#The Scarlet Casket

[amaranth-devi1]

In the dark light, I recognize my own frangibility and the light in the raven’s gaze makes me howl.

~ The Scarlet Casket by Amaranth; @rottingveil

#The Scarlet Casket #written by me #mypoetry #amaranth poet #quotes

[apotheoseity]

a trio of ghosties (that are AUs of existing ocs) for a new setting im playing around with alongside @mushpuppies :)

#apotheoarts #digital art #artist on tumblr #digital artist #character design #oc #original character #character reference #oc art #original character art #oc artwork #ghosts #ghost #mspaint #ms paint #ms paint art #ghost oc #oc: maya #oc: scarlet #oc: casket #electrocution

[lychniis]

⚘— FOR A RETURN AND DEPARTURE.

i. SYNOPSIS : he returns home after his time in the battlefield, stinking of rust and sweat. you wait for him as you do. as you always do. ( childe x reader ) // evenfall event - prompt ii ( ❛ no grave can hold my body down, i’ll crawl home to her.❜ ) + hyacinth and orchid.

ii. WARNING(S) : mentions of blood and death, childe having no self preservation lol, smut at the end with a bit of angst sprinkled in. this post contains 18+ content. minors do not interact.

# masterlist

Childe’s lips speak of hunger and lust and the monsters he keeps chained and bottled up in your presence. It’s chaos cut apart into a human shape and stuffed in with haphazard abandon; it still leaks through ( It’s those moments when he stares out into the snow and you know he imagines it stained red ). 

Your mother called Childe a monster. You still let him into your home and feed him like a stray fox. And like a stray touched by a kinder hand, he leaves footprints down to the path of your home, in and out and all around. His scent spools into your sheets. His old boots were left in the corner by the door. His fishing rod is tucked out back.

And when there are wounds to be licked, he comes to you. Last month he was cut across his arm. He let you bandage him up and he kissed you with aching gentleness ( it’s one for his family. It’s one for you ). 

This time he’d been stabbed clean through. Most of it was healed on camp, mages tucking viscera back to place and mending blood vessels and ruptured nerves. Lacerations that would have given way in your hands. Burns you can’t heal yourself. It leaves a sourness in your mouth that never quite goes away.

“I was impatient.” he admits with a silly little laugh when you unbutton his shirt. “I had to see you again. How could I possibly function if I don't?”

“You could have spared a few hours.” you mutter. “Look at this. You’re still bleeding.” And you point. His bandages were a sticky scarlet. It rubs off on your hands and you feverishly pray it’s not infected. 

He laughs again, like his life was a game, a gamble. You feel like you’ve been stabbed. It’s selfish, maybe, wanting just a little less recklessness in a soldier. “I can’t stand anyone else touching me like that. Not if it’s you.” he muses, tugging you down on top of him. His touch brushes against your hips, your thighs. Hunger. It soothes the ache in your chest. Just a little. You’ll want more soon enough. 

“Can’t you be a little more careful?”

Your voice is soft, a little defeated. Your hands work. Undo the soiled linen. Sew his wounds. It’s like second nature to you. Muscle memory. Your mind rewiring and purging uncertain clumsiness.

“I can’t test my luck if my opponent is stronger than me…” 

“Ajax.”

Childe does not shut up. “...But I'll always come back to you.”

“In a casket, maybe.”

You finish sewing. The look you focus him with is something rawer than you’d like. Reckless man, you want to scream. Reckless, reckless man. You want to tug at his hair. You want to stuff him away in your home where there is no battle, no wars. 

The bandages are next. They’re tugged tight enough, tied and pinned away. He grabs your wrist. “Alive,” he promises. “I’ll come home alive, zolotse.”

"If you don't"

He's disarming. You despise him for it. "Have a little more faith in me." he croons. 

You’ve had enough. You kiss him, for every day left with a cold side to your bed and a meal for one. Childe lets you as he falls back, and he tugs away at your clothes. It’s viscous. And soft. It’s both.

( And it’s voracious. )

“Off.” he whispers, breath hitching to a whine. You move your legs, let him do as he pleases, testing teeth against your shoulders and tugging your innerwear down for the heat of his palms. And you draw him back to the surface when he sinks too deep, when he forgets he’s wounded in his haze.

His fingers spread you apart, stroking against your cunt, pressing up to your clit. He nips at your lips. He demands another kiss. Rust and sweat hang off of him. It’s familiarity, a chilling comfort, something twisted that Childe turned tender. You embrace him. 

“Ajax. slowly.” you whisper into his shoulder. “Slowly, love. You’re still hurt.”

He slips a finger inside. You buck your hips and whine. 

“But I missed you.” he croaks out. “I missed you zolotse.” He dares to be sweet now, lips pressing up against your shoulders while he works on you, works you apart, as easily as he mans his swords. 

You tug at his hair, let him drive you further, drive you mad. “I missed you too, Ajax.” you finally admit. You know the tragedy that dances beneath the lines here. It’s glaringly obvious, it’s heartbreaking. You hold him tight, so tight like he’s something delicate, something breakable.

( Human. And monster. )

He brushes up against your g-spot. Your hips falter. “Please.” you whisper to him. “Please stay a little longer. Please.”

You don’t understand why you still insist on it. You let ecstasy take you anyway and it loosens your lips and makes you beg and say those whispered secrets stowed and locked away. And Childe listens. He listens to all of them as he enters you with a quiet groan, rocking your body with shallow thrusts. You wonder if his shoulders sunk with guilt then. You wonder if he wished for a little more as well. 

You’re soaked. He’s pressed his face into your chest. His hips canting, his pace quickening. Your body still through numbness and ecstasy, sight gleaned over when the first climax picks you apart and empties out your ramblings to unintelligible cries.

The battlefield calls for him a few days later. He lingers by your bedside. You watch his smile and remember it all.

His side of the bed is cold after. 

❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;

kjhgfvghjk this fic was initially suppossed to include kaeya in the roster okijuhygfgbh but my brain and energy was like "just one sweetie." "but-" "just one, sweetie." see my sense of freedom is non existant in the face of burnout kijhgvfghnj and i'm sorry i like childe a little more i went through a whole enemies to lovers arc with him jo you were there when i told you lkjnhbnjmk.

anyway, this evenfall post was requested by @mysnowmanandmebaby!!! i hope you like it!!!

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AINE | 2024. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

#EVENFALL ; valentines 2024 #&&. my writing !! #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #childe tartagalia #genshin childe #childe x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact

[theabysss]

Hearts

pairing: sagau!Childe x Reader

summary: After Child completed your task, he returned to you with a gift.

warnings: religious + cult themes, possessive & obsessive thoughts, cannibalism, mentions of people's deaths, suggestive.

word count: 850

note: I post again at night, it seems it is becoming a bad habit. I need to do something about it. And I, successfully survived more than half of my exams, there is still a little bit left and I will be free. ＼(￣▽￣)／

Childe enters your throne room, bringing with him the thick, iron smell of blood. In his left hand, he firmly holds the casket by the handle, slippery with blood. Inside was his gift to you and he hoped you would like it. His eyes light up when he sees you sitting on the throne. Your elegant posture, full of superiority, the feeling of your power at the border of his consciousness - you were perfection, a true deity.

You gesture to him to come closer and he immediately obeys. The soft carpet leading to your throne muffles Childe's steps, he kneels in front of you at the very throne and bows his head.

"Ajax, have you dealt with those infidels?" His real name escaping from your lips will ignite the blood in his veins.

"Yes, Your Grace, no one is left alive and I gave each of the apostates the most painful death." Childe's voice is full of pride, he carried out your order, maybe you even praise him, he would really like it.

When you lift his chin and Childe meets your eyes, your beautiful eyes, he swallows noisily, enjoying the sight of your features.

"Good boy, I knew you wouldn't disappoint me." You put your hand on Ajax's cheek, completely oblivious to the blood.

Childe blissfully closes his eyes, and tilts his head, trying to cling to your palm even stronger. There is nothing that he could not do for you, because you were his everything. Give him any task and he will complete it no matter how difficult it is, just to hear you call him that again.

"I have a present for you Your Grace." Childe hands you a fairly large casket with both hands. His blue eyes, half-closed with fluffy eyelashes, burn with loyalty and reverence.

You place the carved casket on your lap and open the lid. When you see the contents you take your breath away; human hearts lie one on top of the other on scarlet velvet. You touch one of them, heart is warm and quietly continues to beat, as if not realizing that it has not been in the chest of its owner for a long time.

"It's beautiful." Your voice is full of admiration and you smile at Childe happily like never before.

"I'm very glad about that Your Grace." Childe smiles back at you and your imagination draws a fox tail wagging from side to side behind him.

Childe tilts his head and rubs his temple against your knee, silently begging for affection. You chuckle briefly at his behavior, but yield and bury your blood-stained fingers in his hair.

"I hope you enjoy the taste, Your Grace." Childe lets out a pleased hum as you scratch his earlobe with your fingernails. Your hand running through his hair made him feel butterflies in his stomach.

"Do you want to try?"

You whisper this question into Ajax's ear and a wave of goosebumps runs down his spine. Your warm breath, lips lightly touching his ear and your wonderful seductive voice, Childe hardly suppresses a sob that almost breaks from his lips.

"I would consider it a great honor, Your Grace." His voice trembles, he would take anything from your hands.

You take out one of the hearts and bring it to Childe's lips, he obediently takes a bite and blood splatters on his face. The rest you quickly eat up with your mouth wide open, much wider than a human could, and for a second you demonstrate your sharp fangs.

"Sweet." Childe licks his lips and looks into your eyes faithfully.

You absolutely love his blood-covered face, those blue eyes that make him look innocent and hide the monster from the abyss that he was. His chaotic nature, passion for battle, cruelty and complete immorality, which is why he was one of your favorite followers.

You run your thumb over his lip, smearing the blood and Childe playfully tries to lick your finger, after which you put the casket on the floor to make it more convenient to perform your next steps.

Childe's breath catches when he feels your lips on his and when you deepen the kiss, passionately responds to you. With trembling hands, he clutches at your shoulders, desperately trying to pull you closer. When, due to a careless movement, your fang scratches Childe's lip, he only groans, welcoming the taste of blood, which is now even more intense. The hot dance of your tongues, the way your palm moved from his neck to his chest, made his legs tremble and give way.

As you pull back, Childe looks at you with thirsty eyes, like a human who hasn't had a drink in weeks, desperately, hungry.

"Please Your Grace again… I've been a good boy, please." Childe's voice trembles as he reaches out his arms to you in the hope that you won't reject him.

You grin and give him another kiss, and then another and another. Until eventually Childe sits on your lap and anyone who walks past the door to the throne room can hear his moans.

Reblogs, comments, are always greatly appreciated! ヽ(o^ ^o)ﾉ

#genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact sagau x reader #genshin x reader #sagau #sagau cult au #sagau childe #sagau x reader #theabysss writes

[definegodliness]

Whereto the heart will roam

The scarlet rain washes away These pallid ashes Made from dust-to-dust, Till, exposed, my Ivory casket's white, against the grey, Rises On brand new waves In wanderlust; As a ship that has learned To face the surfs and cliffs With gentlest faith and trust: That what remains, One day, will drift no more, Yet will sink In time's forgiving sands to button And flower whole within the bosom Of love's reviving shore.

--- 13-1-2024, M.A. Tempels ©

#poetry #spilled ink #writing #dark academia #romanticism #romantic poem #romantic poetry #love poem #love poetry #emotion #spilled thoughts #poem #creative writing #tumblr poetry #poets on tumblr #writeblr #poetblr

[artzysyam]

Scarlet Knight: Origins Chp1

Inspired by @xysidhequeen AU.

Summary: 

Jason jolted awake, discovering he was inside the casket. Feeling a wave of panic wash over him, he started to pound on the box in hopes of getting out. Suddenly, a hand with sharp claws appeared, along with green eyes that glowed like stars. He had been saved.

Chapter 1: Awaken to a New Beginning

Jason's heart skipped a beat when he jolted awake. He was inside a cramped wooden box, barely able to move his arms and legs. Panic surged through his body as the realization hit him - he had been buried alive!

Desperate for escape, Jason began pounding on the coffin door with all his might. He shouted out for help, screaming for someone, anyone, to come rescue him. But no one answered his pleas.

The only sound in the darkness was Jason's muffled cries and heavy breathing, but then, an inexplicable wave of assurance rushed over him. Suddenly, a clawed hand reached out from the darkness and grabbed onto Jason's arm. The air around it shimmered and glowed with a brilliant green light as two glowing eyes appeared in front of him. He knew that somehow this creature had come to save him.

"Hey, I'm gonna get you out okay." The green eyes told Jason softly. They were human-like but had an ethereal quality about them, seemingly radiating with an inner power. A soft smile crossed their lips, still uncanny yet strangely comforting to Jason at the same time.

The being made Jason intangible and lifted him up from the coffin and the earth below. Gasping for air, Jason felt oxygen fill his lungs again as he leaned against the gravestone. The being—or should he say, the Star—looked on with kind eyes.

Jason's legs shook as he looked at the mysterious figure who had saved him from being buried alive. The Star – Danny Fenton, he said his name was, or Phantom when in this ethereal costume – seemed to study Jason with a warm smile. He blinked once before speaking.

"And you're Jason right?" The newly raised teen stepped back in shock. His mouth hung open and his heart raced as he asked, "H-how do you know that?"

Jason noticed Danny's smile turn strained and sensed the worry radiating from him as he pointed at a gravestone he was leaning on. 

Taking a step closer, Jason read the inscription on the stone: 'Here Lies Jason Peter Todd'. He felt his stomach drop as the truth sunk in – he had died and been brought back to life. His legs gave out beneath him, but Danny managed to catch him before he hit the ground.

"Ancients sake, you're starting to fade!" Danny cried, panic rising in his voice. As Jason looked down, he saw his body beginning to dissolve into a mist. Fear rushed through him as he realised that he didn't want to die again.

Alarm filled Jason's gut as Danny's eyes sparked with an eerie green light. His hands were twisted into claws, clenched tight in the air and a glowing ball emerged from his grasp – it was ectoplasm, thick and crackling with energy. 

"What the hell are you doing?!" Jason cried out, barely able to stand on his feet after the shocking revelations.

"Saving your life...saving your afterlife," Danny explained urgently. "The dead aren't supposed to come back, so the balance needs to be maintained. You need a core to maintain your existence, but you came out half-baked. My ectoplasm will give you what you need." His voice was urgent, but the bastard still managed to tease Jason with a chuckle. "Either this or you'll cease to exist. Pick your poison eh."

Jason wearily peered at the ball of ectoplasm before him and sighed heavily. "I don't have any choice..." Danny nodded before he thrust forward and plunged the ball into Jason's very soul. 

An electrifying warmth flooded through Jason as the ectoplasm flowed into every inch of his being, emanating a vibrant green glow around them as it filled up his essence. Finally, it found its resting place alongside his slowly beating heart within his chest; a warm presence that brought comfort in its wake. 

Danny pulled back and Jason slumped against him, gasping for air as the dark cemetery of Gotham welcomed them back into their oppressive embrace.

Jason's breathing was ragged after the shock of what he had just seen, and the purring from what Danny said, his own 'core' reverberated through his chest. Danny tenderly ran his hands through Jason's hair as they talked.

"Let's go somewhere else," Danny said, flashing a warm smile. "I don't want to raise an undead army in the cemetery of all places."

At that moment, Jason's stomach growled loudly. His face flushed with embarrassment before he joked, "Buy me tons of chilli dogs and we're even."

Danny laughed and agreed. With a swoop of his arm, he grabbed Jason and flew away, leaving the cemetery behind them. Along the way, Jason marvelled at his newfound abilities that he'll gonna get, and soon found himself tucking into a stack of chilli dogs.

#dcxdp #dead on main #jason todd #danny phantom #inspired by the king and his red knight au #Jason's POV

[lirational]

Scarlet

Fantasy AU Path to Nowhere

Vampire!Oak Casket x Nurse!Reader

Content warnings: Yandere themes, dubious consent, fantasy drugging, and mentions of blood. DARK CONTENT. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

SMUT UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

The first time Oak got close to you outside of work, you were half-asleep, darkness threatening to claim you as your eyes glaze in a futile attempt to read the documents.

New supplies of medicine, something about the increasing costs, and the subtle change in basic ingredients of a medicine rendering a few patients unable to ingest it or risk a fatal reaction. There was always something to be done, something that needs fixing, and as one of the few people working here, you have to pull your weight, too.

But, you cannot deny your own exhaustion.

In a daze, you flick the document to the next page, intending to place the document asking for a permit to perform a blood test on the Sinners to the side. It was something you could not handle yourself, as such things require direct approval from the Chief - and you could deal with it in the morning.

As you were about to take the paper, though, a stinging sensation split your skin open, and you hiss in pain, awareness returning to you with the sharp sting.

“(Name)?”

You jerk your head to look at the source of the voice. Of course you recognized her, after all, she was one of the few patients assigned to you. Though you never interacted with her beyond what professional duties were demanded of you, she was here long enough for you to know a little bit about her, including her Mania-induced mutation that gave her a taste for blood.

“Oak? Why are you here? It is late.”

“You’re injured.”

Your mind was bleary from exhaustion, but you were able to notice that she didn’t answer your question.

For a long moment, Oak stared at the red bead of blood seeping out from the slight cut, pupils blown and dilated. If her gaze could rake hot coals onto its target, you would’ve been turned into ashes long ago. She swallowed, bit her lips, and turned away, fishing for the handkerchief hidden beneath her clothes. Even under the dim lights of the late-night office, it looked pure-white and well-maintained.

“It’s alright, Oak, I can just—“

Your protest were interrupted by a hiss escaping your own mouth, and the press of soft cloth against your wound. You watched as blood bloomed on the cloth, stark and sharp stain marring it. Oak did not seem to mind, her mismatched eyes staring at the scarlet stain in marked interest.

It was then, you realized, that you were alone, exhausted, and in the presence of a Sinner with affinity for blood.

“You should rest. Not much time left until dawn approaches,” Oak said, pocketing the sullied cloth, her expression unbothered. “If you start the next day exhausted, as much as I would enjoy witnessing the proof of our mortality stemmed from careless mistakes, you would not feel the same.”

“But, there is still—“

“Perhaps, you would prefer to sleep next to me instead?”

The thought of sleeping inside a coffin was enough to silence you, and in turn, push you to go back to your quarters.

“Alright. Good night, Oak.”

As you closed the door, she sighed, lips curving in a triumphant smile. Pale fingers hooked on the dirtied handkerchief, and she brought the stained part close to her face, taking a deep whiff with the glee of a starving man who was given a plate of fresh food, her lips grazed at it in a desperation she would not show anyone but you.

She muttered your name with reverence, each repeated call leaving her lips tinted with desire and want. The sweet, sweet scent was enough to almost bring her to her knees, clawing at her sanity. The pitter-patter of your steps, going further by the second, was enticing her to go and give chase, to claim and possess you. Needle-sharp fangs poke at the blood, a show of desperation for you.

“(Name), you…” she muttered, voice breathy. With each moment, her desire for you soared. Her mind was an echoing mess, only telling her one thing.

Claim them. Take them. Do not let go.

—

The second time she got close to you outside of work, you were alone once again. This time, though it was a bit late at night, you decided to sort through the haphazardly-placed medicine bottles, just so it would not add to the hassle of tomorrow. Mind-numbing would be an understatement, and you ended up daydreaming as you sorted the glass containers in the correct order with the aid of muscle memory.

As you were lost in your own thoughts, there was a slight creak from the door, and you call for your visitor without even thinking.

“Is it an emergency? I will have to ask you to come back tomorrow, otherwise,”

Your voice were tinged a bit with exhaustion. The day has almost ended, and if you could help it, you would rather not have additional work.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be quick,” a familiar voice spoke, each word accompanied with a cold breath on your ears. One hand snaked around your waist, another creeping up your neck to tilt your head to the side. A pair of needle-sharp fangs was grazing your neck, hovering to search for that sweet spot.

“Oak, you—“

“Shh, (Name), there is nothing to be afraid of,” she cut you off with a reassuring voice. “You’re in good hands.”

You could feel her smirk against your skin, her warm breaths, full of anticipation, fanned your trembling body. Even with your struggle, in hopes to at least have your captor in your field of vision, yet the iron grip of the pale arm circling your wrist remained. Your scream died into a soundless gasp as she sank her fangs onto the tender spot on your collarbone, followed by throbbing pain in tune with your panicked heartbeat. Though adrenaline flowed throughout your body, your limbs felt leaden, frozen in place, locking your attention towards the spot where your captor’s lips connected with your shoulders.

“Does it hurt?” She whispered as she retracted her fangs, her tongue swirling a loving pattern on the puncture wounds. “It’ll be all better soon.”

At first, there was only pain, soothed partway by the way she blew cold air over the throbbing wound. Yet, with each passing second, the pain faded, changing in tune with your panicked heartbeat into a pit of yearning. Your legs felt wobbly, supported only by her body pressed flush against yours, and you were unable to muster any form of protest as she directed you towards the bed. Now, with her on top of you, even the darkness was not enough to conceal the unbidden desire swirling in her soul, shining through mismatched eyes with intensity enough to devour everything alive.

“I’ve been waiting for this chance. You were always so cautious, so afraid of me and most of the other Sinners,” she breathed out, one hand grasping your face, her thumb stroking your cheek, “and now, you truly are mine.”

You bit your lip down as another jolt of desire racked your body, a shudder running down your spine and gathering straight at your sensitive bud. You felt as if your body were set aflame from the inside, venom melting you from within and preparing you for your predator’s feast. Oak only smiled at your state, pink tongue darting out to lick her lips, cleaning traces of your blood.

“Let me help you, then. Consider this as a thank you.”

One hand held your wrists above your head, and the other reached down to your pants, pulling the fabric down to expose your drenched panties. One touch of her fingertip, even through the ruined fabric, was enough to send your mind into overdrive, desperation ridding your addled thoughts from all thoughts of survival. With just a twitch, you felt the edges of your vision turning white.

“Do you feel it? The desire pierced into your soul, now spilling out from here?” She asked, giving the bite wound another lick, fangs grazing upon the spot again. “Should you desire relief, you need only ask~“

“Ask? How dare—“

Again, she did not let you finish as her fingers explored deeper, pushing the soaked panties aside and exposing your bare sex to the cold air. Her movements were restrained, though her twitching fingers all but signaled that it took all her willpower to even prepare you for her. She added in another finger soon after, scissoring motions pressing on your walls without a rhythm.

From her quick movements, it was clear that it took everything in her to restrain her own lust, let alone give you consideration in this twisted act of passion. The worst part was that despite how wild and selfish this mockery of love was, her attempt to fan the flames burning on your stomach was working, your desire climbing higher as pleased noises began to spill out from your lips, your voice calling for Oak’s name in half-formed syllables. One spot made your toes curl, your high pitched voice bitten down in a half-hearted attempt to not allow her the satisfaction, yet you could tell your attempt have all but failed, and every so often, she made it a point to brush the sensitive spot with a teasing smile that reminded you of a cat batting its dying prey.

Kisses were trailed down all over your body, the hand holding your wrists now gliding down towards your torso. You thought it was a chance to fight back, yet, a slow, agonizing, pleasurable lick at the bite wound and a simple command to stop was enough to statue your body into perfect obedience. The black nail on her index finger sharpened into a claw for just a moment, enough to split your clothing, allowing her access to mark your neck, down to your shoulders and the valley of your breasts.

She swirled her tongue on a nipple, and the nub hardened as if on command, the cold making it even more sensitive. Her fangs stopped at your chest, right where your beating heart is, then she bit down, licking the wound just as you started to get lightheaded. At the same time, you finally tipped over the edge, and your vision whited out as you came all over her fingers.

With an embarassing squelch, she pulled out both of her fingers, and she stared at you in the eyes as her tongue cleaned your slick.

The flames in your belly have started to settle a bit, but saying this would be enough is nothing short of a blatant lie.

Oak gave you a knowing smile and got off you. However, as you were about to sigh in relief, you saw her take off her panties, letting the fabric fall on the floor. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw the fabric was soaked, as well, juices glistening under the dim light of the room.

“What an insatiable thrall,” she said in a chastising tone, a contrast to her mischievous smile, “then, you wouldn’t mind helping me out as well, hm?”

She stopped your protest once again - her cunt resting so close to your face. Then, there was a nip in your inner thigh, the familiar piercing sensation from her fangs, then the pain fading into a mounting pleasure that all but erased your previous fatigue. Loathe as you are to admit it, you were once again forced to feel pleasure, her tongue licking your puncture wounds to soothe it before resting flat on your folds.

“What do they usually say… Ah, right, a favor for a favor.”

To emphasize her words, she grinded her cunt on your face, enveloping you in her scent. A wordless suck on your aching bud became your cue to start, your tongue tracing sloppy patterns on her folds. Your efforts did not go unrewarded, as she matched your speed, and even her breaths on your wet heat was a strong enough stimulation to make your hips buck towards her, your thighs enveloping her head to draw more friction, give more fuel to the creeping sensitivity that had enveloped your entire body once again.

As you sped up, calling her name in between breathes that smelled like her, you finally tip over the edge. Though your climax did not hit you with the same sheer force as the first one, you were forced to feel every moment of it, and the clear liquid gushing forth from your twisted lover’s climax soon after became a reminder of your current state. Your face was practically drenched, and you were frozen, perhaps both from exhaustion and mortification, as she licked your juices clean from between your thighs.

She finally shifted off you, swiping her own slick from your face with her thumb with the care of a loving partner. She licked her own thumb soon after, and the last thing you hear, just before your vision went dark, was her promise.

“I will see you again soon, (Name).”

—

The third time you met her, you were sleep-deprived, nightmares filling the dark every time you closed your eyes.

Ever since that encounter, you had begged at your superior to allow you a transfer, preferably somewhere you wouldn’t have to deal with Sinners aside from a need-to-know basis. Though your request was granted, you quickly discover that your mind has betrayed you, images of that encounter replaying in a loop, giving you a restless sleep that left you wanting the next day. Your body and mind seem to have all but betrayed you, conjuring a burning need for someone that was more than content to keep you, if not as a lover, as a thing to satisfy her own twisted desires.

You had fallen asleep, once again, though at least your luck allowed you to keep your wits until the last few minutes of your work.

As your eyes fluttered open, your gaze met Oak’s mismatched eyes, and it took everything you have to not kick and shout like a wild animal. You two were in a dark, narrow place, and your arms brushed wooden walls as you try to move.

She was pinning you down with an almost embarassing ease.

“Are you avoiding me?”

The question was asked with a relaxed lilt and a smile, not much different from a dear friend asking about the weather.

“What did you do to me?” The question slipped out from your lips before you could stop yourself, venom all but spilling from your tone.

“It was a simple thing, really. Have you never heard of the undead being capable of creating thralls?” She smiled, full of victory as she pressed the spot where her fangs sunk into you for the very first time. “I told you, you were mine now, yet you still refuse me.”

She stroked your hair in what was, perhaps, meant to be a comforting gesture, and to your horror, it all but worked, as you closed your eyes from the comfort.

“But now, there is no need to worry. We will have plenty of time to get to know each other, after all~“

#path to nowhere #path to nowhere x reader #ptn x reader #path to nowhere headcanons #oak casket x reader #yandere oak casket x reader

[mollysolo]

congrats on 2.7k!! may i have a steve harrington with bucky barnes based off of the song lover, you should’ve come over by jeff buckley?

It’s Never Over

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X fem!scarlet witch!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky finally reunite after what feels like centuries apart.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, crying, heartbreak, depression, Bucky’s nightmares, screaming, an argument, insecurities, death + a breakup

Word Count: 1.6k

a/n: i hope you like this!

My 2.7k follower celebration!

the gif below does not belong to me

While you walked through New York on any given day after the blip, you could see Bucky in everything. You saw him in the group of people standing around an empty casket in the ground. You saw him in the people sat with their loved ones graves, even in the pouring rain. You understood their pain, you had felt that yourself everyday for the past five years.

And at this point, you would do anything to get Bucky back. Even if that meant letting Bruce experiment with time travel on you. You were just that desperate.

You felt broken without him and while you knew you shouldn’t be so dependent on Bucky, you couldn’t help it. All you needed was him and his love and there was no way to make this longing go away until Bucky returned.

While in the midst of your depression, you often wondered if he was okay wherever him along with everyone else ended up. You hoped that he still loved you even after all the time you’ve spent apart in recent years.

Many told you just to move on, let go of Bucky, but it wasn’t that simple. You couldn’t just break free from the man you had loved for seven years now. He still owned your heart and he always would, even though he was no longer here. You loved him too much, you could never fall in love with someone else. He was all you’ve ever wanted.

And as time went on, you easily became blind to the ways your mental health had been damaged. You felt alone as if you had no one and no matter how many times Steve reminded you that he was there for you, that feeling still never went away. All you ever felt like doing was sleeping, you didn’t the motivation for much else.

You wanted to heal, to be strong for Bucky even if he wasn’t there to see it. But waking up without him holding you in his arms became harder every single morning. And all you could do was hope, hope that the things Bruce was working on would actually work and bring everyone back.

But you would continue to wait for him, burn for him, no matter how long it took to get him back. Especially after what had happened before he had dusted. You could remember the argument two of you had as if it hadn’t been five years since it happened. That guilt had been eating you up inside ever since then.

You two had started to argue in the first place because Bucky had accidentally started to choke you during a particularly bad dream. And no matter how many times you told him that you were fine now and that you already forgave him, he was still so mad at himself for hurting you.

“I’m a monster! All I do is hurt people! Why can’t you see that? You should hate me!” he yelled at you, his hands moving about while he spoke.

“Don’t tell me how to feel! And it’s not your fault that you were forced to do horrible things, Bucky. You could never hurt me, you’re not a bad person or a monster!” you yelled back, letting out a deep sigh once you finished speaking.

He sighed as well and spoke again moments later, “I don’t want to hurt you again, doll. I think it would be for best if we broke up.” he told you, which easily caused tears to start to prick your eyes. Sure, you were a little upset that Bucky saw himself in such a negative way but you didn’t want to break up with him over it. But before you could say anything else, Bucky quickly left your bedroom and was out of sight in under thirty seconds.

You could also clearly remember the moment he had dusted. Seeing him disappear right in front of your very eyes destroyed you, it made you feel as if Thanos had ripped your heart out of your chest.

Once Thanos had snapped his fingers, you sprinted over to where Bucky was, not caring that you were now broken up. You had to make sure that he was still there. And as you reached him, his metal arm began to turn into dust and his gun fell to the ground.

“(y/n)?” he said, his eyes directly looking into yours. And before you could say anything to him, he was gone.

You then ran over to where he once stood and your knees gave out as a result of the pain you were now feeling, sending your body crashing to the ground. You screamed out in agony as tears swiftly fell down your cheeks and you frantically grasped at the dirt Bucky had just been standing on.

“Bucky!” you screamed as you stared up at the sky for a moment, your tears not slowing down whatsoever. You were truly heartbroken after what you had gone through today.

Steve had tried to pull you back and take you to the quinjet, but you wouldn’t let him. You clawed at his arms, screaming at him to let you go. It took both Steve and Natasha’s strength to pull you away from where Bucky had been.

But even after five years had passed, the pain you felt that day still lingered in you. Nevertheless, you often had moments where you began to loose hope that you would ever see Bucky’s sweet return. You wanted to give up but you still pushed yourself to keep fighting, thinking of what Bucky would’ve wanted for you.

And after what felt like a century, Bruce finally figured out the key to getting everyone back and for once since Bucky dusted, you felt a sense of happiness.

Now, you all were flying back to Wakanda and Steve had suggested that you try to sleep on the way there. But the thought of what was to come as well as your need for revenge kept you awake. You would get to kill the man who took Bucky away from you even if you died as well.

But you had managed to ground yourself with the thought of Bucky’s smiles and how you get to see it again very soon. This kept your mind occupied for a little while and before you knew it, the quinjet had landed in Wakanda once again. And now it was time to fight with everything you had left in you.

—————————————————

“You took everything from me!” you screamed at Thanos, pure anger radiating throughout your entire body.

“I don’t even know who you are.” Thanos replied, with furrowed eyebrows followed by a smirk on his face, showing that he thought that he would get away with all of this again.

���You will, in the after life.” you said with a smirk of your own as your magic began to quickly flow from your hands and up towards Thanos’ unprotected throat.

You then let your anger fuel your magic as you wrapped the bright red energy around Thanos’ throat, squeezing tighter and tighter, your eyes glowing red as you screamed at him. And in this moment, you began to not care if you had to sacrifice all of your blood to get Bucky back, it would still be worth it as long as Thanos suffered.

With one final scream, your magic snapped Thanos’ neck and his now dead body fell to the battlefield below you. And once you were sure he was dead, you took a few seconds to catch your breath when you suddenly felt someone tap your shoulder.

When you turned around, you saw Bucky standing there with a hopeful look in his blue eyes, “Bucky!” you said while you raised your eyebrows and relief filled your system.

You hugged him tightly as he began to speak, “I’m not too late, am I?” he asked, a cute smile on his face. You smiled with him as these words fell from his lips.

“No, never.” you quickly said before you pulled away from the hug and pressed a passionate kiss to his lips. You stopped kissing him back for a few seconds and stuck your hand up behind you as you had sensed that some of Thanos’ henchmen were now standing behind you two. You easily got rid of them then kissed Bucky once again, pouring as much love as possible into the kiss.

“I love you, doll, so much and I’m sorry things ended the way they did.” he told you as tears started to fall down both of your faces like a gentle waterfall.

You nodded and folded your lips in, “I’m sorry too. But all that matters now is that you came back to me. And I hope that we can be together again.” you replied, a sad smile now spread across your lips, your eyes focused on Bucky and only Bucky in this moment.

He took you back into his arms again as you said this, feeling the need to hold you tight for a little while longer, “It was never over, doll, I need you to know that. I just got stuck in my mind and I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. But I’m yours for as long you’ll have me, I promise.” he muttered through his tears, but you could still hear him as clear as day.

You let a smile take over your face and pulled away once more, “How does forever sound?” you asked him, your arms still loosely wrapped around his ribs.

“Perfect. Now, let’s finish this.” he simply replied. And just like that, your heart was complete and you were able to feel whole again.

The two of you then went right back into battle, together this time around.

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My 2.7k follower celebration !

#mollysolo answers #mollysolos 2.7k follower celebration #bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes hurt/comfort #bucky barnes song fic #bucky barnes masterlist #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fic #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #sebastian stan #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel one shot #marvel angst #marvel masterlist #marvel imagine #marvel fluff #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction

[sovietpostcards]

Vinyl records for children from the Soviet Union (mostly fairy tales). Some titles are Doctor Aybolit, The Princess Frog, The Malachite Casket, Vasilisa the Beautiful, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, Mowgli, Puss in Boots, The Humpbacked Horse, The Three Little Pigs etc.

These are all for sale, feel free to message me if any of these tickle your interest. These look used, at least the jackets, I didn’t yet check the records themselves. 

The last picture is sets of 2+ records (longer fairy tales), including box sets. They are The Scarlet Flower, Snow White, Karlsson-on-the-Roof, The Little Prince, The Snow Queen, The Adventures of Buratino, The Wonderful Adventures of Nils, Tales of Uncle Remus.

All sold

#sp: sold

[hirosolosxx]

I am here and I have brought angst, my favourite thing to write and read :333 (@amasaiweek )

Shout-out to the 4 single amasai shippers

Day 2 - Flowers

Day 2 / Flowers (Angst)

Cw: Death of a loved one

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

Rantaro has to take on the mourning of his late husband, Shuichi. (AU)

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

He still remembers the day he received the call, the dreaded call he never ever thought he would receive. But he did. And he couldn't bring himself to go to his funeral either. Yet here he was, dressing himself in the colour of what should have reminded him of his beautiful husband.

Once Rantaro had finished getting himself dressed, he had picked up a bouquet of dead flowers off of his bedside table. The exact roses and marigolds he was going to give Shuichi the minute he got home that day. The red, scarlet roses to represent how much he loved him and the bright, golden marigolds to represent how happy Shuichi made him.

Choked up tears began to roll down his face and he began to raise the bouquet of now wilted and dark flowers. Then he threw them down as hard as an anchor hitting the ocean.

He was angry. He never got to give Shuichi these flowers. He never got to say goodbye. He never gets to see his smile or hear his soft voice ever again.

Soon after he calms down, the dead flower petals were scattered all around the room. Just like their wedding night.

Rantaro loved giving Shuichi flowers. He always knew how to make them last the second he was given them and always knew the meaning behind each one of them. All of a sudden, the doorbell rang. Without any other option he went to open the door.

"Rantaro... How are you feeling?"

There stood Shuichi's older sister, Kirumi. She looked as if she had been crying herself but hid it with her ink black veil. In her hands, there were two bouquets of flowers. One with white roses, red roses, marigolds and blue blooms. The other consisted of chrysanthemums, black roses and marigolds.

"Still distraught... Say, what are the bouquets in your hand for?" He murmured his words out carefully.

"You always used to give him flowers, correct? I got these for you to place into his coffin and on top of his grave... Don't worry I have my own but I wanted you to be the one to give him these."

How selfless... She was meant to be mourning her younger brother yet here she is helping out his husband...

"Kirumi... Thank you. Please take care of yourself also..." His voice shook, both close to bursting out into tears.

"Fuck I'm so sorry Kirumi-!"

Rantaro began to cry once again while Kirumi had begun to shed some tears of her own. Both had stood there and cried for a while before Rantaro took Kirumi into a hug. They stood there for a while, mourning someone extremely close to them.

A few solemn hours had now passed and it was now time for Kirumi to hand over the microphone to Rantaro so he could say his final words and close out the funeral.

"Hello everybody. You guys may know me as Shuichi's husband and know that I loved giving him flowers that reminded me of him. Yellow flowers to express how much I enjoyed being with him and how happy he always was, red roses to tell him how much I loved him, flowers of his favourite colours and so on. I never wanted this to be the last time I could ever be able to give him flowers. I would also like to thank everyone for coming today. We've all made such a difference to his life and I couldn't be more thankful for you all."

Rantaro stumbled on his words, his voice getting quieter yet louder at times. Trying to not burst out into tears on stage. Taking a deep breath, he finally began to say his final words and place the first bouquet of flowers into his casket.

"Shuichi. No matter what universe we're in, we'll always be together. I promise. I'm going to miss you forever darling."

He stood over his former husband's casket and placed a kiss onto his forehead before backing away.

It was now the late afternoon, they were finally placing Shuichi into his final resting place. He was carefully lowered into his grave as everybody's solemn faces watched.

Once he had been placed in, he was covered with the dirt and almost immediately Rantaro got onto both of his knees. He got out a packet of seeds, seeds of his favourite flower. Yellow marigolds. He began planting them into the freshly planted dirt. Once he had finished, he placed the final touch.

The second and final bouquet he would ever give Shuichi.

#amasai #saimami #rantaro amami #shuichi saihara #rantaro x shuichi #shuichi x rantaro #drv3 #drv3 killing harmony #angst #amasaiweek2023

[thewhiteraven2020]

“Staring at the casket, hoping to move past it, knowing things will never be the same, and that’s it”

Day 5 - Magic

For today I have my Scarlet Witch AU!!! Also I know Clover technically isn’t in this piece BUT HIS PIN IS SO SHUT UP! Also know this won’t be the last time you’ll see this AU this week ;)

What will Qrow do to get Clover back…

#fair game #qrow branwen #clover ebi #scarlet witch #fairgame #fairgameweek2023 #rwby volume 9 #rwby #rwby au #scarlet witch au #marvel au #marvel #FGW23 #day 5 magic #hhhhh wow I’m so proud of this one #I actually cant belive I freehanded the darkhold

[amaranth-devi1]

“Silvery November, bring a sparkle into dark. Blow ice and snow, dress my naked soul in the coldest embrace, so I can feel alive again.”

My book : The Scarlet Casket

~ Amaranth; @rottingveil

#The Scarlet Casket #mybook #amaranth poet #my poems

[murfpersonalblog]

LDPDL, Incarceration, and Oscar Wilde's De Profundis

I was writing this up as a tangent in another post, thinking about IRL gay men at the turn of the 20th century as another source of Gothic literature Anne Rice was inspired by when she wrote the VC, and most importantly, how IRL Victorian-Edwardian era homophobia might have affected AMC!Louis as he struggled with his own sexuality/vampirism. Particularly, a point I made awhile ago about homosexuals & the mentally ill being locked up in sanatoriums. It just got way too long and off topic, so I've decided to post this bit first.

@wordforworldisforest noted that for all the reading Louis does in Eps2-7, we NEVER see him reading in Ep1 while he's still human. Iolanta's the first time we see Louis enjoy stories (plays/opera/books), but after he marries Lestat, Louis' reading whole libraries about heterosexual & homoerotic love & marriage. So I'm wondering what bb!Louis might've read during his human lifetime, too, and why he was keeping it such a secret from everyone--what/why was he hiding? And I started thinking about Oscar Wilde.

Closeted: Oscar, Louis & Vampirism

Oscar Wilde was the MOST (in)famous gay man during the late 1880-90s while Louis was growing up. If Louis was born 1877 (as per his gravestone in Ep5), he would've been 13 when The Picture of Dorian Gray was published, and 18-20 when Oscar was arrested for sodomy from 1895-97. De Profundis is the letter Oscar wrote to his male lover (Lord Alfred "Bosie" Douglas) while he was in jail, which was published posthumously in 1905. Ain't no way Louis didn't read it, or at least hear about it. 👀

Like, Dorian Gray's a known homoerotic book that was brought in as evidence during Oscar Wilde's sodomy trials. But Louis was 13 when it came out--MAYBE it flew under the radar for him, fine. But Louis's super stylish--he followed fashion trends (even in Dubai he's STILL casket sharp). And Oscar Wilde was a fashion icon/maverick in his heyday; an international sensation. But there was ALL KINDS of sexist/homophobic crap printed about Oscar cuz of the way he looked & dressed & styled his hair & carried himself in public (newspapers, Punch magazine, etc), before his love affairs with men were even made common knowledge.

Oscar was a well-connected rich white man, and even HE caught flack from homophobes/xenophobes on both sides of the Pond for his effeminate behavior, and critiques against British and American aesthetics. While anti-Irish sentiments PALE in comparison to ACTUAL anti-black racism--(the Irish enslaved & lynched black folk same as any white racist colonizer, just look at Scarlet O'Hara--I've mentioned this before about racist Finn O'Shea, who burned the Azalea down in 1917)--Oscar being Irish definitely didn't help his reputation in British-American circles, as seen in anti-Irish caricatures from Victorian magazines like Punch.

Oscar, a world famous white man, served only TWO years of jailtime and it nearly KILLED him--so just IMAGINE what a gay black former pimp in Jim Crow South would've gone through.

Vampirism's linked to xenophobia, as seen in my Brides of Lestat Dracula post (and speaking of Dracula....). But xenophobia against a white man's different from racism against a black man. Homophobic cops threatening Lestat's one thing--if he was on his own he'd've hypnotized the cops, ate a few of them, and skipped town long ago. He felt ZERO affinity or allegiance to the human world, populated merely by "the meat." Lestat embraced his alien status--Frenchness & vampirism, delighting in unsettling people & flouting social mores & gender norms. Since Louis insisted that they live as regular mortals, Lestat was "caught up in human affairs, too." But the ONLY one in any real danger of suffering the consequences of societal pariahism was LOUIS himself.

(De Profundis, Wilde)

Louis enjoyed a high degree of protection living with Lestat--the magical Frenchman who gave Louis the impetus to live more or less "out" in an open-secret gay relationship. But before meeting Lestat, Louis would've had ZERO security. Louis would've been around 18 when the scandal broke & Oscar was arrested, 22 when De Profundis was partially published, and 23 when Oscar died. His downfall likely would've been a frightening reminder for teen-20s Louis to stay in the closet; validating the need to keep up his image & the lies; but also contributing to his alcoholism, avoiding going to Confession, and ultimately his resistance to Lestat.

Loustat: Gilded Cages & Hubris/Pride before the Fall

So, I wonder how much Louis (AR/AMC) was pulling from Oscar Wilde in his own interview. Louis' access to Gothic/Victorian literature likely contributed to his excuses for Lestat's obvious vampirism (on top of NOLA's overall occult subculture); and Louis' own affinity for things that went bump in the night ("days were for sleeping off the previous night's damage," etc). But Oscar's lifestyle leading to his ruination & depression might've struck a chord with Louis too, considering his own fears/struggles with his sexuality.

“[Louis] is so good at grieving! He wears woe as others wear velvet; sorrow flatters him like the light of candles; tears become him like jewels.” (TotBT).

Louis' life was dictated by fear--of being oppressed/disrespected, shamed, outed & ousted--publicly shunned. But vampirism proved to be the very embodiment of ostracism & imprisonment; with his Maker/"Massa" Lestat as the ultimate oppressor in their townhouse--the gilded cage/trap he built specifically for Louis. It's no coincidence that the Great Depression coincided with Loustat going "underground" to lay low after Claudia's murder sprees brought the cops to their door, and her running away from home led to Louis to stop taking care of the house or himself. (Accidia is the deadly sin Sloth.) Louis spent 14 years doing nothing but reading in the townhouse--7 while Claudia was gone, and 7ish while Lestat was gone. De Profundis was reprinted in 1912, and catholic!Bosie started openly repudiating Wilde & other homosexuals by 1918. So Louis definitely would have had time to read all of Oscar Wilde's works from 1923-37 (Claudia leaving & Lestat coming back).

Oscar painted a grim picture of what prison was like on the inside, and what public humiliation was like on the outside. For a prideful man like Louis, shame & humiliation was his worst nightmare--Icarus "flying too close to the sun," as the Alderman put it. (Louis was in his 60s the first (& last) time he openly kissed Lestat at the Mardi Gras ball--the night he was gonna leave America for good anyway.)

So I'm certain Oscar Wilde's scandal would've negatively colored Louis' developing outlook on his own homosexuality. And if Louis was (re)reading Wilde after Loustat's separation/divorce, it must have resonated, perhaps even moreso, as history repeated itself.

Lestat & Louis have been compared to Oscar & Bosie before. Their stories aren't perfect 1:1s ofc, but it's the overall Mess that most resembles Loustat. Oscar was an older, worldly, far better educated man; Bosie was a spoiled but broke little lordling whose hedonistic lifestyle of male prostitutes was bankrolled by Oscar. Bosie's homophobic father was determined to see Wilde ruined, and had him arrested for sodomy. Oscar was sentenced to 2 years of hard prison labor. Jailtime made Oscar reevaluate his life, his impending death, and his relationship with Bosie--"the love that dare not speak its name." Oscar was HELLA critical of Bosie in De Profundis, and after being released from jail they split up; Oscar fleeing to Paris where he soon died. Bosie converted to Roman Catholicism, and after Oscar's complete letters were published in 1912 he publicly repudiated Wilde, renouncing homosexuality and marrying an heiress, only to die penniless anyway. Ohhhhh, Louis would've eaten that news up, I know he did.

Just look at how Oscar talks to Bosie in his letter, and tell me it doesn't sound like Louis' talking/complaining about Lestat:

Plenty of scholars have pointed out Oscar's hypocritical criticism of Bosie, as he reams Bosie for filth for half the letter, then talks about not being bitter towards him & finding Jesus & forgiveness for the second half. Likewise, I've said before that Book!IWTV reads like a hit piece, Louis skulldragging Lestat while downplaying Louis' own culpability in his downfall. However, AMC!Louis takes more accountability than book!Louis, focusing on the ways HE in particular failed Claudia (and himself), rather than blaming so much of it all on Lestat. Louis' more forgiving of Lestat than Daniel/the show leans--perhaps cuz Claudia's older; able to act against Lestat the way Louis couldn't bring himself to, even for her.

But naturally, AMC!Louis has more on his plate than book!Louis ever did, as the racial/societal challenges of their time also played a much more significant part in Lestat's relationships with Louis and Claudia souring. Louis' far more ambitious, but doomed, so his fall from grace hits that much harder, as he blames himself more for the things he could and couldn't control.

Loumand: Wardens, Austerity & Suffering

My final point concerns Louis' time in Dubai with Armand. Here, the notion of imprisonment takes on a far more disturbing flavor, because Louis is mentally ill/traumatized. He's completely surrendered to Armand; who isn't pampering/spoiling him like a prince(ss), so much as nursing/babying him like a mental patient in a padded cell.

Loumand's cold & hollow penthouse is the polar opposite of Loustat's lush & vibrant townhouse. They're living like monks. Ofc that tracks with Catholic austerity (see this awesome post about Louis & Anchorites); but I also suspect Louis might've consulted New Age Buddhism as a form of therapy/meditation too--cuz what's with the tangzhuang outfit? 🤨

It's the most out-of-place piece in Louis' Dubai wardrobe of highwaisted slacks & tops. And for a show that's so dang particular about clothes & colors & cuts etc, this HAS to mean something. And considering Louis' penchant for monastic self-denial, I think De Profundis has interesting parallels with Catholicism and Buddhism.

Like, Louis has access to all the modern marvels of science, and as much blood as he can get--"AB- fresh from the Farm," Damek, Dr. Fareed, blood banks, exotic animals, etc. Yet he's also eating human food, even though it tastes like chalk/paste, just to humble/deny/punish himself. (It's as hypocritical as it is sincere, crazy enough.)

It's all sus, cuz we know Armand's a master hypnotist with the Mind Gift & Spell Gift. Louis' interview seems less like the confessions of a suicidal/grieving man, or the unburdening of an incarcerated/rehabilitated man's guilty conscience. Instead, Louis seems like he's speaking from the Sunken Place; like he's one trigger away from a complete and utter meltdown.

Which makes it veeeeery interesting that Louis keeps pushing/suffering through the interview, despite his pain; while Armand seems to be VERY against the entire endeavor--the one who keeps trying to get them to stop talking about the past at all.... 👀

So yeah, this was all swirling around, keeping me from getting any effing sleep. I hate this show.

#louis de pointe du lac #louis de pointe du black #oscar wilde #lgbtqia+ #lgbt #religion #iwtv tvc metas

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part 18

Summary: Clashes with the Royal Army finally take place. Other sides of Enjolras revealed…and new developments take place for Enjolras and his gal.

Notes/Warnings: 18 & above please. There are two collages…enjoy! Wound/Blood, War violence…briefly mentioned…

“My sweet angel. So brave coming to see me.” Mon doux ange. Tellement courageux de venir me voir. My angel. Mon ange.

It is not necessary that whilst I live I live happily; but it is necessary that so long as I live I should live honourably. - Quote from philosopher Immanual Kant

Thank you, for reading! Be nice! Feedback is welcome! Want to be tagged, please let me know! ❤️ and of course…Enjoy!

Glancing skyward, Enjolras saw scarlet flags flapping brilliantly against the clear morning sky. With the right push all of these men, women could all raise up their anger fueling them. Perhaps, their voices could would finally be heard. A smiled curled his lips. His heart lifted in hope. The gods, were on their side. Reaching up, absently he gave your ribbon a gentle tug.

Moving among the throngs mourners and his comrades, he gave the nod. In a breath, they reacted. Easily six of them took over pulling the carriage that carried the casket of General Lamarque. There was practically no resistance. Elation began to fill him. Perhaps, all of this would be easier then any of them thought.

His breath caught in his throat when he saw the sheer number of those that turned out. There were several men and women, old and young alike crowding into the city center. This was exactly what they needed.

The further and deeper they moved into the city, Royal Guards rode high above on their white horses. The numbers of them grew. He knew they would there but his stomach began churn at saw how large their presence was.

A crack of thunder, made him look around. There was no storm clouds. His his grew when he realized that what he had heard was a bullet cracking out of his barrel. He watched as a lieutenant of Royal Army slid from his saddle, a scarlet spot over where the man’s heart should be grew as he fell. Panic hit the crowd moments later, screams fill the sky.

As he began to back up, he watched the small groups of the Royal army. It did not take them long before they came together and formed bigger, tighter bunches. One a fair distance away drew his sword, calling out a command and they began riding at anyone in their path. Guns were pulled from their holsters, swords are drawn and people are running different directions.

Despite his heart thudding hard in his chest a steadiness comes over him. He grew focused. He urged the men and woman around him to run.

“We have to get out of here. Run!” He commanded.

They listened and he ran with them. Looking back when he could, many anguished, terrified faces filled his line of vision. Though none of them were the faces, he hoped to see. The faces he wished to see belonged to Courfeyrac and Grantaire; he knew Gavroche was as sneaky and small. He knew how to get himself out of a scrap. Yet, he did not spot them anywhere.

As he neared the end of the city center, hoping for the best he chose one of the narrow streets closest to him and began to run down that one. Deep down, he knew the army would struggle there, they just had to.

Hearing his name he glanced up ahead of him. He saw far off, very far off his two friends. It brought little comfort, they needed to survive today to fight another day. He kept on running. Around him, men and women continued to run.

The screams around him rose, glancing over his shoulder he saw the Royal army were riding hard towards him. A man close to him stood fear obviously consumed him.

He had to do something, he pulled the man aside, the Royal solider drew his sword and he drew his gun. The galloping of the horse filled his ears. He aimed, he he shot and the sword came down.

Before he even knew what had happened, he found himself on the ground. He barely was aware that the old man managed to scramble up and he ran off.

Pain ripped at him. That’s when he saw his hand, the solider’s sword contacted with the back of his hand. There was a deep slice across it.

Glancing back, the warmth of triumph filled him as he saw people throwing rocks and other stuff down upon the Royal Soldiers from their windows. The people were fighting back. Reaching for his pistol, not entirely sure how but he did manage to holster it the best he could.

Sitting back he pulled his scarf free. He glanced behind him once again before he quickly wrapped his scarf around his hand. Biting one end, he made a tight knot. That would have to do.

******

Certain the soldiers and their horses had run off, he took a deep breath. Grantaire, came up to him almost gave him a fright as his arm wrapped around his shouldlers. “Enjolras, we did it. We survived.”

He nodded. He tried to gather his words

He felt his friend step back. “Your hand.” His voice cracked. “What happened to your hand?”

He shrugged. “I’ll be alright.”

He ran off ahead. His heart picked up with his new idea of what the should do.

“Citizens! Citizens!” The words were sharp and stronger then he had hoped for. “Now is the time to make our stand!” He continued, the people cheered and rose their fists skyward.

******

The moon was full and bright in the inky sky. He had survived another day. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he was grateful not more were killed in this scuffle. Yet, his core group of comrades had made it out alive and for that he was grateful.

Lingering in the doorway, he eyed the barricade they had built. It was solid. He wished there was a way to spy on the royal army. But it was much too dangerous , the risk was too high. They would just have to remain at the ready.

“Enjolras, you scoundrel get over here.”

Raising his eyebrows, he turned in the direction of the voice. It came from the doctor who was in their ranks and believed in their cause.

Pushing, himself off the doorframe he went over to the older man. He noticed he had gathered a few of their supplies. They shouldn’t be waste it on him.

“I’m sure its nothing.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He settled on the desk besides the supplies. The worn wood was scratched and creaked under his weight. Many a night had they poured under candle light, looking at maps. Tracing the the lines of streets and roads; with a steady finger as they would discuss away around the royal arm.

“You’ll see nothing to worry about.” He gat gotten you used to the soft throb of pain. It would pass. There were greater things to be worried about.

The man had a natural gentle touch as he took his hand. He smiled at him. “You tied this good.”

Ejolras shrugged. He had to keep fighting. He had not had the time to stop and think if it had been a good knot. He gritted his teeth as the man tugged and finally loosened the knot.

“Enjolras.” The man shook his head. “That is quite the gash.”

But his eyes to grew seeing the wound. It was far worse then he expected, that was proudly why it had still hurt.

The man handed his scarf to Gavroche who had wandered up. “Go and soak rinse that in the water barrel.”

��We shouldn’t, we may need that.” Enjolras spoke up.

The man waved him off. “I can get more from the Seine. When we do.”

He shook his head. That was a risk that may not be worth taking but Enjolras remained silent at the moment. One did not argue with a doctor.

“Well, alright. Let’s get this done with.”

Enjolras, would not look away. He watched as the man pulled the stopper from small glass jar. The scent of the alcohol is strong and stung his nose.

“It’s going to sting.” The man warned.

He shrugged.

The man poured and then rubbed the wound clean, along with what blood had dried.

“That’s a rather clean blow.”

“You read my thoughts, just grateful he didn’t take off my hand when he slashed down.” He gave the man a half smile.

“Yes. Those swords can be either completely dull or as sharp as a razor, all depends on the man who wields them.”

“This one must not have cared too much.” The man gave a short, choked off chuckle. “Alright.” He made quick work of threading a needle. “You may not want to watch this bit.”

“I need my hand.”

The man rose an eyebrow. “I did this on the battlefield, my boy.”

“I know.” Enjolras grimaced.

******

He opened and closed his hand once the man was done. He smiled. “You are a miracle worker.”

Just as the pain of the stitching began to lessen it strengthened as they wrapped and tied his scarf around it again.

“I know where my talents lay.”

“Glad you are on our side.” He clapped the man on the back.”

******

Going to one of the side rooms in the warehouse, Enjolras went to think. He snatched up scrap of bread and cheese. Barely, chewing them before swallowing. His stomach finally reminding him, he had forgotten to eat.

He needed a moment, away from the others. The quietness of the room gave him a chance clear his head. Eyeing his wrapped hand and simultaneously was grateful for the doctor but also relieved he had not inquired about the ribbon tied to his jacket.

Thoughts of you finally bloomed in his mind. You had taken root a while back but now, he knew body and spirit. These thoughts, these memories of you were different. He welcomed them.

Because of you he remembered the quote, General Lamarque had taught him from the works of Kant, “It is not necessary that whilst I live I live happily; but it is necessary that so long as I live I should live honourably.” With you, he easily could envision both. Which he was very aware was a rare occurrence in one’s life.

Yet, he struggled. Not with how he felt for you but with if was right to establish himself and make himself your…gritting his teeth he turned to Gavroche’s voice interrupted him. He was truly like a younger brother at times. He would only allow this from him. If Grantaire or Courfeyrac did this, he’d brush them off.

As he turned, his boots echoed in the small room.

“What is it?”

“The girl. Y/N is here.”

“What?” He stormed past Gavroche, just barely missing him.

There you were, talking with Grantaire. The man always talked to people. You were clad in a fresh dress, your hair soft and scarf around your shoulders just like the first night, he saw you here. His heart lurched painfully.

“What are you doing here?”

He watched as you turned to him. Your eyes moistened. He sighed at his tone.

“I…I…” Your words did not come.

He easily closed the distance. He grabbed your arm, careful as he did. “Excuse us Grantaire.”

“Come with me.” He gently pulled and you easily came.

He went back to that side room with you, only this time he closed the door.

“Enjolras.” Your voice was soft as his name poured from your lips.

“Answer me.” He realized he had not let go of you. He didn’t necessarily want to. Gently he grazed your arm with his thumb. Your softness was electrifying.

“I heard explosions and screams. I grew worried.”

He drew his wrapped hand to your other arm without thinking. He could watch as surprise and concern washed over your face.

“I’m alright.” He immediately said. “I told you, I’d come tonight. I would meet you by our willow.”

“My worry consumed my heart.”

Letting your arm go, he cupped your cheek.

“Mon doux ange. Tellement courageux de venir me voir.”

His heart squeezed as you leaned into his hand. Your lashes laying gently on your cheeks. He stepped closer, his body brushing yours.

Enjolras was very strong. He could resist lot in this life but you, you tested that. Right now, he wanted to kiss you. Closing the distance, he chose to do so. He sighed into the kiss as he felt your fingers nestle in his hair.

He needed this, this quiet softness. It ended the struggle he was tearing himself apart with mere moments ago.

The door swung open. “Enjolras, they’re coming!” One of the comrades announced and ran back out. His heart stilled.

He nodded, “Stay here. Do not leave this room, no matter what.”

“But, but..”

“Listen, stay here. I can not bare the thought of anything happened.”

He turned and ran away then, grateful he had cleaned and oiled his gun after this morning. Spotting a rifle, he grabbed it along with the bullets that sat beside it.

Quickly he ran to the barricade, climbing it easily his eyes grew seeing the Royal arm walking through the shadowy fog that had rolled in.

“Ready your positions.”

The barricade creaked as people took their positions. He glanced around and saw people in windows and rooftops. They had a strong advantage.

A street away, they formed their positions, some stood others knelt. They raised their rifles.

“Get done!” His shout came from the pit lf his stomach.

Soon bullets burst into the night, the slammed into the wood and stone alike.

The air was tense. “Wait for my signal!”

One of the guns went off behind him. “Hold onto your powder!”

They had to wait till they grew closer or they would have no chance.

“Wait for them to advance!” He glanced through some openings before him. His stomach churned.

He could hear as one of the leaders, card out. “Charge!“

“Hold!” He waited a breath. “Hold.” They needed to get just a touch closer.

“Fire!” He finally shouted and jumping up, he took aim. Not breath later, others join him.

Smoke filled the air. The smell was bitter and sharp. Bullets whizzed by, were random screams coming from both sides. He was caught up in aiming and pulling the trigger. He managed to nab a few.

Soon a smile spread across his face. The Royal army began to group together but withdraw.

“They’re falling back. Keep it up!” He scream. Their advantage had won them this round. They didn’t stop the offense till only the fallen is what remained.

Cheers erupted! Shouts of victory filled the small alley.

*****

Your heart pounded as you managed to reach the warehouse door. Your heart skipped at the memory. This was where you had first met Enjolras. He had to be there. The bar had been shuttered. If he were not here, you would make way to his loft. Though the idea of going there without him made you uneasy.

Taking a breath when you were outside the warehouse; you made a small wish. It was just as heavy as it had been that first night. You were grateful that tonight, rain was not falling from the sky.

Slipping it the warehouse was bright with all the torches and candles that flickered. Men you didn’t recognize were busy with various tasks.

“My dear, Y/N what do we owe this pleasure?” You knew the voice and noted as you turned to it, that his words did not have a slur pulling on them.

“Grantaire.” You smiled. He must be sober, you reasoned. “I am here to see Enjplras.”

He took your hand and gave it a soft squeeze.

“Oh our fearless Enjolras. He is here, I assure you.” He said with a grand air, that almost made you chuckle of you were not so concerned.

Gavoche came up, his youthful exuberance coming off of him in waves. “Y/N, you’re here! Why? Enjolras?” A huge, bright smile was splashed across his face.

You nodded and brought your scarf tighter around your shoulders. “Yes, I am.”

“I know where he is, I’ll go and fetch him.”He ran off.

Grantaire, smiled. “He’s a good kid. Very quick, very stealthy.”

You nodded. “Strong too, he helped me home from the market one day.”

“What are you doing here?” His voice was sharp, as it reached your ears.

As you turned to him, heart picked up speed as tears filled your eyes. You knew you should have stayed home but you couldn’t.

“I…I…” You words twisted in your mouth.

He easily closing the distance, the sound of his boots caused a soft hush to fall over the warehouse. His hand was warm as it just slipped under your scarf to grab your arm.

“Excuse us Grantaire.” You did not resist as he pulled you. “Come with me.”

You did not falter or stumbled as he tugged you to a room a part from vast openness around you. He managed to close the door as the two of you went in. Finally he stopped, his eyes moved over you. As the silence sliced through you.

“Enjolras.” Your finally having the strength to utter his name.

“Answer me.” His grip lessened but he did not let go of you. As you felt his thumb gently graze your skin, it stole your breath. It had felt like it had been an age since he touched you.

“I heard explosions and screams. I grew worried.” Your voice cracked.

You felt as his other hand drifted up your arm but when you saw how it was wrapped, you felt as if someone had hit you, like some had hit you hard. Blinking, you met his eyes. You didn’t even know what you could possibly say.

“I’m alright.” He immediately said. “I told you, I’d come tonight. I would meet you by our willow.”

“My worry consumed my heart.”

Letting your arm go, he cupped your cheek. Sighing, you leaned into his touch. His gentleness, was almost too much. Your worries had caused you so much pain.

You closed your eyes eyes. You did not want him to see how your anguish still battled within you despite him being in front of you.

“Mon doux ange. Tellement courageux de venir me voir.”

You felt as his body against yours. A soft sound came from you, as you felt him kiss you. You wilted against him. Reaching for him, you nestled your fingers into his soft curls. You melted further as you felt the warmth of him sighing. You could have sworn that through his shirt, his vest and your dress, your chemise that you could feel as his heart hard in his chest.

The door swung open. “Enjolras, they’re coming!” A comrade of his announced and ran back out.

Your body stiffened, your worries once again filling you. Your eyes met his they were darker than you had ever seen them.

He nodded, “Stay here. Do not leave this room, no matter what.”

“But, but..”

“Listen, stay here. I can not bare the thought of anything happened.”

********

As you paced back and forth, his kiss lingered on your lips. You could heard so shouting, you were sure it was Enjolras. But you could not be sure.

Once again, your stomach churned. Part of you had wished now that you had stayed home. But seeing him, that kiss had helped but what if he gets killed out there and that would be your last kiss.

You couldn’t take this. You would were going to be ill. Grabbing a chair, you sat down. You wrapped your arms around yourself.

When the shouting and loud bursts filled the air, you tried to ignore them. Desperation filling you, making it hard to breathe you ran to the door that you had used to enter the warehouse. It was far heavier then ever before. It would not budge for you. You could not take it. It was too much. There were so many anguished cries and screams. What if one of them was his?

These all at once all grew silent. Swallowing, you crept back into warehouse. Your heart pounded in your ears.

Exuberant cheers, cries of delight finally traveled to your ears. With your heart leading you, you found yourself at the doorway that ushered in all those good sounds.

Careful, you peered around and seeing that it looked safe; you took a hesitant step out. Surprise over took you and you placed a hand over your heart.

Gun smoke swirled in the night air, you saw many bright and large smiles. You watched as joy washed over Enjolras’s face as shouted in what appeared to be a victory. Slowly you began to draw closer.

You stopped as something else came over his face. “Marius, watch out!” He screamed.

You covered your mouth when suddenly you could have someone shoot their gun. Blinking, distantly you wondered if that really happened. Either way you began backing up.

Your heart stilled watching Enjolras. There was such a difference in him. Silently you watched as he walked down from where he had stood victorious on the top of the barricade.

What was he doing? What if the guy tries to shoot again? You clamped your hands over your mouth as you kept backing up.

He stopped, and with not even a flinch you watched as he aimed and shot. A scream came up from the pit of your stomach but it was muffled by your hands. You turned and ran back into the warehouse.

******

He slipped the gun back into his coat. As he saw, Marius kneel beside Epione, he realized he had better return to you. He easily, moved between those that lingered. Shock still fresh in their hearts with this attack so close their base. He made his way to you and slowly opened the door to the small room. You were pacing.

“Mon ange?” He managed. Inwardly, he was trembling. He longed for a drink.

@aftertheglitterfades @sebastianstvns @dealswiththedevilsblog @randomstory56 @pl1nfa1 @phantomxoxo @ladybug0095 @the-iridescent-phoenix @maryan028 @netusha @kindablackenedsuperhero @amethyst-serenade @crazyworldofsiani @moondev1l @eddiethebloodiedhand @lluviamg06 @samunson83 @craftyhufflepuff @julieteagk @gretavankleep37 @little-wormwood

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfiction #bbc! enjolras #bbc enjolras imagine #bbc enjolras x fem!reader #bbc enjolras x you #bbc enjolras x y/n #bbc les miserables #bbc les miserable imagine #bbc les miserable fanfiction #bbc les miserable fanfic #bbc enjolras fluff #bbc enjolras angst #joe quinn #joe quinn fanfic #a time to love and to fight #part 18

[damien-mlm]

Dead Man Walking (Angst, Dark!Red)

WARNING: PURE ANGST, BLEAK AND HOPELESS ALMOST ALL THE WAY THROUGH. Alcohol poisoning. Suicide attempt. Hallucinations, or perhaps not.

this happens immediately after Mama, and during Darrell's visit to Scarlet.

Darrell belongs to @bluecoolr, Skulk is @probably-a-plant-thing's, and Scarlet is by @kalid-raven

Once he was sure that Darrell was asleep, he stepped out of the bed once again.

He had managed to push the ideation away for so long, so many years.

He couldn't do it anymore. He was weak again. 

She never left his mind, she was always there, calling for him.

Singing sweet lullabies when he felt so, so alone.

She had abandoned him too soon. But she never really left.

She was there, standing beside him as he cried, her casket being lowered into the ground.

She was there, looking from over his father's shoulder as he administered his bi-daily sessions of shock therapy.

She was there, encouraging him to keep stabbing, to burn it all down on the night of the hurricane.

"Come home…"

She was there.

She's still here, and she's calling for him.

Calling him back into her arms.

What about Blue? I can't just leave him… what will he do?

"My boy… he doesn't need you. He's got Skulk, remember? And Skulk's got him. They still have each other…"

They still have each other…

"They don't need you… I do."

They don't need me… Nobody here does…

"Come home, my son."

"Darlin', you alright there?" Darrell's sweet voice brought him back to reality. He had been sitting in the dark cold of his living room 'til the sun started to shine. Darrell wrapped a warm comforter around his shoulders.

What would I do without you? 

"Yeah, sorry…" he took Darrell's hand and pressed his lips against it softly. 

God, I'm such a fool.

He made a cup of coffee and heated up a cornbread muffin for Darrell in the toaster oven.

"You're not gonna eat?" 

"Not hungry, hun" he said as he opened the door and sat on the porch, lighting up a cigarette for himself.

He didn't notice the way Darrell was looking at him.

He looked into nothingness as his cigarette burned. His mind felt foggy and clouded.

"You've changed since the last time I saw you."

I know, mama. I'm more like myself now.

"But you had such pretty hair before..."

I like red...

"Do you, really?"

...

I... I don't know... It just stuck with me, I guess...

Red was all he could see, always. Red, blinding and all-consuming.

I can't forget about it, mama. I can't.

Why did you have to go? Why did you leave me with him?

But there was no answer.

He tried to take a drag of his cig, only to realize it had burned entirely.

His face felt cold and numb.

Darrell's hand on his shoulder startled him more than it should've, he gasped and jumped slightly at the touch.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare ya" he said softly, his chest stinging at the fact he made Red, of all people, jump in fear.

"That's fine, sugar. I was too deep in thought..." Red trailed off as he saw Darrell was already fully dressed and had his keychain in his left hand "You're going to see her?"

"Yes Sir, I know she can help us, we need to hide, lie low for a while... Are you sure you'll be alright by yourself?" Darrell asked, stroking Red's sunken and cold cheek with his free hand.

'Don't worry about me, I'll be okay" he answered as he leaned into Darrell's warm, gentle touch.

He doesn't need more problems, not now.

Once Darrell was gone on his way to Scarlet, Red decided to take a small trip to town.

He didn't bother looking into Germaine's eyes, or even her face, as he waited for her to ring the black hair dye, the pair of scissors and the shaving razor blade spare replacement.

"Ya going back to the natural look?" she asked curiously.

"Huh?" 

"Oh, it's just, I can see your roots" she said sheepishly as she pointed at her own scalp.

"Ah... Yeah. Red's worn out, I guess" he answered as he handed her a 100 bill, much to her shock.

"Oh, I don't think-"

"Keep the change for yourself, hun. I won't be needin' it" he said before snatching the items he had bought, throwing them in his backpack and storming out.

The bar was next, Neil's eyes went the size of dinner plates when Red slammed the money on the counter.

"I'm paying my tab off, and I'm taking two bottles of your strongest bourbon" he said without looking up.

"My boy, you know damn well this will cover all that and more, twice over..." the old bar owner trailed off as he grabbed two bottles from the top shelf, then placed them between them, without letting go of them. Red was just about to grab the bottles when Neil pulled them back just a smidge, calling for his attention, "What are you gonna do, Damon?" 

Red's eyes shot up and met Neil's at the mention of his true name. The old man's stare was unwavering, yet full of worry.

"I'm fine, Neil. You'll hear of me again soon." he promised, giving the old man a faint smile as he gently placed the pair of bottles inside his backpack.

Neil watched him exit the bar with his head down, hunched over.

Red's last stop around town was the diner, his boss had told him to take the day off, since he was so out of it that almost caused a grease fire the last time he clocked in.

He entered through the front and greeted the server kindly, she smiled at him and he handed her a small note, intended for the owner. 

That's the last of them.

He haphazardly chopped the longer parts of his hair off before dying it all black, he was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, anxiously chipping away at his nail polish til his nails were clean, waiting for the dye to do its work.

Red was almost on autopilot, he soon ran out of polish to scrape away at, his sight was blurry and dazed. Almost as if he was looking at his point of view from a screen. Not his own eyes. Everything was out of focus, distant. Fake even, it all felt like plastic, like a big set full of props.

"It looks awfully similar, doesn't it?"

The red chips of polish contrasted with the white tiled floor, and under his unfocused sight they looked liquid.

Liquid red staining the white tiled floors again.

He nearly jumped out of his skin

I can't get the image out of my mind…

"I know, my child. But once you are with me, you won't have to remember it ever again. I promise"

I'm scared, mama. What if dad is there?

A pause.

Mama?

"He can't get to you, my child. Come to me, I'll protect you."

No, mama. I'll protect you.

"Now you look more like the last time I saw you. I missed this look on you"

Once his hair was clean he stared at the mirror, for how long, it's unclear

Last time he had his hair black and this short was back before…

He closed his eyes, thinking of that beautiful night, the night they were back home from Ambrose.

It feels strange to me… I know it's my natural color, but it doesn't feel like me entirely…

Now that I think of it, I don't remember the last time I truly felt like myself.

That was it, that was my peak.

It all seemed to go downhill from there, rolling down violently. Hitting rocks and being scratched by thorny bushes on his way. 

At the end of the hill, there wasn't land. There was a chasm. An infinite fall into darkness, and he was rapidly approaching the edge.

He never had the chance to mourn, to let it out, to let himself just be. He had been stuck in survival mode for as long as he could remember, and the moment he let his guard down, the moment he first felt peace, it all came down on him at once.

"Come into my arms, my love. I'll never let you hurt again"

It seemed like the perfect solution. No more pain, no more nightmares, no more…

Darrell…

"He'll be fine. He doesn't need you."

Skulk can take care of him, they can care for each other… I don't want to abandon them, though…

"It'll be a weight off their shoulders."

What?

"Skulk can take care of himself, he's agile and good at hiding. Darrell has enough trouble in his hands right now. None of them have the time for you."

…

"None of them have the energy to care for a deteriorating alcoholic."

And as if to give her reason, he sat down on the toilet again and took a long swing of the bourbon he had bought.

Damn it, Neil. Shouldn't have wasted your best tasting shit on me…

Several gulps per swing, 4 swings and the first bottle was empty. Heat traveled down his esophagus and into his stomach. The first thing that has gone in there since last night's single cornbread muffin.

I can't just leave without a word…

He stood rapidly, and whiplash hit him like a truck. His head spinning, his hands reaching for the sink in order not to fall. 

I guess liquor hits faster when you're in a rush to leave.

He stumbled his way out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, opened his bedside table drawer and ripped a page out of his small notepad.

What do I even say?

He felt awful to leave them like this. 

Darrell, my fallen angel

Skulk, my sweet guardian 

See you on the other side

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…

I had to go

All that was mine is now yours

I love you both

Take care of each other please

He grabbed that old silver letter opener. Used it as a stake to adhere the note on the outside of the bathroom door. A silver nail on a white coffin.

Originally, his plan was to burn it all down, and himself with it. Wipe it all away, just like back then.

He would have to instead drink both bottles and hope that, if blood loss didn't take him, alcohol poisoning would.

But it wouldn't be fair for them.

There is no closure to be found in a pile of ash and a charred corpse.

He was sitting on the bathroom floor and almost entirely through the second bottle when he dug into his wrists with the razor blades. Both of them now have a vertical opening.

Red, warm, slick and slippery. 

A little too slippery, perhaps, he was already weak, but now the slick didn't let him hold onto the bottle no more.

He lied back, too tired and drowsy to sit up straight. Red pooling around him, pouring from his wrists.

Mama, I'm on my way.

But mama wasn't there.

He was, looming and towering over him. Looking down with a crooked smile.

Damon's breath got caught in his throat, his eyes burning with hot tears. Pure, unadulterated fear coming over him.

Everything around them was on fire, even Dr. Herring himself. 

Damon couldn't move, he could do nothing but watch and silently weep as the sinister burning man grabbed him by the ankles, setting them on fire. 

"You don't know how long I've waited for this moment. Now you'll burn with me, forever."

He was being dragged to hell.

And he could do nothing but beg silently.

Help me, please.

He felt his father's nails dig into the flesh of his ankles.

I'm sorry, I take it back! I don't wanna go, please!

He could hear the screaming and wailing of tortured souls, lost to the flames forever.

Help me!

"You're mine"

PLEASE!!!

The door swung open with such force, a being bathed in blinding golden light coming through it.

Everything was white and gold. Suddenly soft and warm.

An angel kneeling over him.

His angel.

He felt tears fall on his cheeks, raining down on him from above.

Even in such pain, he was beautiful.

Peace washed over him, and he let himself go.

Darrell's distant voice and visage fading to black.

A/N: here I go, just pouring a bucket of gasoline on the dumpster fire that is our boys' poor lives

Taglist: @rottent33th @slaasherslut @the-pinstriped-hood @texaschainsawslvt @angxlslasher @allthingsblood @ajarofpickledtears @mr-trick

#i formally apologize for the anguish #this was entirely from Red's perspective #which is why this ended as soon as he lost consciousness #thank all the gods above and below that Darrell appeared #damon ‘red’ herring #darrell todd #skulk #slasher oc #damien mlm writes #tw suicide #tw alcohol #SoundCloud

[manwalksintobar]

Ntozake Shange to Eisa Davis

          querida antigua eisa,

you almost got it-you really did ‘born of the blood of struggle’ we all were/ even if we don’t know it/ what if poetry isn’t enuf? whatchu gonna do then? paint     ? dance     ? put your back field in motion & wait for james brown to fall on his knees like it’s too much for him/ what? too much for james? yeah/ didn’t you ever see the sweat from his brow/ a libation of passion make a semi-circle fronta his body/ a half-moon of exertion washin’ away any hope he had of/ standin’ it/ can’t stand it & he falls to his knees and three jamesian niggahs in a stroll so sharp it hurts bring him a cape that shines likes the northern star/shinin' i say like you imagined the grease in the parts of yr hair or yr legs/or yr mother's face after rehearsal after she had you/ james falls to his knees cuz he “cain't take it"/he's pleadin’ please please please don't go we look to see who brought james brown to the floor / so weak/ we think/ so overwrought with the power of love that’s why poetry is enuf/ eisa/ it brings us to our knees & when we look up from our puddles of sweat/ the world's still right there & the children still have bruises tiny white satin caskets & their mothers weep like mary shda there is nothing more sacred than a glimpse of power of the universe it brought james brown to his knees lil anthony too/ even jackie wilson arrogant pretty muthafuckah he was/ dropped no knee pads in the face of the might we have to contend with/ & sometimes yng blk boys bleed to death face down on asphalt cuz fallin' to they knees was not cool/ the way to go/it ain't fallin' to our knees is a public admission a great big ol' scarlet letter that we cain't/ don't wanna escape  any feelin'/ any sensation of bein' alive can come right down on us/ & yes my tears & sweat may decorate the ground like a veve in haiti or a sand drawing in melbourne/ but in the swooning/ in the delirium/ of a felt life lies a poem to be proud of/ does it matter? can ya stand up, chile? the point is not to fall down & get up dustin' our bottoms/ i always hated it when folks said that to me/ the point eisa/ is to fall on your knees & let the joy of survivin' bring you to yr feet/ yr bottom's not dirty/ didn't even graze the earth/ no it's the stuff of livin' fully that makes the spirit of the poem let you show yr face again & again & again i usedta hide myself in jewelry or huge dark glasses big hats long pillowin' skirts/ anythin' to protect me/ from the gazes somebody'd see i'd lived a lil bit/ felt somethin' too terrible for casual      conversation & all this was obvious from lookin' in my eyes/ that's why i usedta read      poem after poem with my eyes shut/ quite a feat/ cept the memory'd take over &      leave my tequila bodyguard in a corner somewhere out the way of the pain in my eyes that simply came through my body/ they say my hands sculpt the air with words/ my face becomes the visage of a character's voice/ i don't know i left my craft to chance & fear someone wd see i care too much take me for a chump laugh & go home this is not what happened? is poetry enuf to man a picket line/ to answer to phones at the rape crisis center/ to shield women entering abortion clinics from      demons with crosses & illiterate signs defiling the horizon at dawn/ to keep our      children from believin' that they can buy hope with a pair of sneakers or another      nasty filter for        cheap glass pipe/ no/ no/ a million times no but poetry can bring those bleeding women & children outta time up close enuf for us to see feel ourselves there/ then the separations what makes me/ me & you/ you/// drops away & the truth that we      constantly avoid/ shut our eyes to/ hold our breath hopin' we won't be found out/ surfaces/ darlin'/ & we are all everyone of those dark & hurtin' places/ those dry bloodied memories are no less ours than the mornin/ yes the mournin' we may be honorable enuf to endure with our eyes open the coroner cannot simply bring her hand gently down our eyelids/      leavin' us to the silence of not life/ the solitude of the unreachable can ya stand up, 'chile? hands stretched out to touch again not so you can get up & conquer the world/ you did that when you cdnt raise yr head & yr body trembled so/ you scared yr mama that was when the poem took over & you gave you      back what you discovered you didn't haveta give up/ all that fullness of breath/ houdini in an emotional maze/ free at last but nobody can see how you did it/ 'how'd she get out'/ nobody'll know less you tell em/ do you really wanna write/ from twenty thousand leagues under a stranger's wailin? can you move gracefully randomly thru the landmines that are yr own angola/ hey, your bosnia! are you shamed sometimes there's no feelin' you can recognize in yr left leg? does the bleeding you'll do anyway offend you or can you make a sacred drawing like ana mendieta that will heal us all? do i believe in magic? hell yeah. shd you? i don't know. don't know how yr gonna find yr way out the maze/ ancient as it is no one can tell you the secret/ not me/ not aunt angela/ not yr mama beautiful as she is/ i usedta watch her legs cut thru space like a ninja in      ballet shoes/ i wanted to be tall & clear-eyed like yr mama/ & you come tellin'      me i cd beat you up in a school yard/ no my daddy wda bought the school yard & paid kids not to hurt me/ so what you see is not what you get i am not a poem/ i am savannah's mother/ savannah sat with her bottle      thru the children's class at stanze's once we moved to texas/ but i was always lookin’ for your mother's legs to come slicing the air/ ten years later/      2000 miles away/ed mock dead/ tower of power fallen/ sly stone disappeared/      oakland like the back of my hand/ now unknown/ "get it & feel good" i usedta      say sometimes still do/ diffrence is i cherish stupid lil things now/ did yr      mama tell you raymond asked our whole class after a bout with possessed drummers and gravity/ if we ever took our dance clothes off/ he could smell us comin'       cross the Bay Bridge/ he shouted & pranced like somekinda stallion/ like his sweat      didn't stink too/workin' in the other realm is dirty work/ makes us smell bad/      did yr mama tell ya? i know she didn't let ya believe makin' art was not a messy      business/ she cdn't have/ we were trained too well is poetry enuf, eisa? that's gonna be up to you? is poetry enuf for me? why do you think i wrote 'for colored girls' i wanted yall to come out from under yr starched pinafores & pressed      heads with some notion of dream & sanctity of spirit/ looks like some of it worked but remember i'm still writin' still dancin' fell on my knees so many times now/ i wrote rev. ike for a prayer cloth it's serious like that peaceful like that i sweat when i write/ do you?           the original aboriginal dancin' girl           love,           ntozake

#poetry #Ntozake Shange #feminist poetry #Eisa Davis #for colored girls... #Black America #dancing #women #writing #sweat #Black American poetry #poems of protest #poems of rage #loving the world anyway