunt Moore goes to fetch herself a refreshment, and I make my way to a more secluded corner of the dance floor, hoping to watch and possibly learn the dances I had to forgo in my training. Though Father was keen on teaching me all the dances he remembered from his days in the ton, there is only so much dancing one can do while also running a family business. There appears another single young lady standing among the crowd, so I try to make my way towards her. It is clear she is watching someone else on the dance floor, and by the looks of it, it is Lord Bridgerton and the not-so-spectacular dance he is currently leading.

“That young lady will soon be marked off his list I fear,” I comment, partially out in the open and partially hoping she will hear me.

“Lord Bridgerton indeed seems rather frustrated,” she replies, keeping her gaze forward. “Would you prefer it to be you on that dance floor instead?” she continues.

“Oh, not notably so. Though my Aunt would have you believe I do, she'll tell anyone just about anything to have me wed before the end of the season”. I pause for laughter, and when I am the only one who partakes, I continue, “do you wish for his name to be on your dance card?”

“I am merely observing for my sister. She seemed most interested in him from afar, so I decided I would watch from the sidelines”.

“What a fulfilment of sisterly duty,” I reply as Lord Bridgerton drops the girl’s hands, nodding curtly before heading outside.

“Excuse me,” the dark skinned girl departs from my side and I suddenly feel alone once again.

I stand off to the side for as long as I can stand, letting a few songs play through, before I realise that the next song is in fact my dance with Lord Bridgerton. I suddenly feel guilty, as if I am betraying the conversation I had previously with the mysterious other girl, but quickly depart from the crowd nonetheless so I can find my forced dance partner. He enters back in from the double doors and I am about to turn back around on account of how aggravated he looks, but Aunt Moore has somehow found me before I am able to do it. With a few words of aggressive encouragement, I am back on my trail, stopping right before the Lord and reminding him of our dance.

The ensemble begins playing once again as the Viscount takes my hands, leading me to the right side of the dance floor. I do not dare start the conversation, both in fear of his current emotional state and that I might run my mouth and have my aunt dragging me out of the ballroom by my earlobe.

“Your aunt is watching you for the season?” The Viscount starts.

“Yes, my Lord, my aunt has been gracious enough to sponsor my debut this season”.

“And your family, did they accompany you?”

“Unfortunately not, the rest of them stayed back home”.

“And home is…” he trails off.

“The Irish countryside my Lord,” I reply, looking between him and my feet to make sure I do not trample his.

“You must miss them,” he supplies more to the conversation, though looks displeased at my inability to multitask.

“Terribly,” I add as he spins me outwards.

At that moment, I feel as though all time has stopped. No longer with the fear that I might step on the Viscount’s toes, I am spinning around the highly decorated room, attempting to keep my gaze locked on a stationary object. It is her. My stationary object is the girl I saw at the modiste and the presentation. Eloise Bridgerton. She stands at the edge of the dance floor, actively avoiding her mother I assume, fiddling with her dance card. I do not know what has happened between when I saw her last and now, but I cannot help but notice how radiant she looks. My vision becomes hazy surrounding anything that is not her, as if I can focus on nothing else. She cannot possibly know she is having this effect on me, as she is simply standing there. I fear I might lose all the saliva in my mouth with the way my heart rate spikes, and just as quickly as the moment started, it is ending.

The Viscount is grabbing my hand once again, spinning back into him before we resume our normal facing positions. I glance quickly over his shoulder as we rotate clockwise to see if I can catch Eloise again, but alas she has run off. He nods at me once our dance has finished and hurries off to find the next young lady he promised a dance to and I am left there stunned.

All I know, Aunt Moore’s pushing might have been more helpful than I previously imagined.

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